Who

Iandicael, Miel, Vosji

What

Iandicael gets a chance to touch a few more eggs with fellow Candidates. Miel briefly visits, while Vosji does most of the supervision…

When

It is afternoon of the fourth day of the sixth month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Sands, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 10 Mar 2018 05:00

 

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Sands

The out-of-doors of Igen Weyr seems a blissful respite from the oppressive heat of this sandy colosseum. Heated from beneath by volcanic vents, the air above the hatching sands shimmers, lending a sort of unreal, dream-like quality to the area beyond even the magic that happens here at Impressions. Despite its blistering temperatures, the sands are incongruously soft, almost powdery, and flat save for the worn stone queen's bower that rises up to break the monotony and provide a place of respite for the doting mother-to-be.


Want to know what’s just as hot as the early days of summer? The hatching sands! Neither clutch parents seem to mind and currently it’s looking to be prime time for another group of Candidates to get up close and personal with the eggs before they hatch. A small group has been corralled and promptly guided onto the sands. No one do anything stupid now~

As more touchings have passed, Vosji has become less and less inspired to make the same rules speech she always makes. It's become simpler and more clipped, since most of them are no longer first-timers — though some are, and some do still need to hear it. "Don't do anything stupid, remember," she paraphrases, of course, "No running, no yelling, no crowding the same egg, definitely do not kick anything, don't scream unless something is actually very wrong. Make sure you are respectful to the clutchparents." She's already been sure everyone bows upon entry. "Which means not scaring them. If you need to fall, try to do so as carefully as possible away from any eggs, and no scuffles between yourselves. There are more than enough eggs for everyone to take a turn. If you've any questions or need any help, I'm right here."

This probably isn't the first time Iandicael has been on the sands — it's hard for a man his size to avoid notice, so surely someone has pulled him for an egg touching before now. But he still looks distinctly uncomfortable as he joins his fellow candidates for a touching. His bow is stilted at best, turns of bazaar breeding fighting against the expectations of the weyr. It's difficult to think of dragons as anything other than beasts, and even more impossible to imagine a voice other than his own inside his mind. He wouldn't bow to a runner, and it does chafe a little to be asked to treat the dragons with greater respect than he is accorded in return. But he stifles the desire to protest behind clenched fists and a rigid jaw, stiffly making his way toward the eggs after Vosji gives the all-clear. Without much thought, he reaches for the first egg he comes across, laying a hand upon the shell of Bal de Neige.

Cold, cold, cold… Are you touching an egg or an egg sculpted from pure ice? Whichever it is, it’s a relief at first given the oppressive heat of the desert. With it comes the suppressed anticipation of something grand and exciting! Festive, even. There’s adventure ahead, despite the freezing cold that’s starting now to sap the warmth from your hands and feet. When was the last time you could feel your face? No matter. More to see, more to do. Keep pushing on and on! There isn’t much time and you don’t want to be left behind, do you? (To: Iandicael)

So far, the Candidates are behaving themselves but the real fun has barely begun! Vosji might not have her hands full this time around… but Miel is going to make an appearance regardless. Sans infant, obviously and maybe that's another reason for the greenrider to be about. Just stretching her legs and scoping out the potential among the new batch of Candidates. "Hey," she greets to Vosji, after giving the more formal and proper salute and respectful nod. "Just started?"

Infant breaks are a great reason to just hang about the sands, and Vosji isn't teasing Fergus about his hair this time at least — a candidate started that, to her credit. "Yep. Nice little group, this time." That comes with an easygoing smile, though she isn't really looking at Miel so much as the bodies amongst the eggs. "Taking a bit of fresh air away from the baby?" Mother of the Year Vosji had hers in the brat caves at a couple of months. Iandicael is actually getting a closer look than some of the others; she's keeping an eye on his mannerisms because he's one of those that seemed to appear from nowhere and also doesn't seem like the happiest clam in the room.

The invasiveness of the experience is no more pleasant the second time around, and there's a visible twitch to Iandicael's features as he rests a hand upon that shell. Still, of all the possible choices spread out across the sands, the freezing respite certainly isn't the worst intrusion to be found out here. Excitement seems to shake the man very little, but he still lingers there for a moment, allowing the welcome numbness to spread through his limbs. It does little to temper that ever-burning anger in his chest, but the rest of him… Slowly, ever so slowly he draws his hand away, growling under his breath when the heat comes rushing back to consume him instantly. He's muttering to himself about heat and eggs and whose brilliant idea was this setup as he passes Vosji and Miel, moving aimlessly until another untouched egg presents itself, and he reaches for Last Light of Durin's Day.

Coolness again! Not so sharp and freezing, more of an ‘autumn’ feel this time as it engulfs you and seeps away that heat. Oddly, you’re met by a sold stone door and a vague sense that something is there behind it and it’s massively important that you get it to open. Are you good with riddles? Puzzles? They’re just as important. Time is of the essence and so is patience and perseverance. Do you have those qualities, Iandicael? Can you stay on the path, no matter what obstacles are thrown your way? (To: Iandicael)

Aww, no teasing? Miel is disappointed. "Good! That's good. With so many clutches of late, I'm figuring we got some returning faces?" Nothing like talking 'business' while the Candidates do their thing! Chuckling, she'll flash Vosji a grin. "You bet I am! Love the little guy but I need some space." Blunt honesty, that. She'll eye Iandicael as he strides by, before leaning in to the Weyrlingmaster. "Where'd we find tall, dark and brooding?" she stage whispers.

No teasing THIS time. There's no one who the other candidates are mocking either, and she can't contribute with 'helpful' hints. "You lasted longer than I did with a baby," she admits wryly, following Miel's glance. "Bazaar, I think," she says without attempting to hide who she's talking about either. He can know. He can contribute, if he wants, though it's best if most of his focus stays on the eggs. "Courtesy of … Raktraeth?"

Riddles? Puzzles? Patience? Iandicael doesn't respond well to any of these things, especially when something seems to impede his route. The tension rises in his shoulders, his body taut as he attempts to exert his own will upon this unhatched mind and force that invisible door to open to him. It's a fruitless endeavor which only serves to draw that frustration closer to the surface. He's scowling as he snaps his hand away, the path apparently forsaken in the face of obstacles. "Akzhan," he grits out as he passes Vosji, naming the path he abandoned turns ago. In a rare show of good judgment, he doesn't linger, instead moving on to Worship the Green Goddess Egg.

Geez, man. Mellow out! Here, hit some of this… and if the stone door pissed you off so bad, this egg is mist and haze and smoke. MUCH easier to wade through. But damn if you don’t feel aweeeesome. Breath in, brother. Breath in deep and just float away! All that tension, all those worries. Time to disconnect from all that harsh vibe and just zone out to the world. Doesn’t that feel so. much. better? How long have you been there, just spaced AF? Who knows! Who cares at this point? You’re one of the lucky ones and there’s no harsh buzz at the end. Just a polite sort of jolt as you come back to your senses. Not bad, eh? EH? (To: Iandicael)

“Seriously? How long did you last?” Miel wants to know! Like it’s a competition or something. She grins, “It kind of helps that I was off the rosters to start and that these,” A nod to the eggs. “Aren’t immediately due to hatch. Got some time to recover. Guess I’ll be getting into the swing of things again with these weyrlings-to-be.” Because why not? “Huh, that so.” As Iandicael strides by, Miel just smiles faux-sweetly like until he’s out of range again. “Hear that?” she mutters in aside to Vosji. “Akzhan.”

Vosji only nods, though it's one of those slow, chin-tucking nods as she notes Iandicael and his response. "Thank you, candidate," she tells him honestly as he goes by, because hey, he was providing information and she did appreciate it. Likely she could have looked it up, but then she'd have to figure out which one was which. She certainly can't remember all their names, just the ones that cause trouble, and this one, at least so far, has not. "I know nothing really good or bad about that family," she says calmly, "Just I don't think I've had one as a candidate before." She's correct about that one, she hasn't. "And, er, a day? I didn't have time to do things like breastfeed."

Iandicael's jaw slackens, his expression going blank as he breathes in the good stuff. Maybe it doesn't quell that rage inside of him entirely, but it is a damn good distraction for as long as his hand rests upon that shell. The faintest hint of a smile flirts at his lips, but can't quite gain purchase in spite of that mellow overtone. He lingers longer here than at Bal de Neige, reluctant to break free of the spell which settles over him. It feels so good. And then his hand breaks contact and the calming sensation recedes, returning him to himself. Abruptly, his expression sharpens into something akin to betrayal, his scowl focused upon that shell. It can't just… do that. Were it not for the presence of an audience he'd likely stalk off the sands, but as it is he merely moves away with a dark glance cast over his shoulder. When he comes to Blood Swept Land & Seas of Red Egg he hesitates, hand hovering over that shell for a moment (maybe he could just fake it?) before finally touching the surface.

Oh wait, no. THERE’S the harsh downer! Coming at you like a freight train. No mellow state here! Just a damn kick in the gut, as this one seems hellbent on making you think back and remember all the sacrifices by those before you have made. How many have died, so you (and the entire planet) can live in relative comfort? How much blood has been shed, in the Weyr, among the fallen riders? Are you answering the call, to be among those numbers or to pick up their legacy, where theirs have ended? (To: Iandicael)

Miel shrugs her shoulders, “Neither do I. Was kind of hoping you did!” For shame, the two of them not keeping up with the Bazaar families! Never mind that she’s only been in Igen for a few Turns and hasn’t had the time to really explore it. “Guess it was only a matter of time? Now I’m curious.” Which is code for: she’s going to read up on where most of this class is from. It’s good to know! Kind of. “I forgot that you had your babies at busier times…” she remarks idly to Vosji and then grimaces, gesturing vaguely to herself. “… and you’re not missing out. Honest.” If there’s more talk of that nature? Miel’s kind enough to keep that on the down low and not easily overheard by any.

Maybe Vosji should have remembered to say that; getting overwhelmed means you can leave! One of the rules or pieces of advice she left out of the abridged version. But if Iandicael wants to stick around and be a badass, that's perfectly fine with her too. "I know who can be asked," the Weyrlingmaster says with a thin smile. "Don't you know the Dustbowl's owner? Thought you were arm candy for him a couple of times. He'd know more about the different families … yes, I was a wingsecond when I had Jia, and assistant weyrlingmaster with Uza, so."

It's likely Iandicael should be turning his ire toward this egg, given the sharp emotional downturn and the weight of guilt which seems to come with the demands of history. But this, he understands. There is a legacy here to which he will never measure up, and he needs no reminders to know this. Although his jaw clenches, he endures this kick to the gut, waiting until the sensation passes before he lifts his hand again. Is he answering the call? He's not entirely certain he wants to be touching these shells, let alone bonding with a dragon. But he stays on the sands a moment longer, trying -Garlic- Gaelic May Day Egg rather that admit to his deep discomfort.

Sorry to disappoint, there’s no garlic here! It’s still growing and isn’t ready yet! Just have to make due with the preparations without it. Have some FLOWERS instead! Aren’t they pretty, Iandicael? You could wear them. No one would judge, you know. All those soft, small yellow flowers and the first taste of spring and… thorns. What, did you think this one would be cute and sweet? Pfft. Watch that you don’t prick yourself! Who the HELL decorates a thorn bush, anyhow or make wreaths from the damn stuff? What sort of sadistic ritual nonsense is this!? (To: Iandicael)

Is Miel blushing? No, that’s just the heat getting to her. She’s exhausted, okay? “I was and I would be again if he’d have me.” NO SHAME. Did a Candidate or two hear that? Oh well. “Maybe I will go ask him about it. When I’m feeling up to it.” Priorities, here. Snapping her fingers, she nods. “That’s right. Damn, Vosji… Where does time go?” A resigned sigh and then she’s catching on to some brewing “trouble” from a young Candidate. “Had enough? You’re looking a bit woozy and pale there, girl. It’s okay if you’re feeling a bit overwhelmed!” Understatement. But it may be the start of the exodus, as it were. There’s always one that falls first!

"Time is a mystery and one I don't like. But go get a drink sometime and lay down some questions, he probably won't mind, I think bartenders were basically born to gossip." The Weyrlingmaster is so nice. She also doesn't know mild-mannered Topiltzin. That, right there, that is why falling is not 'don't fall' when Vosji gives her spiel, so much as 'fall carefully.' She gives Miel a smile for doing the nice person routine, which isn't as much hers as the military leader one — though she'll do it when she needs to, since she really does care.

Iandicael wants nothing to do with flowers, but a wreath made of thorns seems more his speed. He's certainly the prickly type, dangerous to approach without great caution. His hand jolts away from that shell, bitten by an invisible thorn. He lifts it up for inspection, the phantom tingle of pain still radiating from the pad of his finger, in spite of the fact that there's nothing to be seen by the eye. It's unsettling, all of it, and whatever that egg had to show isn't the only sadistic ritual in practice. His exit preceeded by the woozy girl, the still-scowling man moves away from the eggs, silently admitting defeat — at least for now.

And so another touching goes smoothly and without fault. Save for a few scrambled, temporarily addled brains (or moody Candidates) but that’s just par the course!

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