==== January 5th, 2014
==== Krissi, T'ral
==== Krissi and T'ral look over Talicanitath's clutch.

Who Krissi, T'ral
What Krissi and T'ral look over Talicanitath's clutch.
When There are 0 turns, 3 months and 15 days until the 12th pass.
Where Southern Weyr

Krissi.JPG t-ral_pensive.jpg


galleries.jpg

Galleries
Stone benches rise, black and showing the lack of polish from a thousand seats — by the look of it, these have not been used in… forever, if ever indeed.


A conversation had earlier has made Krissi beyond curious about the eggs on the Sands. She's never in life seen a dragon egg before. So she's a little nervous to say the least about it. "Wow it's warm in here," she mutters to herself as she pauses at the top of the stairs leading up to the galleries. She's used to the heat of the forge going outside the woodshop. But this heat is different somehow. More humid feeling perhaps. She isn't sure. All the farther she gets is the top of the stairs before she loses her nerve and can't seem to make herself go any farther.

T'ral is perched on the steps nearby, noodling on a gitar and looking down onto the sands. He is neatly turned out, managing -even in the humidity- to look crisp. It's not so much that he's particularly stylish, but that he's cultivated a half-dozen habits that, combined, keep the bluerider parade ground ready at all times. Except for his hair, it's mussed. Hands stained a pale red pause on the strings and the reason for the mussed hair reveals itself, he rakes a hand through his hair and adjusts his neckerchief. At the murmur of heat he straightens, standing, resting the gitar on his boot and bowing slightly, a hand over his abdomen, "Afternoon." He notes the woman's dis-ease. "Is everything okay?"

The sound of the gitar is soothing to Krissi's nerves, and makes her curious as to who is playing. So she inches forward a little bit until she can spy T'ral sitting near the steps playing. For some reason she keeps remembering the stories told her as a child about Queens eating wayward children who get too close to her eggs. And it has the adult rather nervous at the moment. Next she knows T'ral is bowing to her from his seat and greeting her. She's been spotted and it's her own fault. "Afternoon 'rider," she drums up a smile for T'ral that doesn't look entirely terrified. "Everything is fine. I've just never been in here before."

Eyes dip to her knot and "I don't recall seeing you, Smith," T'ral says simply, "Are you newly arrived in Southern, ma'am? I'm T'ral, blue Esanth's." He looks down onto the sands a fond look flickering across his eyes, "Born right down there a turn ago." His eyes widen. Said so quickly it doesn't seem like it could have been that long ago. In other ways, it was lifetimes ago. He shakes his head, "Hardly seems like it could have been a turn." He grins, "Come on down, I'll tell you who's wagering on which to hatch first."

Krissi forces her legs to move and walks toward the 'rider with a friendly smile on her lips. "Well met T'ral. I'm Krissi the new woodcrafter around here." She chuckles and nods her head in response to his question, "I've only been here a moon or so. And all of that has been spent working." Not because she had to, but because it's all she really knows how to do. "A turn ago eh? Seems to me like the last turn drug by." She can see the sands from here and turns her head to get the first look at the eggs. "Oh wow," she exclaims softly.

T'ral grins at Krissi's exclamation. He crouches to snug the gitar into its case. This was technically meal-time for him, but he'd come here to get some quiet. The Galleries were definitely that. He carefully closes the latches, not letting them make their normal sharp crack. Straightening, he swipes a tuck at his shirt and snags the case off of the ground. He leads Krissi down to the railing closest to the sands, the heat is more intense here and the musky scent of a brooding dragon is heavy. T'ral, though still in the galleries, feels compelled to make a bow to Talicanitath, with admiration and well-wishes for her fine brood respectfully projected at the Queen. He looks at the clutch. He'd only seen about half of them laid before duty had called him away. There were so many. He puts the case down and leans on the railing.

Krissi watches the 'rider put away his instrument quietly. And with him guiding her, she finds the courage to follow him down to the railing. The heat down here is more what she's used to when she emerges from her office of a morning. So it doesn't really affect her in the least. "Wow she looks even bigger in here than she does outside," Kris whispers softly so as not to disturb too much and nods toward the Queen guarding her clutch. "I've never in all my life seen eggs that /big/." Or colorful for that matter, just check them out!

T'ral heartily aggrees. The Queen, normally simply enormous, dominates her ensconsure at the end of the cavern. He looks around to see if he can spot any remanants of the ill-fated, ill-conceived platform and then Krissi is remarking on the eggs. "And so many. Our Queens are producing very large clutches." It was perhaps a silly thing to be proud of, better to be proud that the Queens in every Weyr threw large clutches. Or… silly because Queens produce under the threat of Thread, to replace the fallen. If Southern's Queens were responding to some additional pressure they could feel along the threads of time… it did not bode well. T'ral points at a large one nearest the Queen, it's a stony gray, feathered with white. "That one was first." He points the eggs out in turn, grinning at a pair that lean towards one another, one is almost polka-dotted and another that's sorta pin-striped. "I'm calling those two The Dancers."

They spend a pleasant, if sweaty, bit of the afternoon amiably discussing the eggs, Woodcraft, 'riding and the affairs of the Weyr.

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