====October 17th, 2013
====Hannah, Th'seus, Yules, D'tri, E'don, D'cen, S'yn, Cerise, Maosa, Kaia, T'ral, Ellen, Kultir, Ja'kai, L'ri, Bailey
====Southern's First PC clutch hatches! (Sands View)

Who Hannah, Th'seus, Yules, D'tri, E'don, D'cen, S'yn, Cerise, Maosa, Kaia, T'ral, Ellen, Kultir, Ja'kai, L'ri, Bailey
What Southern's First PC clutch hatches!
When There are 0 turns, 11 months and 15 days until the 12th pass.
Where Candidate Barracks, Sands, Southern Weyr

hannah_default.jpg Th%27seus20.jpg Yulena5.bmp dimitri07.png edon2 d-cen_default.jpg s-yn_default.jpg cerise11.jpg maosa_default.jpg Kapia2.png t-ral.jpg ellen_profile.jpg kultir2.jpg lrismile.jpg ja-kai_default.jpg bailey_default.jpg


Candidate Barracks
Perhaps the safest place in the weyr, these barracks: the stonework here is old, perhaps as old as the weyr is itself, for the uncanny cleanliness of ancient stonecutters marks neat corners and perfect arches. Richly-lit by glowlight, tapestries reflect scenes of yore from the walls - dragons flaming, holders farming, and one particularly well-made that depicts the impression of a dark-haired girl to a light-toned gold dragonet, dripping and fierce. The barracks themselves are open-air, with not even a curtain to divide the space of male from female. Bunk-bed style cots line each wall, hammocks strung along the middle for those unfortunate enough to lack the privacy that an adjoining wall brings. There are privies in the back and locker-style item storage in the front, and one especially large table next to a book-case filled with basic Harper texts.

<All> Cignalusath senses that Dhiammarath is the light and the zen, but even her serenity is disturbed by the ripples in the water: ripples caused, no doubt, by the incredible number of dragon-songs lifted in humming symphony: that is right. Southern Weyr's latest clutch is hatching — or about to — and Dhiammarath's song fills the fog-borne night with rumbling triumph!

Night has settled deep upon the weyr, lending humid air to cooling heat. It is late night, the wee hours where no one would normally be awake…except. There is sudden HUMMING that vibrates the very walls of the Weyr, and not too long after the humming can first be heard - there is the sudden added thud of boots walking quickly toward the barracks. The door opens, and holding up a glowbasket is L'ri, eying the surroundings with quick eyes. "CANDIDATES!" He yells, pausing just long enough to make sure they're ROUSING. "The eggs are hatching. Robes, sandals, and in a line now!" His foot taps as he waits for compliance.

Yulena is up, up, and at 'em, hup to, hup to, standing stiff as a board at the foot of her bed. Fear? Anticipation? Really great posture? Who knows.

Taralde scrambles awake. The moment they'd been waiting for. The thrum of dragon voices raised in anticipation stirs the hair on his arms. He rips the sheets free and is on the ground, changed and into line still not entirely sure that he wasn't dreaming. Was that Daycen he ran into? Sorry Dayce!

Kultir hrumphs as he wakes with a start, eyes already wide as his heart settles and the words make sense. "Finally!" he mutters, flinging off his covers and snatching the white robe and sandals from his trunk. Quickly shucking sleepwear, the robe is in place before anyone can see anything.

WOOSH - Ellen instantly draws her knee up to her chest, positions her foot against the blanket she was sleeping under, and KICK. Sends the whole thing sailing. Hi, skivvies. There is no modesty here, she just kind of rolls over and falls from her cot, CRAWLS forward into her robe like a canine through a trapdoor and is up on her feet to goose up behind Yulena like it's a race.

"Uggg, turn out the light." Comes Donner's petulant whine from under his blankets, and he rolls over to glare over towards L'ri— that is until he realizes what is happening. That's when he bolts upright and out of bed. Screw decency, he's going to strip and put on his robes RIGHT HERE. Off goes pants. Off goes shirt. On goes his new candi-dress.

Daycen has finally adusted to candidate time and -now- the eggs hatch!? Totally figures. The yelling of L'ri makes him groan and scramble out of the covers though; one hand feeling around on the ground to grab his sandals and… erph! "Nng, s'ok." he mutters at Taralde, trying to wipe sleep from his eyes and dress at the same time.

Lost in the land of dreams, Sytin is abruptly wakened by the suddenly loud entrance of the Weyrlingmaster, jolting upright in his cot as if his life depended on it. Which is may, depending on the particular mood that L'ri is in. The words take a moment to sink in and he's suddenly in motion, untangling himself from his bedsheets and scurrying to his trunk, fingers fumbling with the latch before he finally gets it open, tearing his nightshirt off and replacing it with the plain white robe, taking his nightpants off and tossing the garments onto his mussed cot before hopping into his sandals, stumbling into the line.

Maosa is already awake when he arrives, her eyes having jolted open as soon as the humming invaded her slumbering ears. One of those Mountain Man things, presumably. She's up and good to go in a jiffy, slipping on her sandals, then pulling her wild mess of a mane back into a hasty ponytail while walking to the line.

Cerise first begins to rouse when her bunk picks up that humming, translating it right through her pillow. By the time L'ri bursts through the door, she's thrown the blankets back and gone for her robe. Modesty? Modesty has no place in this wild and squirming dance of shucking off one sack-like garment for another one. Arms flail over her head, hips wiggle and then it's settled, needing only a quick smooth to remove wrinkles. Sadly, her hair is not so easily tamed and after a few hopeless pats at it, she leaves it to fan wild around her face as she falls in with the others.

Kapia doesn't sleep all that well under the best of circumstances. But this is the worst kind of way to wake up. "Wh… what? OH NO!" She's scrambling about, a wild flurry of sheets and clothing until she somehow winds up wrapped in her white robe. She rushes over, nervously fiddling with her hair, eyes wide with panic.

Someone has prepared. Dimitri's already IN his robe, though that may not necessarily have been for the better — it's all smooshed up on one side moreso than the other. Wrinkles in the fabric? Pffh. He's nappin' when the humming starts and misses that, but the yell is less hard to miss. He nearly smashes his head into the wall in shock before bumbling off and down onto the floor, blearily seeking out his sister, and stretching his arms lazily upward as he saunters after her. This is a thing that is apparently happening. He doesn't appear to feel either way about it.

Yulena also wakes up in the midst of this confusion, looks down and finds out she's desperately underdressed. Oopsie! Reaching up, Yulena grabs the Candi robe that was sitting at the foot of her bed and drops into it, then pulls off her pants. Enjoy, gentle people and not-gentle people. Her hair is, for once, wild and loose, tumbling down around Yulena's shoulders while she tries to pat it back. Oh yeah. Sandals. Stuffing feetsies into those. NOW Yulena is ready. Ahem.

L'ri waits semi-patiently while clothing is shucked, and robes are pulled on. As the Candidates begin assembling he nods, and grins quickly. "Remember! Walk, don't run! Bow to the clutch parents! And feel free to spread out as far as you'd like to, alone or with others. Don't try to make a dragonet Impress to you - if you're going to Impress, you'll know when the dragon chooses you." He glances around at them, and then nods sharply. He's covered all of the bases, right? "Follow me!" Into the fog. In the middle of the night.


Hatching Sands
The Sands are surprisingly soft to the feet and to the eyes: rich grains of gold commingle with the ground basalt-black that mark the shores of Azov's Sea. The whorls of lighter color pattern into the sands, larger-grained and often settling at the top, as golden driftwood against dark shores. … but the moaning from above sounds like the chorus of the damned, lessening the natural beauty here below.

Beneath the eerie glow of Belior and Timor, diffuse by the thick fog that shrouds Southern Weyr, the dragons have begun the timeless hum of the ages: Dhiammarath's and Vossuth's eggs have started to move. As Candidates are rushed out onto the sands, the fog encloses giving an eerie feel to the wind-haunted sands. Glow-light provides diffuse lighting for those who choose to come and watch. (@go sw, ub, hs, gal)
— entered by Hannah on 2013-10-17 18:04 MOO Time. (2 minutes and 58 seconds)

The first upon the sands — Hannah must have had a little bit of a head start — the goldrider is already standing with Dhiammarath, one hand touching the gold's hide in a pale dress. Eagerly, she awaits the Candidates being lead in by the newest AWLM, L'ri. All around them, the forty-two eggs have begun to move, shifting in the sands as cracks form across the pretty shells swirled with color. As the fog creeps in, it hangs low upon the heated black-and-white sands. They all await the Candidates.

Escorted by the Weyrlingmaster a sea of white moves onto the sands like a wave onto the beach, the huddled mass in varying states of alertness from their unceremonious arousal from dream's embrace. They fan out into a loose formation before the eggs and the magnificent dam and illustrious sire, bowing with varying degrees of flourish and respect for the dragons and their riders before attention is diverted back to the large clutch as it begins to stir, like a beast awakened from its slumber, intent on terrorizing the night with its ire.

Stealing the Tsar's Apples Egg shifts, cracks forming early as it separates from the careful lines in the sands. Eager, it is.

Kapia looks utterly, completely panicked. She hides behind taller candidates as she files out onto the sands, visibly shaking as she drops into a deep, respectful bow to the clutch parents. With tradition appeased, her eyes lock on the shaking eggs. She's entirely terrified.

A Hut on Chicken Legs Egg shudders, rolling a little bit.

Stealing the Tsar's Apples Egg quivers with such force, the sands beneath it's rounded shape being shifted away more and more as a small hole starts to form. If this action continues, the egg might go quite deep, but luckily a loud CRACK stops the vibrating movement. Instead, now one giant jagged, gaping crevice in the shell. Smaller spider-webbed cracks extend from the bigger one, hunks of egg falling one after another onto the ground. Flashes of hide, rust in hue, belay what lays beyond the covering. One final loud SNAP and the shell falls away, leaving In The Kingdom of Rust Bronze Dragonet out on the sands and already fanning his wings and ready to roll!
In the Kingdom of Rust Bronze Dragonet
A strange collection of metal-worked parts, from the oxidized rust of his bronze hide to the prominence of bones, he is not lightly built with visible joints as thick as support beams; his muscle is etched hard through his stout neck and over the breadth of wide shoulders. His great barrel of a chest only adds to his bulk, disproportionate to the spindly rebar legs and the long, stiff line of his tail. Oxidized bronze limns the corrugated metallic feel of wings, as hints of olive trace vine-like patterns across the sails, to finally tinting spars in the vibrancy of tarnished green. Weathered in appearance, a pale, snow-like dusting on spiked neckridges bleeds in darkened streaks down the mottled ruddy ochre on his sides. Polluted shadows collect on the underbelly, and gather beneath his wings, while an illusion of ashy grit traces along the tops of wing bones and collect in the knobby knuckles of his feet. A trickster at heart, the keen intelligence and secretive amusement can be seen in the deep-set eyes and the cant of sturdy beak of a sloped and elongated snout.

Touch Not The Cat Egg shifts and wiggles, and then settles again. Not time yet. Not quite yet.

Cerise has grabbed one of Dimitri's hands with hers to remain linked with her brother as they face these sands for the second time. Admittedly, the ambiance on this occasion is somewhat different but who can tell if that's nervous sweat or hot sands sweat? With her free hand, she's knuckling at her eyes to clear them of sleep goobers- a process that not only makes it necessary that Dimitri take the lead, but also means she misses seeing the first hatchling break free of its shell!

Maosa has an expression of determined stoicism on her face, just the faintest razor's edge of wariness underlying it. Without explicitly doing it, she edges a little Yulenawards as the first egg cracks shell. Hello. Be her Sands buddy. (Not that she needs anyone, of course not.)

Sytin ruffles his hair as he yawns, feeling a little too sleepy to really properly process that this is REALLY happening and that it isn't a dream. The black and purple look sort of works for him, though. And then the egg shatters and he jumps, blinking sleepy amber eyes. "Oh." Eyes widen as adrenaline finally kicks in. "Oh, Faranth." He looks around through the sea of white for a friend suddenly. And then… That bronze. Eyes peer. "It's gooey." How observant, little detective.

Deep breath. Deep breath. Yulena is taking deep breaths, hands slowly wiping on her robe. The surprise of the first egg shattering so quickly earns the bronze coming for a surprised look, and a nod. Good show. One of Yulena's hands absently wanders to find one to hold. In case the other person is nervous. Oh hai, Maosa.

Donner is in the middle of the pack, probably near the hottest of girls in the candidate class, because well, do you expect anything else? Probably behind Cerise, to the left of Yulena. Somewhere in there. "Oh geese—" that's all he gets in word wise when the first egg hatches. He flinches automatically, hand reaching out for someone to grab it, hand out in front of him to shield from… uh, something? Someone take that hand. Donner is scuuurd.

Kultir rises from his bow and draws a deep steadying breath, moving away from the crowd just as the first breaks shell. A lovely bronze, a good omen. The young man shivers despite the heat of the sands seeping upward, the ghostlike mist softening all the edges and making things a bit … spooky no matter how familiar the surroundings.

Taralde walks in the middle of the pack to stand amidst the Candidate. His stomach is tight with nervous excitement, worry, thrill… everything. All now. He's totally overwhelmed, but stands, quietly as the first egg cracks.

Daycen watches those eggs wiggling and rocking with a wary expression after they've all straightened from their bowing. Nope, he doesn't trust the sneaky little bastards inside those shells. And when the first one spills out he edges closer to some of the other candidates. "Bets on how long till someone gets bloody?" he mutters, out the side of his mouth.

In The Kingdom of Rust Bronze Dragonet tucks his wings to his side, once he's shaken off enough of the egg goo that was weighing him down a little. With that taken care of, the little bronze starts… going nowhere. No really, he doesn't move his feet. At all. Instead his muzzle goes down, into the sands, sniffling and snuffling about the tiny granules, moving bits of his former shell around before becoming entranced with an egg near him, in the middle of hatching. This is totally a wise usage of his time!

A Hut on Chicken Legs Egg shudders with an exorbitant amount of energy. Since the beginning of the hatching, this is one ovoid that has not stopped moving. It started with little shimmies, transitioned into bigger shakes, and hopped up into complete chaos. In one moment there is a whole, hale egg, in the next the shell is obliterated, small shards raining down on Conquering the Mountain Green Dragonet as she stands, fully exposed on the hatching grounds! Little wings are unfurled and that first movement is taken, only for the green dragonet to gracelessly stumble on some of her egg's remains. Balance restored after a few uneasy, wobbly steps, and off she trots, to her destiny!
Conquering the Mountain Green Dragonet
Huge and gnarled, this green dragon seems to tower over all she surveys, and yet she's no longer than the average dragon of her colour. It may have something to do with her build, lean and twisted, bending as easily as a tunnelsnake in the grass. It could be her limbs, longer than a dragon of her length should possess, all knobby kneed and oddly angled. Perhaps it's her wings, though the span is about right for her overall size, the sails cover more area than expected. In colouring, she's fairly drab, a greyish green over her body, with a pale mossy green seeping up from her toes. Wings are a rich canopy of leafy green, some segments of the sails more transparent than others, lending her shadow a dappled effect when her wings are outspread.
"Wowzers," is Ellen's… possibly out of place nonchalance, her invi-brows hiking up, "Bronze a'ready. There's luck in that." She doesn't really have a belt to hang her thumbs off, so she's propped her hands against the small of her back like it pains her, strolling along in front of Cerise and Dimitri like she'll lead them to … somewhere. Nevermind how twitchy-tense her legs are, knees warily bent for impromptu pivoting.

Dimitri wanders along with his group in the same way a student might walk into their last class of the day after having just taken a nap. That last part might be more true than the former. His grasp on his Cerise's hand is loose, but enough to lead the way. And, perhaps more importantly, lead her into a deep bow that somehow doesn't appear to wake him up any more from his sleepiness. His attention is squarely on other candidates, rather than the eggs. Though… maybe just one peek. Every now and then.

Touch Not The Cat Egg trembles under the weight of the creature within, and settles again. What a tease.

Conquering the Mountain Green Dragonet does not bother with that 'walking' thing. That earlier trot turns into more of a jogging run, passing by the other eggs as well as any clutchsiblings of hers that may be lingering around. As she begins to run faster and faster, the green dragonet seemingly forgets what she is supposed to be doing. Enjoying, instead, her sudden need for speed! Zipping around on the sands, running straight, before doing an abrupt turn and going right back to where she started.

Kapia's gaze locks on the first green to emerge, a little gasp of surprise and marveling escaping her. "Wow… she's beautiful, isn't she?" She all but whispers to her fellow candidates.

Yulena is much more distracted by the green who comes out next, eyeing her curiously. The bronze, however… huh. What is he doing out there? And the green. What on… Yulena's face reflects surprise and utter bemusement.

Maosa isn't so much holding Yulena's hand as allowing Yulena to hold hers, of course. Never you mind the tight squeeze of jungle-rough fingers. She's watching the dragonets take their first steps with wide-eyed fascination, but the cautious bounce of feet has 'ready to make a break for it if need be' written all over it.

Daycen squints. "Are they supposed to be doing that? That looks dangerous." He doesn't even gesture, but he IS obviously staring at zippy the hulking green wonder out there.

Oh hey dragons. Cerise drops her hand and blinks rapidly upon discovering a bronze lollygagger and an all too energetic green. "…wuh," is her sole remark. The crowd ignored- witnesses forgotten- she reaches out with her other hand and without thinking, takes Donner's. Any port in a storm, right? Plus, between Donner, Ellen and Dimitri, she's acquired something of a human shield.
Kultir wipes damp palms down his sides as he hangs back just a little, hesitant to get into the way of any of these dragonets. He may be used to the dragons … these hatchlings are another creature altogether, unpredictable and possibly dangerous. Amber eyes flit from bronze to green and back again to linger as he absorbs how such a small thing can grow to such a huge creature in a turn or so.

Sytin shuffles, the heat of his feet making him suddenly aware of his poorly shod soles. Thick wherhide or no, the sands are sharding hot! Hands look for something to do, first crossing over his chest and then moving to clench fists at his side. Kultir is spied and offered a faint smile before his eyes drift back to the newly exposed green. Sleepiness is certainly starting to wear off as reality is rapidly setting into his foggy brain.

Hannah leans into Dhiammarath as suddenly all of everything is happening at once. Eggs are shattering, dragonets are on the sands, the awlms getting ready to shepherd the new weyrlings — and where is the clutch father? In the thick of things? The galleries are glanced to, but let's face it, the action is all on the sands.

Taralde moves up to stand by Kultir. His eyes intent on the shuffling, shifting eggs and the dragonets taking their first steps. His eyes are wide with wonder and, though he's seen hatchings before, this is … different. The garroulous lad is speechless. He catches Kultir's eye and gives him a What are we in for? look, an uncertain grin on his face.

"Uh." Sweaty is the palm Cerise grabs, and if Donner were of any right state of mind other than panic, he'd be keeping a shit-eating grin right about now. But instead, he passes Cerise the most timid, panicked of looks. He's not thinking about boobs or babes right now. Right now he's in survival mode. "I really hope they're well adjusted things—" he mutters with a nod towards that very fast green and the metallic bronze. "If we don't move, maybe they can't see us."

Touch Not The Cat Egg gives many a vigorous shakes and shimmies. Leaving the sands time and time again as it hop, hop, hops in an attempt to release the dragonet inside. Though it might be slow going, every time the egg gets some air and comes back to the ground cracks form more and more. All the while getting larger and larger. Pieces of shell start to flick off, littering upon the hatching grounds. Finally there is one last mighty hop, some serious air is caught, before egg comes crashing down and everything shatters! Hunks of shell go this way and that, leaving only a decent sized shard laying perfectly on top of the head of Atop the Backs of Beasts Brown Dragonet. With his dainty hat sitting pretty on his person, the brown dragonet moves away from the remains of his confinement and towards the sea of white-robed figures. surely one of them will appreciate his sense of style!
Atop the Backs of Beasts Brown Dragonet
Rich walnut glosses over hale hide, burled darker in the rugged valleys between felt-soft ridges and whorled along the hard curve of muscle. From headknobs to haunches is laced the wet rings of a night well spent, copper dawn catching in the moist-latticed dappling. Cognac spills in a warmer splash down the brusque set of powerful limbs, pooling into the loamy earth that's tracked upon his overlarge paws. The thrown-open vest of his wings is chandelier-lit, golden glow gleaming amber-bright through sails pulled taught as bowstrings by the wine-stained knuckles of wingspars. Confidence refines the humble planes of his face, the blunt bulk of his snout carried high. Klahbark is dusted across the knowing arch of eyeridges and smudges, too, along the restless twist-curl of an eloquent tail.

Yulena is okay with letting Maosa wrangle the blood and life out of her hand, it's cool. Cerise's remark just happens at a quiet enough time that Yulena hears and looks over: "You'll be fine, Cerise." Reassuring, right? Maybe not with that little wobble at the end of Cerise's name. The shattering of the creepy-eyed egg gets a fascinated look from this ex-cook. A little squeeze of Maosa's hand. If her own is still attached.

Kultir grins back at Sytin and feels just a bit better before he catches sight of Taralde sidling up nearby. That same grin is flashed, along with a shrug of the shoulders before attention is returned to the sands. A brown, lovely coloring to that one too. Such wings would carry one far … just beautiful.

In The Kingdom of Rust Bronze Dragonet moves his head in motion with the shaking egg in front of him. Left, right, left, right, left, right. A shard goes flying and the bronze dragonet is suddenly running after it. It skids on the sand before coming to a stop, forcing the baby dragon to do the same. His muzzle is down again, though he's moving in a weird circle, shuffling sideways all the while keeping nostrils in contact with that little part of shell. Head is lifted, right paw is as well, before it comes down on the shard and giving a CRUNCH! Satisfaction radiates from this dragonet's swirling eyes.

Maosa leans a little closer to Yulena, eyes flicking intently from dragonet to dragonet to dragonet. "Didn't think it would be this fast," she says, just loud enough to carry over the pellmell. "Lookit the claws on those things!" Crushing grip aside, she says it with admiration.

Ellen makes with a fair braced stance, weight coming down on heels as she regards the growing number of dragonets with a very sharp-eyed speculation. Squiiiint. "Naw," she assures Donner. "They'll still eat the shit outta you. Right on out." She gives him a good hard PAT on the back though, like GO GET 'EM TIGER.

Daycen has his hands clasped behind his back for a reason. He'd like to keep as much blood in good circulation as possible, thank you! Just in case.

Dimitri seems entirely fine with standing almost perfectly still, eyes scanning just briefly over Hannah (and an attempt at what she's looking at) before he looks to his sister instead. And lets his hand slip from hers to sock her in the shoulder. None too gently. "Lookit you. You little girl." Finally, a grin. Only to be distracted, a moment later, by the dragonets. Quite possibly because of what Ellen's saying. Or their antics. Who knows.

Atop the Backs of Beasts Brown Dragonet shakes egg-goo off with flair, spreading his wings wide. Enough egg-goo is removed that he feels cameoflauged enough — and so he huffs noisily as he walks purposefully toward the sea of Candidates before him. His wings are held high with a dramatic air, and as he reaches the first wave of Candidates, he pauses. Each candidate is considered with an intense gaze. No, none of these are what he seeks - they're not right. With a quick lash of his tail, he dismisses a boy from Nowtime Ista Hold and stalks onward as he continues perusing the selection before him. An annoyed chuff is released as he looks back toward his dam, as if saying 'Mom, these are no good. do I have to?' before he continues on his quest…shoving right through a knot of candidates too slow to move out of his way. Onward to find the right game!

Conquering the Mountain Green Dragonet snaps her head up suddenly, as mostly all of the small pieces of shell shards are now ground into practically nothing. Something tickles at her senses, a feeling of urgency takes her. Taking off at a dead run, she goes, goes, goes. Away from the mound of remaining eggs for the second time and towards the intermingling candidates. She weaves in and out of the singles and the groups, never stopping the extreme amount of speed that are pumping through her little green legs. Wait! Wait! There! There it is! Right, smack dab in front of her. There is some massive backpedaling needed as talons desperately grasp for traction. Her fast is downgraded to merely a little quick just in time for her form to connect with that of a teenager with pale, ash blonde hair and hazel eyes. With her head well snuggled into Kapia's midsection, the two are able to remain standing, though not without the inevitable. Eyes meet eyes and Impression is made!

The sudden arrival of a richly hued brown draws Sytin's attention for a moment before he grins, nervous and excitement rising in equal measure as the chaos proves to be this youth's element! He looks through the sea of Candidates and tosses Dimitri and Cerise a grin. And then the first Impression is made and the lad actually jumps up and down — excitement or relief for his feet? — with a wave to Kapia.

Yulena nods at Maosa, even if the other girl can't exactly see it, so focused on the dragonets. "They're pretty magnificent," she tells the mountain girl back - watching the brown briefly, and then the green moves quickly and Yulena lets out a oooh, "Kapia!" she cheers. Fist pump!

"Oh shut up," Donner grunts towards Ellen with a panicked scowl, hand flexing against Cerise's palm. Apparently the guy is totally not able to process jokes today. "I'm sure they aren't all thathungry for us." He can't even finish that sentence, because then that green slams right into Kapia for the first impression. "Oh Look! Kapia just I'm NOT MAKING YOUR BED ANYMORE." Donner sudden yells out towards the newly minted green rider.

Thrice And Done Egg sits serenely in the midst of chaos, the quiet tick of time moving forward without its particular attention.

Taralde can't help but smile as Kapia's Impression is made. He's wearing a big dopey grin.

Maosa follows the source of Yulena's ooh, and lets forth a loud whistle, like she's applauding a Harper's performance. "Kapia! She's a beaut!"

Sleepless Savagery Egg shifts, just a little bit, here and there. Or did it? It's so hard to tell, with the light as it is in here.

Cerise rocks closer to Donner when she's smacked, but that treat is brief. Soon enough she's hunkering in close to Dimitri again with her shoulder practically tucked in against his ribs. "Shut up," she mutters at him. Hazel eyes flick hither and yon, trying to keep a bead on any incoming threats- these are, after all, the same infants who began their reign of terror long before breaking shell. When first Impression is made without bloodshed however, she summons a weak cheer for Kapia. "Felicitations!"

Kapia is just stunned for a moment, jaw literally hanging open. "S… Salanaith?" She repeats, staring at the green with marveling admiration. The encouraging words are heard, but all her focus is on her new lifemate. She sniffles, tears of happiness falling down her cheeks as she throws her arms around the dragonet. "Yes! I'm… Kaia. Let's go find you something to eat!" Laughing with shock, she tries to lead her new lifemate from the sands.

My What Big Teeth You Have Egg is still. Silent. Or is it?

Kultir's attention was drawn by the quick moving green and lets out a whoop of congratulations to Kapia as the dragonet looks her in the eyes. Soon enough, he turns back to the eggs and the dragonets still wandering the sands. Quick glance means a brown and a bronze still have yet to choose. Another hand swipe to remove sweat from palms and a gulp.

There is Ja'kai, to the side, a formidible force half-undone by the fact that the undershirt he apparently wore to bed was PINK. Like bright pink. LENDAI pink. "Kapia," he calls to the newly Impressed; "Come over here, my dear." Only when she's closer: "Or is it Kaia now?" He guides the pair off the Sands.

Of course the dragon's would hatching at this hour. Getting dressed was a rush but Th'seus does make it onto the sands, a bit of time after the first egg has hatched. So he looks little disheveled. Vossuth keeps to the edge of things, decidedly not involved in this part of the process.

In The Kingdom of Rust Bronze Dragonet has enjoyed his romp through the remaining shells that once held his clutchmates, as well as the other eggs that still wait to hatch. One final crunch at the piece of egg beneath his paw and the bits are shaken free. Aaah, that felt good. His focus shifts, changes, the urgency to do more suddenly taking hold. There's no need to meander through the candidates, as from the very beginning this dragonet already knew who would be his. It was foretold, it was destined, all those months ago when hand touched shell and mouth spewed on sands. Moving down, across the sands, past several groups of candidates until he stops, with no rush, right at Dimitri's feet — what, you thought standing with Cerise and Ellen and pretending to sneak looks at the dragonets would protect you? Think AGAIN. In The Kingdom of Rust Bronze Dragonet's rump lowers and he sits, all while flaring out those two wings and jerking his head up and down, up and down. Hey dude. It's time to look at me now!
In the Kingdom of Rust Bronze Dragonet turns his jewel faceted eyes toward Dimitri, and steps forward.

Daycen has a vague smile for Kapia as she impresses; though he seems more -nervous- on her behalf then anything else. And then the bigass bronze who stops in front of Dimitri. Whoah! "Well, that's a surprise."

Taralde laughs as the bronze chooses Dimitri. "Oh boy." He grins lopsided. "We're really in for it."

Yulena is looking over to reassure Cerise again just in time to see the bronze catch Dimitri's attention, and is… stunned to silence. Whoa. And then, Yulena starts to laugh.

Atop the Backs of Beasts Brown Dragonet is distracted as one of the other eggs shifts, and glances back at his dam briefly. He was going to continue his quest, Mom, he swears! But the other eggs are just so fascinating! He pokes his snout against one of the still unhatched eggs, and then investigates this pile of eggshards here. Remembering that he's supposed to be meeting people, he heads off to thoroughly investigate another group of candidates — only to get distracted by the sand at his feet. As it trips him. Atop the Backs of Beasts Brown Dragonet looks much aggrieved by this transgression upon the Sands' part, and huffs at it angrily as he investigates the cause for his tripping. Finding nothing, he once again approaches those in white — but still, something's not quite right.

Ellen comments, idly, "Don't think your supposed t'be doing felicitations when you're a candidate." But it comes out very distracted on the side - she then opens her throat around a brusk "Ieieieiei!" Cheer for Kapia OH CRAP and Dimitir. Her raised and pumping fist DROPS, looking… actually a little stunned. Which means she's mouth-breathing. "…Dims?"

Thrice And Done Egg shifts in the sandy wallow Dhiammarath has so nicely carved out for it. Once… twice… thricely does it wiggle, almost toppling with each shudder. Only after the third iteration does the shell crackle away in long shards, remainders of the shell rising in a powdery mushroom-cloud of egg-dust and goo. In the remains does the inhabitant cower, one head tucked under a wing: Faranth oh FARANTH, is the exploding over with?! Slowly that wing shifts and a narrow head peeks out: wait, it isn't the end of the world? Oh, well then. A brief inventory of physicalities: talons, tails and wings accounted for; well then. Head jauntily turns to the heavens and he moves out from the crater of his eggshell, only to fall flat on his face. He … meant to do that, really.
The Realm Unseen Bronze Dragonet
Behold, the brassy brilliance of charisma, the coppered confidence of bourbon: behold a sparse frame and burnished hide mere lodgment for the soul within. Seek not the cumbersome weight of armored dreadnoughts, for he lies not overburdened by physical imposition - t'is comedy that cants the angles of his headknobs, and intellect that draws heavensward his brow. Angular are the lines of his frame, cut sharp as if designed especially thrift with provision to bulk, but spendthrift for vivid veneer. An arcane glow suffuses the underlying mahogany of hide, exalting it far beyond mere copper or brass to the triumphant glory of aureate titian. Superior, the swiftness of sleek sails coined new-penny copper; exultant the high sweep of citrus-tipped neckridges; hallowed the autocratic lines of osseous face, insolence incarnate. Time as told claims measure in the weathering of slim-built paws tarnished brass and the spoilt-bistre sweep of concave underbelly, but touches not the triumph of skyborne wings, unsullied. Indeed, scintillating motes of incandescence gather at the points of mainsail and trailing edge, coruscating in paired double-helixes that seem unwontedly cheerful. These ageless inscriptions wind each about a single mote of pulsar-blue, as if wards set against entropy's inroading darkness.

No sooner is Kapia — Kaia? — being led off the sands than the bronze suddenly choose his lifemate and Sytin's eyes widen in shock and surprise as the beast lays down before DImitri. And then a broad grin splits his face and he's cheering. "YA HA! GO DIMITRI!" he shouts.

Maosa swerves her narrowed eyes from dragonets to her Sands companion, eyeing the laughing Yulena with a bemused expression. "That's Cerise's brother, idin't?" She doesn't bother keeping THE BOYS straight, what. "Good on him?"

Does Hannah snicker a little at Th'seus's sudden (LATE) arrival? Yes! But then Impressions are made. A few eggs nearest to the goldrider hatch, impressing a trio of greens to weyrfolk from distant shores. It's chaos, pure chaos, on the sands with forty-two eggs hatching. Some of the ones in the back are silent and still.

"Oh, woah!" Donner is quick to sidestep away from where Dimitri is standing, away from the dragon. Away from that. "Cerise, look! Your brother impressed!" You know, in case she HASN't seen it. "Good luck to the weyr, I suppose." Is he still holding onto Cerise's hand? Who knows.

Kultir whoops again, this time for Dimitri. "Bronze? Way to go, Legs!" he calls to the older Candidate … now a Weyrling. His attention returns to the roaming brown and now a bronze emerges as well. That coppery hide practically gleams.

Sidhe Season Egg is as all the seasons, quiet and lovely and ever-changing… yet

"K… Kaia." Kaia confirms for Ja'kai, still getting used to that herself. She seems unable to tear her eyes from her new lifemate as she follows along off the sands. "Is there food? She's really hungry…"

Bright Night Light Egg quivers ever so slightly, making those luminous red and green waves appear to undulate across its surface.

Cerise, like Ellen, is poleaxed when the bronze ever so politely summons their attention to him. Or summons Dimitri's attention. "Wait, that wasn't the egg," she starts to say before realizing she should probably drop her brother's hand. That is maybe the hardest thing she's ever had to do…but somehow she succeeds. And while he's distracted, maybe even tears up a little to see him claimed.

Yulena is nodding and laughing and nodding again, nearly wiping tears, and slowly calms herelf down, to tell Maosa, "Yup, that's him. There'll be bubbly pies for this…" The new bronze is oohed at as well, though Yulena eyes the other shaking eggs as well.
Sytin's attention is going every which way now, trying to keep up with the chaos that is exploding around him. Bronze, brown, and more eggs rocking to break shell. Hand moves to the back of his now sweaty neck, nervousness and excitement flowing from every pore now.

Atop the Backs of Beasts Brown Dragonet is quite ready to be done. His thorough inspection of the remainder of his eggs, a few nearby candidates, as well as the sand itself has gotten a little dull. It's time, past time even, for him to finish up this little meet-and-greet he's got going on. Across the sands the brown starts to wander, more focused on what is ahead of him as he passes by group after group of the white-clad candidates. It does not take long to reach his quarry; this hunt is now over. His head is inclined, a proper hello given, to the tall and rather muscular woman. Atop the Backs of Beasts Brown Dragonet lifts himself up now as he meets his swirling eyes, flecked with red from hunger, with those of the greenish-brown hued lass. Will my lady join me on this adventure? Yulena gets a creel before the brown butts his maw into her midsection. The adventure of forever.
Atop the Backs of Beasts Brown Dragonet turns his jewel faceted eyes toward Yulena, and steps forward.

Daycen glances over at Cerise, a little curious. A little concerned. "You alright?" What? He can be nice even those he's a guy! Besides, it's a distraction from the crowd of dragonets around them. Annnnd, there goes Yulena!

Dimitri looks— down. Wait. "Wait— wait wait. Cerise? This one—" No more grinning now. Nope. He looks over ONCE MORE to the egg the dragonet in front of him came from, but it's too late for denial. A few moments later and he's staring down at the bronze with the colour draining from his face, and a distinct lack of movement save for the breath he needs to draw in to say, with quite some amount of confusion, "… Chorzeczoyth?"

The Realm Unseen Bronze Dragonet ruminates for just a moment as sand settles in dusty waves over his goo covered form. Slowly he attempts to take upon the persona of nonchalance as he wobbles upwards, a guarded look cast around around to check the progress of his clutchmates who break free of their individual prisons around him. There's a leg, oh, and another one, all in one piece. Careful attention is paid to each body part, the movement of white-robed creatures ignored for the moment in favor of a full body check-over, there's no need to rush these things after all.

Ja'kai's face: a grimace, a little bit? "Dimitri." His stoic expression is for his latest headache. "Over here." There's less enthusiasm, for SOME REASON. Wonder why.

Taralde takes a calming breath, the swirling of impressions and Impressions, it's something he wants to hold onto. He breathes in, out. In…. out. He glances up at the hatching cavern roof, the howling soothing somehow…

Snicker away, woman. Th'seus gives Hannah a little look out of the corner of his eyes and murmurs a quiet, "Someone's been keeping me up." The impression of the dragons of course, catches his attention and this is the part he's always been more interested in. So it pulls his eyes away from her as he rakes his hands through messy hair.

Donner is too overwhelmed, knocking into Cerise with one boney shoulder. "It's alright." He mutters the entertainer's way, shifting his own feet as he throws the most sympathetic of smiles her way. "Here." he makes a motion with his open hand, looking up only to just miss Yulena's impression. "Oh! Oh LOOK. Yeah! Yulena!" Claps. Lots of claps here.

Kultir runs hands up over his face, nervous sweat trickling down and tickling his neck gets swept up into his hair. At that moment he catches sight of the brown headbutting Yulena. "Yulena!! Yes!" he laughs, a brown … how appropriate!

Yulena is laughing, there is laughing, there is… something hitting her in the midsection. "Stop it, Maosa…" Nope, that's bigger than a hand, and Yulena looks down into the eyes of the brown, and falls to one knee, hands resting on his shoulders. "Desmeth!"

My What Big Teeth You Have Egg shivers; the wait is over as the stillness held to until this moment is released. Tilting to the left, tilting to the right, until finally this small egg tilts over and rolls in the sands to land in the remains of another egg. Cracks form in the egg's pristine surface, a rat-a-tap-tap heard before the brittle surface shatters. Gone is the carnelian and rose, the creams and rubies. Where there was once an egg, now there is only the poised stance of Really Bad Feeling About This Blue Dragonet.
Really Bad Feeling About This Blue Dragonet
Silvered-blue fades to careworn steel along the gruff lines of this scruffy fellow, battered plasteel scuffed above an even coat of primer-coat azure. Weathered his wings and weary of the world, an aura of cynicism lifts sails in vast darkness of universal night; supernova brightness whorls through the midnight sky-sails as fanciful constellations, asymmetrical to any starcrafter's charts. Frosted ice highlights the staunch curve of hard muscle packed well-compact and short-coupled through the width of chest and round of haunch, giving the impression of a larger bulk than he possesses. The elegant lines of brow and 'ridge redeem his battered frame, turning scruff into charm and wear into that which is comfortably broken in: tattered he may be but disheartened he is not, courage of the ages rampant in the stubborn set of obstinate jaw.

Maosa is, on one hand, disappointed to lose her Sands buddy, and she's scurrying hastily away from the young brown, taking good advantage of her quick reflexes and too-warm feet. But on the other hand: "Yulena!" She lets out another whistle, then starts clapping with ENTHUSIASM.

Taralde cheers for Yulena, grin plastered nearly permanently on his face.

Cerise has a free hand (yep, Donner still has the other one) and she briskly sets about knuckling away her tears with it. To Daycen's question, she says, "No. He's gone now. To Chorwhatsith." Gone but safe! For…for now? Maybe? With a last sniff, she deliberately turns her eyes away from Dimitri with his bronze in order to look at the other- wha? "…Yulena? Faranth's tits!"
More enthusiasm for THIS one. Even though she's a girl. On a fighting dragon. "Yulena!" so calleth Ja'kai, gesturing. "Come on, my girl."

The brown finally makes his decision and Sytin beams at his favorite cook. "Congratulations!" He calls with a hearty clap as the bond is formed. But then their is a bronze, followed shortly by a blue. Woah. That bronze catches his eye with it's metallic hues, his inner Smith drooling over the shine.

Hannah does snicker. "MMMM-HMMM." But then, Dimitri impresses. "What the…?" Who let that one in? Wait. "Yulena. Now she's a good girl for brown." Commentary? Right?

L'ri steps forward to catch Yulena's attention with a polite smile. "Over hear, please, Yulena." He says with a little smile. "Desmeth, is it?"

Sleepless Savagery Egg shifts and shakes, shuddering with dire portent. The time has come. Briers and brambles turn into tinder as the shell flakes away, a little at a time. When the occupant therein finally rises from the dust, he does so with a surprising minimum of egg-goo, stepping forth with purpose as if chased by some force beyond comprehension… or perhaps pushed by one, to seek out what lies beyond.
In Soviet Southern Aliens Conspiracy You Blue Dragonet
Conspiracy clads this slender blue in conservative attire tailored for his sighthound-sleek build: classic-cut his hide, a navy suit seen through a modest veiling of smoke. Pinstriped indigo neatly lines the patrician sweep of snout and buttons smartly up the aerodynamic calculus of elongated neckridges; below and beneath, everyman paisley faintly patterns the hollow of his narrow chest. Coat-tail wingsails rise in clandestine disguise, though the papyrus-thin translucence of gunmetal sails remain inadequate to cover-up the enigmatic map of ichor'd veins that sprawls as a mystery unsolved. An uncanny core under covert camouflage, innocuous he would remain but for a brilliant mask of truthseeker blue blazoned under canted eyeridges, a paradox rendered in cerulean.

"Oh, he's going to have a good time with that." Th'seus replies when he watches Dimitri impress. There's definitely a hint of amusement to the corners of his mouth, tugging upwards as he side-eyes the goldrider again. "Indeed." He agrees on the subject of Yulena and then, "So strong clutch so far."

Oh screw it, Donner isn't all so innocent to see an opportunity. He throws a long arm over Cerise's shoulder's an actual gesture of comfort for the woman. "It's okay. It'll be okay." He gives her a shoulder squeeze, not at all creepy, promise, alternating between looking at her and surveying the sands, eyes scoped to the bronze and two blues on the sands. "And look, Yulena and Dimitri will be together now. So far, so good, right?"

As Yulena and Desmeth (!!!) start for the sidelines, Maosa is left… alone. ALL ALONE. But she's got her chin up and her feet flexed to fight (or flee), eyeing the two baby blues with near-equal amounts of wary-eyed fascination — though the latter gets a distinct stare. "What's he hiding?" she demands, like that's a question she can get an answer for.

Kultir attention is diverted from the bronze to the two blues that crack their shells almost at the same time. Both unique in their colorations. The normally stoic boy is jittering with nerves, practically dancing as he shuffles and shifts his feet. Eyes dart from egg to dragonet to fellow Candidate to those who've already Impressed and back again. He wishes he dared to glance up to the stands but he's almost too afraid to do that right now.

Really Bad Feeling About This Blue Dragonet gives a shake, sending egg shards and goo flying. A visual inventory is given with the unfurling of his wings, the lash of his tail and the dig of talons into the heated sands. Once everything is in order, the checklist completed, the little blue is off like a shot, barreling through the crowd of dragonets. Unlike the goo-covered dragnets and candidates around him, he knows exactly what coordinates he needs to hit to find his second-in-command.

Body parts checked out The Realm Unseen Dragonet twists his attention outwards from himself. Dude. Did someone start a party without him? If so, it's a pretty piss poor party? Where is the music man? Wiry limbs shake once, then twice, settling themselves up for the task of actually having to move- this party really should not have begun without his presence! He attempts to pull dignity together as he flicks his wings outwards and resettles them on his back. Right. There are women to be wooed and taken home this night! A slow mincing step is taken forward, the wobbling ruining the whole effect.

Taralde turns and catches Maosa's eye, he nods his head, C'mere. Grinning at the feline-wild Candidate.

Backing up, Ellen bumps the back of a shoulder up against Cerise's side. Silently. Still staring after Dimitri. But it's Donner she looks to, solemnly for a moment - like 'agh, what do you do, man.' And snorts through her nose. Like BULL.

Donner has to mack it even in the worst possible moments. What do you expect from him, Ellen? Common!

Another blue makes his appearance and Sytin turns a slightly startled glance at it, trying to follow Aaron's advice and not get run over by any of the less than agile hatchlings as they try to find their way to their chosen and preferred. Amber eyes dart, a nervous swallow bobbing his throat.

It's only when Desmeth croons some urgent need that Yules looks up to him and nods, rising to her feet and moving out of the main confusion.

Daycen kind of has to stare at Donner there. "Dude, for real? even I know better then that." he hisses. Which, let's be honest… that's not saying much.

Maosa scowls intensely at Taralde. SHE IS STRONG WOMAN SHE NEEDS NO COMPANIONSHIP. It is purely coincidence that she sidles in his direction, half an eye ever on the large winged animals with maws and teeth. She has priorities.

In Soviet Southern Aliens Conspiracy You Blue Dragonet moves forwards swiftly, taking no time after his expedited extradition from his shell to leave the remains of that RIDICULOUS prison far behind. Seriously. Whoever thought Ichabod Crane would make a good egg inspiration? Dumbass. Hearing hoofbeats all freaking day long gets old really quick. Oh. Oh. WAIT. MAYBE IT'S A CONSPIRACY. He roams headfirst into the crowd, and there is nary an inch of him out of place; he is sure and suave and eye-catching in a type of understated brilliance. He stops to sniff at a tall boy… or perhaps the better statement is that he slows down to do so. That one doesn't cut it, evidently, so he moves forwards with alacrity again. ZOOM ZOOM. The faster you go the BETTER. People can't, like. Steal your shit. Or your braincells. Because idea thieves are the worst.

Cerise completes the comfort chain by tucking her own arm over Ellen's shoulder. She doesn't appear to have noticed Donner's opportunity seizing, at least for the moment. Right now, no matter if it hinders escape attempts, she needs her people. Or some people. Her folks. Her eyes remain reddened but active in seeking out the activity on the sands, the hither and yon of dragonets stumbling for their matches. "…ugh, it's too hot," she eventually says, treating Donner to an elbow in the ribs.
Taralde rubs his hand over his face. Whoa. Sweaty. He tugs at the robe, fluttering it to vainly circulate some air. He moves a little closer to Maosa, not much, and certainly not while looking at her.

The Realm Unseen Bronze Dragonet is now fully recovered from his faceplant, and thus he moves forwards. Talons dig into the sand, and there is only a moment to look back once again — but the past is the past, is it not? And the present is now. Critical regard is given to the offerings arrayed. A tall lad from the mountains is veered around; no, not you, son. An inquisitive sniff of a quiet Nabolese, white-faced; no, he wont do, either. Wind and whimsy turns the bronze about abruptly, unerring in his steps to stop precisely before one of the youngest on the sands: his tail wraps around the dark-headed Smith boys ankles, and his eyes gaze upwards, seeming to glow in the golden moment of Impression.
The Realm Unseen Bronze Dragonet turns his jewel faceted eyes toward Sytin, and steps forward.

Sidhe Season Egg is majestic and solemn and surprisingly SILENT. Maybe … maybe this one's a dud. Has it moved? At all? Any?

Taralde grins as the dragonet approaches Sytin. He backs away, those wings span wider than you might think.

Whistle in the Wind Egg starts to vibrate, the tiny, nearly-invisible motions blurring the details of its shell.

Maosa and Taralde, totally not standing together. "Ugh," she complains, in an undertone just barely audible. "Watching 'em move is giving me a headache." Her narrowed eyes land on Sytin just as the baby bronze claims him, and she says, nonchalant, "Well, there's another down." Hurray for Sytin!

Bright Night Light Egg is shivering more perceptibly now — are those the same star-like pinpricks at its apex, or has it begun to fracture?

In Soviet Southern Aliens Conspiracy You Blue Dragonet is still on the prowl, weaving through the ranks with entirely no thought for the tradition of approaching the loosely-gathered candidates. He is officially Behind Enemy Lines, and going at a dangerous velocity: he bobs and weaves, almost running down that scrawny kid from Nerat before veering at the last moment. He seems to be focused on something in the distance, though, and his already speedy steps speed up to something just slow of a run. SORRY GUYS GOTTA RUN BECAUSE ALIENS. Or maybe whers. Seriously. Dudes. Dudes. Have anyone ever seen anything more freaky? They ARE freaky. … because aliens.

"This is a strong — did that child just Impress that dragon?" Hannah might have been entirely derailed by Sytin's Impression, even going so far as to give Th'seus's shirt a yank. Just in case he missed it.

Really Bad Feeling About This Blue Dragonet's trek across the sands might be filled with apparent uncertainty — the tripping, the near crashing, the series of unfortunate events — but purpose is driven here. From the sea of white-robed figures, only one calls to him to play the part of his second in command. After all, if a bad feeling about this bad plan exists, it's best to have the best there is. Thus, Really Bad Feeling About This Blue Dragonet falls into Taralde, his chosen.
Really Bad Feeling About This Blue Dragonet turns his jewel faceted eyes toward Taralde, and steps forward.

Kultir steps out of the way of the roaming blue just in time to see the gorgeous bronze look Sytin in the eyes and is just stunned. A moment of silence then a yell of victory is shouted, "Yes! Yesyesyes!" A drop of something … a tear or sweat rolls down his cheek as he sends a thumbs up to his friend. "I knew it!"

"Oft" Donner takes the elbow to the rib with grace, and by grace, he takes it with an unexpectant intake of breath. Hands on knees, he catches Sytin's impression with a raise of brows. "REALLY?" Oh, ever so diplomatic is Donner, and his face knits into the most perplexed of looks. "But. But. He hasn't even hit puberty yet!" Ah, Donner's fake mortal enemy has impressed. "Well, congrats you little punk." That is said to no one in particular.

"Hey that's my child!" Well, uh. Not exactly. "Vossuth chose him." Just in case that needed clarification. Sytin is young enough to be one of Th'seus' kids. If he had kids. Which he doesn't. And if he did Sytin wouldn't be- Oh, you get the point.

"You child." Hannah does give a brow quirk at that, about to ask some /really/ uncomfortable questions when a another series of eggs hatch, closer to the bulk of the action, spilling out two bronzes and a brown. In fact, the browns seem to be clustered all together. It's like Dhiammarath KNEW when she was laying the lines of her eggs…"

"What," comments Maosa, eyes following the zippiest dragonet with great wariness, "does that blue know that we don't? Is something about to — oh, bother, you too?" SCOOT SCOOT SCOOT away. She does whistle again, though. Someone explained Polite Enthusiasm to her, after all.

Bright Night Light Egg trembles as cracks race up it's sides, severing red from silver waves as the egg shivers in anticipation. A light tap, nearly lost in the sound and excitement of the hatching, pushes forward on the crack causing a large chunk to detach and shatter as it hits the sands, leaving a dark hole behind. Then- movement, the shell dissolving suddenly under an inward onslaught, leaving shards surrounding a bundle of bronze wings, feet, and talons snarled together in a hapless ball. Sand splays into the air as wings and limbs twist to their right angles, checking - no one saw that, right?
Knight's Endless Watch Bronze Dragonet
Timeless is this dark-hued bronze, permanence promised in the solid brawn of his frame. His handsomely chiseled head retains an angular perfection which gradually errodes along the steady march of ridges. Sails, great and wide, are spun from the woolen dark of night's deepest shadow within which the barest traces of star mist may be gleaned. The honed leanness of shoulder and haunch heroically bear the weight of eons, staunch against the ebb and flow of history's tides, the trace of which may be found in a grizzled patina deposited upon his light-sprung barrel and creeping along the steady lash of his tail. Brighter burnishing chases along the folds of muscular limbs, a dull gleam at the friction points of weather-worn armour. Dexterous paws are polished to guilded dawn-light and set with dull emerald claws.

In Soviet Southern Aliens Conspiracy You Blue Dragonet slows his frenetic pace — abruptly, rather, coming to a sudden and unanticipated halt. He sees not the longing looks cast his way, instead focusing upon the nearest cluster of candidates with wariness etched into the lines of his stance. There is obviously more at work here than is obvious at first glance. He makes to slink past them in a wide circle, so preoccupied by keeping a close watch on the tall and burly boy at the forefront that he nearly stumbles over the feet of a dark-haired local girl — a really local girl. His head butts into her midrift, and only after the collision do his eyes rise in belated understanding. Coincidence? Nothing in life ever is, Maosa.
In Soviet Southern Aliens Conspiracy You Blue Dragonet turns his jewel faceted eyes toward Maosa, and steps forward.

"Yeah- Wait. No, not my son or anything. Just searched- you know what I mean, woman." Th'seus waves his hand at her. Oh nevermind. It's way too early for this kind of thing.

Somehow the hot sand beneath his feet doesn't matter as that bronze tail snakes around his ankles and time simply stops in the moment of that soulgaze. Breathing stops, eyes wide, locked in the depths of this other's soul. Then the clock resumes again and Sytin suddenly gasps, reaching out to touch the muzzle of this brazen creature, a lanky grin crossing his face as he chuckles. "I am hardly a fat hog. But I'm certain we can rustle up some grub around here somewhere, Iaxryth." He jerks his head and moves as the tail releases him, peering quizzically at the dragonet. "S'yn?"

Kultir rather belatedly yells again for Taralde's Impression as well. "Way to go!" is offered as he watches his new friend pair off with the blue. Attention drawn to the other blue and blinks as Maosa too is taken from the sands by another blue. He swallows hard, they're falling like flies here. Well, not falling but … yeah.

Whistle in the Wind Egg remains subdued, just steadily rocking. It sways from side to side, the dance of tiny earthquakes creating hairline fissures through the ruddy surface. And then, with a single hop for a finale, one side of the shell breaks off to fall cleanly away, revealing a large pale green still curled into a ball. Her dark, damp lids open with a flutter and Mistress of Her Own Destiny Green Dragonet slowly begins straightening herself from her coil to step out onto her half-shell and face the world.
Mistress of Her Own Destiny Green Dragonet
The rounded simplicity of delicate celadon hide bestows a certain elegance upon this large and elongated green. Little definition is to be found in the plush slope of shoulder and haunch, lending feminine softness where so many profess strength. There is greater severity in her sharply refined features; small eyes lidded with deeper jade are set in high prominence above the narrowing beak of her snout. Heated cinnamon dusts wingspars, their spindled length supporting the curvaceous velvet of honeydew sails. Her only real adornment is the gleam of glassy jewel tones along her neckridges, cascading down her spine like a string of exquisite beads.

Cerise is hardpressed to keep up with the rapid rate of Impressions. Fog, dragonets, egg shells and people departing the pack, falling left and right. She might have elbowed Donner away but she's keeping a firm grip on his hand too, and making certain Ellen remains directly beside her. "S'goin' fast," she brogues distractedly, with a faint note of relief.

D'tri is still just looking down. Excuse me is anything else going on? Oh right. Feeding. Or something. When he finally does move over to Ja'kai's side along with Chorzeczoyth, he shows very few signs of sentience. And may just nearly be tripping over himself on the way, staring at— his new lifemate? Not comprehending. At least he hasn't thrown up yet. But he doesn't look far from it. Might want to close his mouth at some point.

Taralde is gobstruck. He goes to a knee, heat, nerves, fear… all fade. Forgotten in an endless moment. His wingman. For all their days. His eyes flood with tears at the touch of the mind on his. He reaches out to touch the muzzle and then buries it's little face and chest in an embrace. He stands, head high, eyes glistening, "Esanth." He bows to the clutchparents and moves off with Esanth to… to the rest of everything. Together.

And then there goes Maosa. Donner is wavering in his stance, jerking his boney frame back and forth with the most worried of glances. If he'd had been bluffing about not wanting to impress, well, his face belies that logic. He's bumping back into Cerise with a worried look, an honest look filtering across his face. "Shards Cerise. Can I confess something." Death bed confession perhaps? A confession of love and adoration? Nope. "I'm nearly going to piss m'self." Gulp. "M'scared."

Oh hi, Cerise. Daycen sidles in closer to those who are left. The movement plasters already barely fitted white cotton against his skin in a decidedly ghostly manner, as he comments in agreement. "Thankfully. Maybe the air outside will feel cool in comparison."

The hatching is slowly beginning to wind down. The insanity of crazy-fast moonlit Impressions are beginning to slow… and as a matter of fact there lies only a single egg unhatched: only one, and bets are already circulating that it must be a dud.

"Muh-huh — wait, another bronze." Hannah does see this as a good thing. All the Impressions — "The wild girl?!" Hey, there's another strange one to the bunch. A look is given down the line of Impressions. "Hey, seems like drunken feline hunting is a good thing."

Ellen remains steadily solid, hard (frumpy), with her jaw set and her eyes - well there's dust in the air, shut up. These are people she's spent a lot of time around and big Life Changes are happening. She's just going to headbutt at the side of Donner's arm. With a forehead. "Dropping like flies," she agrees. Muffled. With Cerise.

Kultir swallows hard as so many of his friends are leaving the sand with their new lifemates. His eyes flick between bronze and green, both lovely creatures already … how can they become moreso?

"Oh." Maosa's voice has a strange hazy note to it, her attention rapt on the blue before her. She reaches out on an instinct to scritch an egg-damp headknob. "You did know something we didn't." There is a moment of solemn contemplation, girl and blue, before she shrugs with cheerful fatalism. "Alright. Come along, Osweith, let's get you grub."

Knight's Endless Watch Bronze Dragonet leaves his tumble and his shell behind without a backward glance. Not that hes leaving quickly, with those big dark wings dragging in Southerns whorled sands. Theyre tangling him up a little, not to mention the grains of white and black starting to pepper his coating of egg goo — the annoyance of it shows as intensified orange flickers within the hungry rainbow of faceted eyes as he shakes a paw loose here and hauls a spar out of the way there. In his distraction of turning to look at a foot, he nearly collides with Mistress of Her Own Destiny Green Dragonet as she steps out of her shell. Eyelids blink as he swivels a look over her, his big paws just manage to skitter him safely to the side. Oh hello.

Mistress of Her Own Destiny Green Dragonet begins to stretch tentatively, but the sudden proximity of Knights Endless Watch Bronze Dragonet gives her quite a start! Unsettled, she draws away so he can pass without a tangle of uncoordinated limbs, her scurried steps smashing the fragments of broken shell beneath her feet. After a cool look toward her brother, she bows her pointed snout to inspect the sand, talons taking a moment to flex through the shards and feel the sharp crunch of her former confines. Captive no more, she turns her eyes to the stands, slowly recognizing the mass of shapes for what they are. Her wings fan out, perhaps in delight at first, but then they stay that way, waving gently to dry them in the hot air.

Sidhe Season Egg is so forlorn: the very last, the very last. Silent. Unhatched. Unmoving. Is there life within? Do the colors of all seasons slowly turn to the grey death of beyond ::between::?

Yules is busy whispering little sweet nothings to Desmeth until he croons a little urgently at her. Oh yes, you'd think the ex-cook is better at feeding people, so as she and Desmeth make their way over to the Weyrlingmaster, Yules looks up into the Galleries with a fierce, happy expression before they finish their trek.

Kultir's nervous laughter comes out as a titter, odd coming from a not so small boy but nerves are playing havoc making him find amusement anywhere. The bronze's antics perhaps being the cause though more likely his own thoughts running round and round in his head.

Cerise grimaces. "If you're going to pee, pee somewhere else," she says curtly, nerves only a little frayed. Coincidence, that a step leads her closer to Daycen than Donner? Probably not. Her hand, shifting to Ellen's shoulder, gives it a reassuring and empathetic squeeze. Yeah. Just…yeah. "Who've we lost?" Y'know, when she was trying to dodge confessions. "Sytin, Maosa, Taralde…his dad's gonna have kittens."

Sytin moves over and spies Dimitri, offering his fellow Weyrling a grin as he passes, on his way to get some grub for his grumbling bronze. "Hey." The kid is positively beaming. The bronze moves with a reasonable amount of composure by comparison, unsteady wobbles aside. There IS food here, right?

Hannah might nibble her lip, casting concerned looks to the unhatched egg. Then back to Dhiammarath. Then back to the egg, until her attention is focused on the dragonets still on the sands. Hands are clasped together, attention riveted.

Ellen drops a her palm on Cerise's hand. There-there… hand. Pat. "I dunno," she admits, "This place is like a big sharding cat box." Just let it GO, Donner.

Dhiammarath is unconcerned, though she moves to loom over her unhatched with a careful look to the rest of the ones currently roaming. In all things find patience, or so the stately queen seems to state: in all things, even this.

Daycen sees the scattered shell of the one single egg that didn't make him want to pee himself, and the bronze shaking himself out from the shards of it. He'll keep watching from afar, thanks! "If you don't impress, you should make sure to be the one to tell him. Bet he'd love that." is teased, towards Cerise. Everyone knows how much she and renalde adore each other. He ughs at Ellen. Ugh.

Donner is going to agree with Ellen here, and he doesn't even make a move to wave her off from her head butt. "Don't forget Yulena. We lost her too. And Kapia—or, whatever her name is now." He waves towards the direction of the weyrlings with a dismissive sniff. "I think it's almost over. Maybe." Okay, he lets go of Cerise's hand. HE LETS GO.

Also, Donner hasn't peed yet. Promise. PROMISE.

"I wish that one would hurry up and stop making me nervous." Th'seus mutters as he eyes the egg that hasn't gotten around to hatching yet. Yeah, he'll just fold his arms and stare at it now as he purses his lips together.

Knight's Endless Watch Bronze Dragonet moves on reluctantly from Mistress of Her Own Destiny Green Dragonet, gaze lingering as he heads away from the fallen shards of his clutchmates' shells. Limbs in approximate order, he's now starting to get this moving thing down. Not only that, but he has finally oriented upon the row of white. Candidates! Lined up for his inspection! And inspect he will with unabashed fervor. Sails coated a little closer to his spine, Knight's Endless Watch Bronze Dragonet marches straight for the nearest figure — and what a figure! He can't be seriously considering the voluptuous blonde who came from oldtime South Boll, but he lingers until she starts to reach enchanted fingertips towards his chiseled features. Smoothly avoiding her touch, he slides onward toward the next cluster of candidates.

Bailey is here. Lurking. Somewhere. She has some of that insanely delicious applebeer and has laughed herself SILLY up to this point, at random things that no-one can quite hear; must be Khalyssrielth's scathing internal remarks. Unless she's just laughing at the look on Donner's face.

Mistress of Her Own Destiny Green Dragonet gives her wet hide a quick inspection, or maybe she's just checking on everything to see if it works before she bravely starts away from the remains of her egg. She heads for one end of the sands, not quite managing to start at the beginning of the line of remaining candidates all laid out before her. She's distracted, you see, as she begins her search, stretching long-cramped limbs and feeling the creeping itch of egg hardening on her skin, and it doesn't help that none of these candidate are quite right anyway. She cants her head in confusion. How can they be standing here in front of her like this and not be what she's looking for? Certainly the right one is here somewhere.

Kultir watches the final two hatchlings, eyes briefly going to that one unhatched egg and sighing softly. One out of forty-two wasn't bad odds though … it would have been nice if it had hatched too.

Cerise's gaze flicks between the remaining dragonets and that lone unhatched egg. Ellen gets a little shake for encouraging Donner, Daycen gets the briefest of quelling looks, but always her attention snaps back to those creatures remaining. The barriers to her wandering off and getting a nice cold ice-packed drink of something. Her newly freed hand rises to lift the weight of her curls off of the nape of her neck in the vain hope of a breeze.

Donner can't help himself. His face scrunches with a bit of agony and discomfort, and he hops slightly from one foot to the next. "I don't. Shards, Ellen, I'm not taking a piss on the sands." He makes a furtive grab near his junk. Maybe he's readjusting? How'd you like that Hannah? If Donner just, let it all loose here for you? "Afterwards. I can hold it until afterwards."

Sidhe Season Egg quivers and quakes. A fine trembling overtakes the shell itself, setting the four bands of coloration to vibrating against one another as if trying to achieve some particular harmony: season to season, ever-changing yet held so perfectly in balance. A tremor unbalances the egg upright, and it topples over to expose the glory of autumn's repose swathed about the band. That sunlight-soaked russet seems to grow, fall becoming predominant over the sweep of shell. Or… wait, that's a bronze emerging stolid from the shards of whence-he-came, lifting his damp wings in a sweeping, slow gesture. It is stately, this gesture, and embodies the essence immediately evident: unhurried, unhasty, yet brilliant with the scarlet of maple's dying defiance and the buttery yellows of sunlit leaves.
Lament of the Last Bronze Dragonet
A skybroom stoic looms solid-trunked and solid-limbed, with shimmering sunlight to warm the honest bones of a homely face and gild the tops of timeless neckridges. Doomed is this brilliance to die a crimson death to the bare-birched monotony of staunch neck stippled by branch and bramble. Vivid gusts the passing glamour of ephemeral smoke, leaving honeyed ochre as fleeting foliage across the depth of his chest and brawn of back. Gnarled paws lie patiently intransient, talon-tipped in evergreen, and oh! would they root him earthbound, but for the vastness of wings fated to free him from the fundament. Evanescent with the colors of summer's death, those sails unfurl ambered apricot and scarlet-scorched saffron, defying eternity with the memory of autumn's embers.

Hannah says, "Me too." Hannah eyes it — and then it cracks. "Well there we go." No dud egg out of her dragon and Vossuth. "Well that is a relief.""

Daycen is just going to take pointers over here. How's a dragon get chicks to touch him like that? It's not supposed to happen! "You better hold it till afterwards. We don't need to be standing in candidate pee." Stare. "Even if it is the middle of the night and nobody's taken a leak for hours. Maybe we're sweating it out. I wonder how that works…" his voice trails off, as he starts devolving into nerd mode.

Vossuth's on exhale of relief can be heard from across the sands. The bronze visibly relaxes when the not-dud egg hatches and hatches a bronze. And so he also looks a little smug too. "About time." Th'seus remarks as the tensions releases out of his shoulders too.

Lament of the Last Bronze Dragonet is as of yet unhurried, moving forwards with a precise determination that defies his age — all thirty seconds of it, at this point. He pauses, unhurried by the lateness of the hour and the lateness of his hatching, to sniff the trailing hem of a girl who stares at him with eyes forlorn. He's not quite gold enough for her, or so it would seem, for he moves on after whuffling at her faintly. Chin up, child. All things in due time.

Maosa is hanging out on the sidelines, dutifully offering forth meat for Osweith's maw. (She does make him stop, just for a moment, to run fascinated fingers over his teeth. Big ol' chompers.) Every so often, there is a musing "Oh, aye?", a response to some shared commentary. Every once in a while, it's accompanied by a sudden sharp suspicious look at one of her new clutchmates.

Kultir sighs with relief as the last egg finally chooses to hatch … another bronze at that! First and last, that may be an even better omen. His eyes brighten as the warm hued bronze steps out to start inspecting candidates. along with the other two hatchlings.

"Shhhh." That's Donner's response. "Oh look, I think it's over guys. Last egg hatched." That is, not factoring in the dragonets still on the sands. He gives Daycen the most pointed of looks, before tailing his attention back over to the green and bronzes. "Look at that last one. Phew. Almost over." He points, slightly in the direction of the green. Too close for comfort, guys. "She's uh, trailing kinda close, don't ya' think?"

Lament of the Last Bronze Dragonet has tested the endurance of all — or at least the boys still remaining. What, is he supposed to run for someone else's behalf? He snorts, this youth-garbed old soul, and pauses to dally in the middle of the half-circle of candidates. He stares at them all, this last scraping-of-the-barrel, as if confronted by the fact that being unhasty has, in fact, left him at the end of the picking. This isn't dodgeball, though, and with the faintest sigh he walks forwards, as if pulled by a force unnamed.

With his head tilted rakishly in evaluation, Knight's Endless Watch Bronze Dragonet continues his path along the line of candidates. He gives particular skirting appraisal to a well built boy drafted from the ranks of smiths that have been working on the Weyr. Slipping away with a flare of still-damp wings, he moves along past a few more white-robed hopefuls until the lift of Cerise's dark curls from the nape of her neck seems to catch his eye. And yet, when he finally pulls up at attention it is before the long and lean young stargazer beside her. Did someone want pointers? He may have taken his time with it, but when the bronze hauls the dark coat of his sails into a loose fold over the boy's shoulders, there's no question that he has made his choice.
Knight's Endless Watch Bronze Dragonet turns his jewel faceted eyes toward Daycen, and steps forward.

It is the work of several minutes for Mistress of Her Own Destiny Green Dragonet to clear her soft hide of dampness. And all the while, measured paces put her face to face with each unclaimed candidate in turn, staying a full arms length away as she measures them, delicate flips of her wings declaring each unfit for her. She moves slowly, pausing to linger on the face of a stout boy before moving on. Then dark curly hair draws her attention, and this time, she does not simply consider. Restrained footsteps have the green circling the once-performer, till she glides before her again, close enough to touch. Eye contact is made between the pair, impression clearly made along with it.
Mistress of Her Own Destiny Green Dragonet turns her jewel faceted eyes toward Cerise, and steps forward.

Kultir whoops with joy as first Daycen and then Cerise both Impress. "Yeehaaaww!" he whoops, voice cracking with the stress he's put it to this middle of the night. "Congrats!"

And then, well, there goes two more. "Cerise?" Oh, oh Donner looks plum HURT. "Uh, congrats." He says this softly, stepping back away from the pair with a shifty look towards Ellen. Well, he seems to say with no words, just a shrug. Just us weirdos left.

Lament of the Last Bronze Dragonet has taken his time, and that is not likely to change in the near future. Every movement is as if it is preordained by some force far beyond that which would inspire a last-hatched dragonet: each step sways as if moved by the whistling winds eerie and above. Dawn is close, now, and his steps slow even further, passing the winnowed ranks of candidates with deliberation. He ends where he destined to end, rearing up to plant his paws so-careful of egg-soft claws on the shoulders of the one he chooses: homely snout is pushed close to the long face of a skinny chestnut-haired lad, his snort one of gentle admonition. Be not hasty. Weirdo.
Lament of the Last Bronze Dragonet turns his jewel faceted eyes toward Donner, and steps forward.

They are skirting kind of close. Cerise, who had been lapsing into something like relieved anticipation of being able to leave soon, starts to tense up when Donner summons her attention towards the green. The glance is intercepted by the bronze muscling in to make a claim on Daycen, prompting a squeak of surprise and a step backwards…only to find herself likewise the subject of someone's attention. Her head turns slowly, tracking the green's slow circling. When Impression is made it can be seen in the jolt that goes through her that sends her to her knees. "Oh…Jiamoth. But…"

Predictably, the newly impressed Daycen nearly jumps out of his skin when that bronze gets -so close-. But then he's like a melty puddle into the sands. All warm and happy and… ((no, he didn't pee himself)). "I… right. We do? We do." he agrees, to voice unheard. "Raxsonath … food, this way." He kind of knows where they should be going! Wherever a weyrlingmaster stands.

Ellen scoffs at Donner, like GOD I'm trying to solve problems here, "You're doing a pee-dance, bro. Just spread 'em and let it pour. You're going, y'know. Commando, yeah?" Because apparently ELLEN is - oh. Shit. She had been cheering for Daycen, a sporting little 'roo-roo-roo!' when — She packs up against Donner's side to clear the way, like a sea parting as the green comes forward to find Cerise. "—oh. Shells." She seems to almost be thinking maybe she should just tackle Donner, shove him under her arm like a football and make a break for it, this shit is getting srs.

Maosa, off to the side, happens to look up from Osweith's Fascinating Discourse to witness - "Oh," she complains, quite loudly. "NOT HIM."

Kultir catches sight of the bronze stepping up to Donner and cheers happily for the boy. "Way to go, Donner!" he calls, voice thickening and falling silent as he realizes that it's all over. Oh well. Back to the jungle. He's got work to do.

Yules looks up in time to spot Cerise coming their way with a beautiful green coming with, and then in the distance Donner and a bronze, cheering excitedly before looking over at the one Candidate she knows well who is left. There's a little softening n her eye; She's been there before.

This was not something Donner was expecting. He doesn't see the bronze dragonet until it's too late, and he startles back, tripping over his own two feet until he's plopped right onto the ground with a startled yep. "Oh! NoI!" His voices catches in his throat and well, it looks like the guy might just cry with a mixture of panic and relief. "Qianvaelth. Qianvaelth oh. Oh okay. Yeah." Words are lost. Words are lost. Donner, now E'don might have just peed. Just a little.

As the Last of the Last Impresses, the sands are littered with the shards of forty-two eggs. A legendary clutch, to be sure, especially with no dud eggs. Hannah claps her hands together and faces the Candidates remaining as the Weyrlingmasters usher the last newly impressed off the sands. "We have members of our headman's and weyrlingmaster's staff to help you through the transition," her voice is kind, soft, to those left Standing, "and you are more than welcome to stay and find your home here in Southern to stand again. Thread is coming." To the Galleries, she extends an invite. "The living caverns have been set up for the after Hatching party. Feel free to enjoy fine wine and delicacies on us!" And that would be the end.

"Okay, food. Yeah." Is all E'don can muster, and off he goes towards where the other weyrlings are. Chow time.

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