Who A'ster, Thys
What After Turnday morning is interrupted by hatching eggs, A'ster and Thys get right back to celebrating.
When Dawn on day 1 of Turn 2712.
Where Hatching Sands, Bowl, and Living Caverns, Fort Weyr

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Fort Weyr - Hatching Sands
The sands. The most prominent and possibly most important area for a weyr, this section of Fort is no exception to the rule. Completely enclosed from the outside elements by a high rounded ceiling, the golden white sand glitters under the streams of sunlight that manage to make their way in from the upper openings. Ledges abound in the upper areas of the dome, perfect for riders and their dragons to watch the action happening on the ground. At the back of the sands there appears to be a raised section of sand, built over generations by the golds who have laid clutches here, a couch of sorts for basking on while protecting their eggs. Slightly to one side of that, a small nook has been carved for the weyrwoman to take respite from the heat of the cavern.

With four new weyrling pairs bonded and ushered off the Sands, and a drunken 'sorry this wasn't your time, guys' speech delivered to the remaining Candidates by Thys, the Hatching is well and truly over and congrats, Akleteyth, you're a daddy times four. Thys wobble-totters back across the Sands to give her dragon's leg a loving hug and squeeze, before the big gold lumbers out to grab herself something tasty from the early dawn-lit pens. That leaves Thys, A'ster, and the emptying galleries, and with one hand on her hip, Thys sways unsteadily on her feet as she beckons the brownrider over to her, a huge grin on her face. "C'mere, you. Did you see those little cuties?"

"They were all so tiny," A'ster crows, awash in the delight of a successful hatching and the relief of a no-dud clutch. "I know they always seem tiny, but I think that might be Kle's fault — did you see the little green?" He pauses, squints slightly as he fishes around in his slightly-sloshy memory, then brightens as he exclaims, "Dendeloth! I swear, her rider could tuck her in a purse." Well. Maybe a tote bag. "Also, also? I'm pretty sure she had spots."

Thys pulls A'ster closer, so she can drape her arms over his shoulders and lean against him - she's a little too unsteady on her own feet to trust them, having been partying all night. "She's cute. They're all cute. That little blue… the dark one? Isqueeth? So cute." She presses her head to his cheek, squeezing arms around his neck in a hug. "Did you know there's bacon in the living caverns? And cream cake. Bacon and cream cake! And probably tea, too." She pulls back a little, so she can curve her hand around his cheek, drawing her fingers down over his lips. "I want to stay up a while longer. Until… just before noon. You need to stay awake, too." Thys's brows waggle; try and guess what she's hinting at.

A'ster is a little drunk and a little tired and a lot wrung out; stress is cumulative, after all. The drunk has him turning his head to catch her finger as it drags against his lip. The rest is — well, probably also being drunk. "Bacon and cake. D'you think, if you asked really nicely — because you're the goldrider, they have to be nice — the kitchen would make a cream cake with bacon on it?" This is, clearly, the most magical thing he has ever (just) thought of. The request to stay up is met with a groan, though, and an, "I don't think I'll make it, Ames," broken by a yawn.

"You'd better," Thys laughs, poking him in the chest. "Let's get dressed to go outside, so we can get the bacon before it's all gone… and we'll make our own bacon cream cake. Which we'll take back to my weyr. With extra cream." She leaves him to wander over to where their winter clothes were discarded as they entered the heat of the Sands, and starts layering up. "Do you remember, Ali, when you gave me a piggyback across the bowl? When we had our first date?"

Oh, for the dignity A'ster might once have maintained: the memory makes him laugh hard enough he snorts, which in turn devolves into a sound — while still a laugh — not unlike a beep. "That was ridiculous. You were ridiculous. …are." he slides a grin over, glances over as she re-layers like he's genuinely enjoying the process as much as he enjoys its reverse. "Ridiculous." But he's grinning when he says it, like ridiculous is something soft and lovely.

Thys flips up the fur-trimmed hood on her coat, so she can only just peep out from beneath where it falls almost over her eyes. "Your face is ridiculous," she retorts, giving him another poke in the chest, before holding out her hand to him. It's glove-free, since she's tucked them into her pocket. "Especially those dimples. Super ridiculous, they are." With their fingers securely locked together, she leads the way out into the snowy world of Fort, pausing once they're outside to toe at a pile of the soft white stuff that's not been stepped in yet. "Hey, A'ster. Wanna build a snowman?"

A'ster huffs a breath, watches it catch and hang in the cold air; he is making his considering face over it, but it doesn't last long before it starts cracking into a smile, then a snort hidden behind a gloved hand. "Sure, why not — oh," it's like the thought just struck him, "because then the bacon will be gone." He's a little giggly over his own insistence, kicking at a small mound of snow directly in front of him, sending it pluming into the air. Well. It wants to grow up to be a plume, some day. Maybe. "Bacon, then snowman."

"But… but the snow may be mushy by the time we're…" Thys's protest is only half-hearted, because bacon. She pulls herself away from the fresh, white snow that no-one has yet sullied, and slips her arm through A'ster's to glue herself to his side, resting her cheek on his shoulder briefly as her other arm snakes low around his waist. "Ok. Bacon. Then bed. Then snowman. Then sleep. And cream cake at some point. Deal?" Look, Ali, she's giving you puppy eyes… from somewhere beneath that fluffy-bordered hood that's kind of hiding her face.

"Yes," A'ster agrees, turning to face her, to stick his hands into her hood (he presses them against the hood, at least) to cup her face with hands that are, at least, just the slightly ooky chill of gloves rather than ice-cold fingers, and leans in to plant a kiss on her. "Bacon, bed. Snowman, sleep. That makes them easier to remember." Not that they were, you know. Difficult. "You smell nice," he tells her; it's hard to tell if he means in general, or something specific.

Thys smiles, eyes narrowed both happily and squinty-drunkenly as she looks up at him. "I probably smell gross," she laughs, giving her head a little shake. "Like someone who's danced the night away and drunk too much and probably spilt something down the front of my dress, and like fire pit smoke and like someone who's been standing in the heat of the Sands for ages wearing a winter dress, and… and like… possibly even a bit like you." Her smile brightens, and she laughs again. "You after training. When you're all stinky." She slips away from him, but not before pressing her bare, cold fingers to his cheek. "C'mon. Bacon. Before my fingers get so cold that I won't even feel it when I make a snowball to throw at you."

"But then how will you be so distracted by your inability to feel your fingers that I can get an entire handful down the back of your-," he looks at her again, with her face-hiding fluffy hood, and laughs. "Into your hair and down your neck. What about that, huh?" But he's steering them toward the bacon by smell, and keen observation of which direction the flow of people looks hungry and tempted, and which direction they look sated and occasionally smug. No wonder they give him the big title, huh.

"I would deem that a criminal offence. Assault on a goldrider. You'd go to the brig." Thys snorts, grabbing his hands from steering her to wrap them around her waist, pulling him close behind her… which hampers their progress somewhat, as it means they've got to get their steps in line to move forward as Thys leads the way. "Can you even get thrown into the brig? If you're you?" Then, a moment later, with a gasp of pleased realisation: "Let's arrest Jajen."

"If I'm doing something illegal, which, for the record, dominating the field in a snow-pelting exercise isn't," A'ster teases back, but he teases it in his cop-voice, all proper save for the way the alcohol he's burning off widens the scope of some of his words, softens the edges of their sounds like cold cookie dough on a hot pan. "We can't just arrest someone because you want to," he protests, but this one is much more token — clearly, he'll allow this to play out a little further (thought doubtful he'd let it go all the way).

Thys makes a pfft noise, giving his hands a squeeze. "I'm sure there's something we can hold against her." They reach the living caverns, and Thys lets A'ster go for only as long as it takes for them to shed their wintery layers once more. "The Weavers need to make a fabric that we don't have to keep taking on and off to go inside and outside," she moans quietly, hanging her coat up with the others and stamping off her feet in the entryway. Not that it'll matter; the hem of her dress is soaked and clumped with snow and ice that's going to drag across the floor anyway. When A'ster's ready, she holds out her hand to him, then marches the pair of them over to the line of eager breakfast-eaters. "There is a queue for bacon. How rude. Anyway. We should arrest Jajen for calling me a porcine. It's not my fault I put on some weight." Cream cakes had nothing to do with it, of course.

"But then they wouldn't be able to charge you for summer and winter wardrobes," A'ster opines. (While the animosity between them may be more on the side of a few Weavers with long memories, that doesn't mean it isn't mutual.) "Which you know would never do. Tch." He's going to have to be careful with that one, similar as it is to one of the newest weyrlings names. "Stand on your toes, maybe there's someone farther ahead of us in line who'll let us in with them." He's on his, when he looks down and grins at her, slightly pink-cheeked from more than just the cold outside air, "No, I think at least half the blame lands on me."

"I think so, too." Teasing Thys is teasing… and also impatient. She doesn't go up on her toes - like she's going to see anything the taller brownrider didn't see already - but she does slip out of line to walk right to the front and grab a plate, with a few polite 'excuse mes' as she goes. People may protest, but she's shameless as she goes right up to the bacon and heaps the plate as high as she can with rashers. She then grabs a whole loaf of bread to tuck it under her arm, an entire dish of butter, and a pitcher of orange juice. It's a lot to juggle but she manages, winking at A'ster as she passes him. "Be a darling and grab me a cream cake please, love. And some eggs. And klah. If you can." Thys blows him an airkiss, then goes to find them a table, from which she calls someone over to bring the appropriate cutlery for their little feast. And while she's waiting? She starts on the bacon.

A'ster rolls his eyes, he does, but there's appreciation and amusement in the expression despite itself; he grins and shakes his head as he makes a lateral move out of the bacon line to go avail himself of the eggs, and snipe a cream cake from a closely-monitored sideboard of them. (He almost gets his fingers rapped, until he's recognized. Handy, that.) "Oh," he protests when he finds their table and delivers his bounty, "oh, I see how it is — distract me so that you can get a head start on the bacon, then when I get here we go halfsies only secretly more like one- and two-thirdsies. That how it is, Thys?" All the indignant bluster proves to be only that as he drops into a seat, and reaches over to steal a piece of his own, then grins around it before eating. With his mouth closed. Thank god.

Thys scoots right over next to him when he sits, so she can nestle in against his side and hook her foot around his ankle under the table. "That's how it is," she replies with a waggle of her eyebrows, picking up a piece of bacon to hold it out for him to nibble at. "What's mine is mine and what's yours is mine, and I get to share what I want. You're lucky I love you, 2nd Lieutenant, or you'd get sweet eff-ay." Along comes knives and everything, and, assuming A'ster's taken a bite of the bacon offered to him, Thys folds the rest of it up to pop into her mouth in one piece as she takes a knife to the bread to start carving slices… badly. Which she then butters. Badly. But at least it'll taste good layered with bacon and eggs, right? It's sliced in half, and one section is nudged towards her beau. "Happy turnover, Ali. Love you." Have a sandwich of love.

Weirdly cut, badly buttered bacon and egg sandwiches are totally the best love sandwiches, okay? "Ridiculous," he tells her again, more than fond, before taking a bite — badly. There are crumbles. Of bread. And egg. "Happy turnover, Ames," he manages once he's not in danger of aspirating any of it, and leans over to tuck his head against her shoulder as he continues to eat. "Love you, too."

And there's contented munching silence for a little while, washed down - in Thys's case, at least, by a glass of juice and a half mug of klah. A cup of the latter is placed in front of A'ster, meaningfully. "Drink up. You have to stay awake. Because…" She leans in so her lips are against his ear, and her hand is too high on his thigh to be properly decent - but they're drunk and it's Turnover morning and who cares. She whispers to him, ending with: "… and then we're going to build a snowman." She kisses his cheek, then scoops whatever's left of their breakfast onto a single plate - all the better to carry it. "C'mon. Bedtime. Bring the rest for me, please?" Whether he's coming or not, she's already going… and heading out into the bowl without her coat, too.

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