Fort Weyr - Galleries

The galleries are carved right out of the rock face, the rows and rows of benches rising high up into the air on a slight slant. Stone and wood benches that used to be known for offering little in the way of comfort, are now padded with cushions in Fort Weyr's colors. Placed along the railing at regular intervals are antique looking baskets filled with cheery fabric flowers. The curving walls sport tapestries in warm vibrant colors that seem to add a dash of color to the otherwise dreary stone. Where the galleries curve slightly at the ends, affording those attending hatchings or clutchings a decent view of the sands, shaded laterns offer warm lighting along the rows of benches.


Dragons are humming, and what with it being just after dinner, Fort's weyrfolk were already pretty much gathered before making their way across to the Sands. Some have even brought a bit of their dinner with them. Like Thys, who slips in and sidles along the front row to find her favourite spot. Down she sits, with a plate of crudites and dip in her lap, a grin on her face as she nibbles a fingerroot stick and waits patiently for things to get cracking.

Conveniently not in the middle of the night, at breakfast time or in a storm, Kouzevelth started tonight's hum just after the dinner hour. Anyone who was eating can, of course, bring food with them to the galleries — not so, on the Sands! At least the air isn't too chilled for the time of year at Fort, and the sands' heat makes up for any possible discomfort. It's been a quiet day, so everyone should've seen this coming, right? The clutchdam is not exactly wrapped around her eggs anymore, but they are near enough to her that she can reach each one with an inquisitive snout if needed, perhaps roll it forward. Inri is perched on her paw, notebook she has at every hatching at the ready. It's not the most comfortable seat ever, considering Kouzevelth is vibrating with that thrum.

This is Brebain's first Hatching since being posted at Fort Weyr, and the Master Weaver is, actually, kind of excited. His sister, Mirinda, the weyr's Healer? Well, she's seen a few, and she's probably substantially more concerned with making sure Lianri (their mutual niece) doesn't fall off the galleries to her death (again), or making sure that her daughter, Taimri, doesn't give it a try to keep up with her cousin. The two girls are, therefore, sandwiched between Weaver and Healer, but at least a) they have sandwiches, and b) they aren't actually tied in place with anything. It's a measure of trust. Brebain keeps an eye out for the bookie, of course; after the disaster at the Weaver Hall earlier in the week, he knows exactly who he expects to have Impress… and who he dreads won't, and will somehow end up trying to apprentice to him. The goldrider with her snacks gets a polite nod, and he goes back to craning his neck to make sure he can see everything.

Gabriela makes an attempt to stay even with the line of skittish Candidates to her right and left. She fears it is less of a straight line than something resembling ripples in water. Wide eyes sweep along the line of eggs as though expecting them to burst forth with alien monsters out for blood. Between the humming and her fraying nerves she begins to shake. Only barely managing to bow to the parental units without planting her forehead in the sand. Weak knees too. Now would be a great time to have something to cling to.

Owe Me An Egg shakes a little. That's all it is, a shake — or could you call it a fizz? — before it settles back in the exact same place it had been sitting before.

Not Your Typical Scapegoat Egg rolls, butting against one of its neighbors twice before rolling back the other way and going still. Perhaps it's getting a running start?

Dremkoth is up on the ledges, watching with the other dragons, humming with all his might. They aren't his babies, but he's happy they're finally making an appearance. D'ani is in the galleries this time, giving Inri her privacy for this event. Perhaps not wishing to loom over the rider attending the clutchfather too. He's watching from the aisle near the stairs and will dash down them in a heartbeat if he thinks Inri needs him.

"There's a hole in the ass of my robe," Lucy hisses to the pigtailed candidate next to her, though if she's expecting sympathy or outrage she's disappointed. The young pigtailed girl is all eggs all the time. "Like something ate it!" Tugging self-consciously at the back of her robe, she sidles towards the sire and dam and gives an awkward bow, not wanting to bend over too terribly much even if she does have she shorts on under there, before taking her spot with the others.

Alister isn't quite at the head of the ragged shuffle-tumble of candidates out onto the sands, but he's up there, he's taller than many and pink, like he's gone out and gotten a sunburn save for the fact that his hair, dripping down the sides of his face and the back of his neck is also in on it, and the edges of his robe appear to have gotten in on the fun, too. Don't. Don't ask. A full half a foot taller than when he got Searched, Freckles keeps a tight orbit around the guard-candidate, and their little satellite with pigtails is there too, but Alister isn't holding anyone's hands yet. He's wiping his palms against his legs and looking at the eggs, slightly wide-eyed. (Shell shock, obvs).

Kera hurries along with the rush of people making their way to the hatching cavern, thankfully she stuffed her shoulder satchel with a few still warm rolls before trotting away from food. A few quick waves to familar faces and Kera sends a glance to the sands and not seeing any white robed figures yet, she turns to start up some steps just as the potentials are led towards the twitchy eggs.

Side to side, here, there, here, there, Eggsplosive at Best Egg turns one way, then the other. No sounds within. Just movement.

Beyrl slides into place, like a puzzle piece in a jagged line, scrunching between two others (though there's room enough on both sides). He quickly bows, a polite bow, but distracted as he stares wide-eyed at the eggs, ears listening to that constant hum. Outside he's somewhat calm (though twitchy). Inside he's melting in wonderment.

Owe Me An Egg, since that very first shake, has been vibrating slightly in place. The vibrations intensify until its shake is enough to disrupt some of the others and draw eyes to its motion, at which point a solid crack starts down one side. Then another. Then a third, until it is sitting there filled with cracks, waiting for a final move.

Kyzen is here, along with his father and mother though he's long since left them behind. He wants a GOOD seat or at least get as close as he can to the railing like some of those weyrbrats over there are doing.

Thys wiggles a fingerroot at Brebain and Mirinda. Hello there! Then movement on the Sands - of the non-candidate type! - draws her attention back to them, dark eyes skimming the clutch to see which egg might pop first… "Fingers crossed there's a bronze first - Faranth knows luck's something in short supply," she says aloud, to no-one in particular.

"I know…" mutters Daralyn, back at Lucy, as he also bows…and nearly falls over. Nerves are fun, aren't they? "Maybe you just got extra hungry last night?" Oddly, muttering and mumbling makes all of this a lot easier to handle. Maybe if there weren't so much ceremony he wouldn't be such a wreck at the moment? Regardless, as the eggs do their rolling thing, Daralyn returns to fidgeting even as he tries (quite desperately) not to.

Shattered Shards Egg gently wobbles, a sign that the life within is getting ready to break free.

Gabriela looks over the head of the girl next to her, at Lucy in barely registered horror. "Something at your ass? Was it painful?" She seriously looks over her shoulder as though expecting some phantom creature to be there about to take a chunk out of her butt. Nothing manifests though she side steps and bumps into someone in the process.

Kouzevelth, at the arrival of candidates, croons softly at the bows — and then if anything attempts to back off a bit as she and Kainaesyth give them some space. Which doesn't mean both dragons are not watching their wobbly offspring like hawks. Inri is definitely writing something - keeping track of which eggs started moving when, maybe?

Senira shuffles in with the rest of the candidates. Her steps are much heavier than the typical candidate shuffle, though, and she pays for it with a sandal-full of hot sand. She gives a quick bow to the sire and dam, graceless but at least she didn't fall over. Eyes widen as she overhears Lucy's complaint, sidling behind her fellow candidate, whisper-hissing "It's… …not that bad." She's too skinny to serve as a proper cover, but at least she's tall.

Alister will take that bump, call and raise: he grasps for Gabriela's hand and squeezes, totally not actually looking at her when he does it. (Pigtails finally does something other than stare, and goes for Lucy's.) He also, uh, finally remembers to bow, looking slightly guilty at the clutchparents and working his mouth and — not spitting. No spitting on the Sands today, Alister.

"Is it really that bad these days?" Brebain asks Thys, surprised, as he remembers — belatedly — to take out his flask of tea, which the girls are not allowed to share (because it's been doctored, with … medicinal … stuff). "In terms of luck, I mean? I was under the impression at least some things are actually going quite well around here, at the moment."

Haristal follows someone else because that seems like the thing to do and, well, that's where everyone's going. He pulls at his too-tight robe, eying his peers curiously before his attention turns toward the nearest of the eggs.

Not Your Typical Scapegoat Egg begins rolling again in the direction it had previously gone. Instead of finding its neighbor, it rolls over a small pile of shards and simply keeps going until something blocks its path. In this case, it's Kouzevelth's paw it smacks into hard enough to leave a large crack in its shell.

A subtle shift in Cuprum Curse Egg. Did it actually move? Fate seems to say — yes. There! It wobbles again, a little tilt to either side but not tipping in favor of progressing further quite yet.

"Of. My. Robe," Lucy hisses back to Gabriela irritably. Apparently her nerves manifest as crankypants. "I'm a cook, I know what not to eat. If you look I'm going to smack you." That's for Daralyn and his powers of observation. For Senira, there's a much more civil "Thanks," and further robe tugging, but that rip is, well, perfectly placed. Lucy looks startled when Pigtails grabs her hand, but has the grace not to shake her off.

Beyrl folds his hands in front of him, fidgets with his fingers, drops hands, shifts a bit. Oh, the contrast between sand and air, and it distracts him not the least. He watches the eggs intensly now. You could probably push him right over, and he'd flop on the ground, still watching the eggs.

Owe Me An Egg reaches the point where everything bubbles over, and those long cracks are joined by millions of tiny ones. The egg eventually disintegrates around its occupant, a mid-size green with vibrant hide.

Playground Pastime Green Hatchling
She's a green that makes flashy look, well… fashionable! Mid-sized, her hide is a bright cacophony of summery greens, from hues of leaf to grass and everything in between in a gradual wash over her sleek form. Large paws stand out when she moves, the little green set on quick and eager feet.

Playground Pastime Green Hatchling doesn't hesitate. That speeding romp that she's got going straight out of the shell doesn't really ever slow, not until she finds herself the perfect match. There are only a couple of brief considerations of a girl and a boy before she locates the body attached to that pair of palms she'd loved so much — the little pigtailed girl Alister had to carry off the sands that one time. Her name, as it turns out, is Cymlei, the dragon softly proclaimed, "Hlarasath," around the new weyrling's happy tears.

Thys cants her head slightly as she looks at Brebain, giving a gentle shrug of her shoulders. "Oh, sure, not everything's bad, not at all - but everyone and everywhere can always use a little more luck, can't they?" She grins at the Weaver, then nibbles a little bit more fingerroot. "I mean, it's not something I'd ever turn down. For myself or Fort. I think Lucy down there," she points to the Candidate in question, "would be hoping for a little more luck. I'm not sure I'd like to have my tush on display on the Sands."

As if on command, Lucy's direction not to look, being given to a male member of the human race, produces the most obvious reaction… "Oh, wow…yeah, that's a bigger hole than I thought…" Cue incoming smack… With that said, Daralyn's slightly distracted chatter is interrupted by the cracking of an egg…and that dragon promptly going for another of the candidates.

M'icha has been here all along. He just snuck in after the Candidates, making sure no one tried to make a run for it in the opposite direction. He's there with his assistants and as the first egg hatches and the green quick to find her rider, the old bluerider walks over to help the pair off to the side of the sands. "This way, Cymlei and Hlarasath… Let's get her settled."

Gabriela will take that hand and give it a squeeze back. Glancing over she manages a shaky smile for Alister. Going for reassuring but most likely coming off terrified. Because a little terror is helpful in these situations. "Oh. Well.." she holds tight to Alister's hand while leaning around the girl to whisper at Lucy, "hold it closed or something! What if a dragonet sticks it's snout in there?!" Speaking of dragonets! "Oh crap here we go," a Green bursts onto the scene and makes a bee-line for pig-tails. "Aww look how happy she looks!" Never mind that Gabby isn't watching for immediate danger as she grins all around her.

Not Your Typical Scapegoat Egg splits wide open, dumping its occupant on the sands - or rather onto Kouzevelth's toes. Aw! Lookit that. Mom delivered one of her offspring.

Keeper of Secret Waters Green Hatchling
From seashore to source, the hues of a mysterious river drift sedately over the elegant form of this pale green dragon. Though she lacks distinctive markings, nevertheless she is a beauty, for opal shimmers faintly across her hide mingling with a subtle milky pearl that gives it the appearance of frosted beach glass. Translucent tints, blending where they meet, fade from more vibrant jade, teal and lime to marine, seafoam and ocean then back again as though playing hide and seek with sunshine and shadow through frond and fern. Beneath subtropical forests of moss-shrouded oak and cypress, shadows cast her delicate muzzle in slightly darker shades that flow down her graceful neck pooling in more lambent jewel tones across lithe back and shoulders before trickling to the tip of her sinuous tail. Liquid markings ripple across her chest, much like the rings a pebble makes when dropped into the crystal clear waters of a natural spring. From there the colors wash over her lower portions where greens dissolve to luminous aqua on her extremities. Her underbelly appears nearly bleached save for those glittering golden motes which coalesce forming dappled patterns that mimic the dance of sunlight on sandy shallows. At the end of nimble limbs her dainty toes conceal claws - sharp thorns biding their time. Her wings - no strong pinions these. The sails are stretched so thin between an almost lacy framework of wingbones that they look as insubstantial as the spider's gossamer web, as fragile as the sheer veil of butterfly wings. And yet they are exquisite, for here too the dusting of gilt kisses them with the glow of moonlight through mist.

Keeper of Secret Waters Green Hatchling eyes those toes. Then sniffs them. Sniff! Sniff! Her head tips back, neck bending so she can look up, up, up and see what that tall thing is. She bleats enthusiasm and with no further hesitation begins climbing up onto that paw. Apparently her goal is to keep going up Kouzevelth's foreleg if she can. She's awkward. She's not very good at it. And she keeps slipping down.

Alister wasn't expecting that. Probably no-one was expecting that. But suddenly Pigtails — Cymlei? — is a weyrling, and this whole thing is real. Really real. Like, the real-est. "I may have made a slight error in judgement," he whispers to Gabriela, then half-lunges through the gap left by Cymlei's Impression to grab Lucy's now-free hand, too. "It's fine," he tells her, "I'm piking. I mean pink. And dripping."

Kouzevelth is not at all bothered by this behavior — though Inri can't resist saying, "I think maybe they learned too much from the goats-and-Kainaesyth incident without even hatching," to the clutchparents and … her notebook, while she marks down Cymlei's Impression and the second shelled.

As for Kouzevelth and the hatchling? She gives her daughter a soft whuffle, right in the FACE, and urges her off her leg and out onto the sands. No, the candidates are that way. Go on.

Beyrl 's gaze shifts immediately to the egg shattering like glass. He brightens, both eyes and smile, at the sight of the lovely green. Expression softens, though no less happy, as the cute pigtailed girl is picked. Fitting. However, at the sight of the next hatched catches his eye, and he nearly lets out a chuckle as she tries to climb mount Kouzevelth.

Cuprum Curse Egg starts to look lively again as a decision is reached. Definitely looking like it'll hatch! See those cracks? They start small and grow ever numerous but still it's not time.

Kera grabs a seat not too far away from the railing, not the nosebleed seats she normally gets. Leaning to and fro, the Xanadian greenrider grins when she spots people here or there. Kyzen is sent a wave before her attention is caught by the flurry of activity below, and the quick choosing young green that claims the first candidate.

Brebain is polite enough not to, you know, stare at Lucy's… hole, although a glance that associates hole with which Candidate that is … results in a frown, somewhat confused. "I can't believe she's the one with holes in her clothing," he murmurs. "Now I halfway hope her parents aren't here — that would be humiliating." For Lucy? For her parents? Yes? He's not specifying. He glances back at Thys again. "Is it good luck or bad luck if they're all green?"

Lucy loses her pigtailed buddy to a lovely baby dragon; apparently she's not much good as a hand-holder and doesn't seem inclined to find a replacement but…well, Daralyn's safe for now because she hesitates long enough for Alister to grab her hand. "You should have washed that stuff off right away," Lucy whispers helpfully. "That's why I'm only a little bit pink." If they're all going to hold hands, she'll flail her arm back behind her for Senira's. "Is she coming over here?" The shimmering green, presumably.

Gabriela stumble steps to the side as Alister lunges to the side. "Arm still attached Alister!" Seriously dude let's discuss dislocated shoulders for a moment. Or perhaps later. Later is good. Because eggs are cracking and hatchlings arriving. "Ha! What is that one doing?" Such a pretty little green. "Looks like she's going to higher ground for a better look doesn't it?" Wait who's pink? Looking over at Alister she realizes he is indeed pink. "Nice color choice. Did I miss something important?"

Aaron is a bit late to the proceedings, but manages to find himself a seat without stepping on too many toes or blocking views too bad. Not a small feat for a man his size! Getting settled in, he casts his eyes out towards the sands, a smile cracking his face. Hatchings are always such fun. And profitable, if he's betted right…

"Good luck," Thys says without hesitation. "Because any egg that hatches a healthy dragon, like those lovely greens," the one that's just Impressed, and the one that's trying to climb Kouzevelth's leg, "is a good egg, and good eggs are lucky, and… yes. All greens would be lucky. Especially for the Weyr's blues." Welcome to Flight-tastic Fort?

Forward or Die Egg gives a dial-up slow tremble. Clickwhrrrrrbzzzz.

Alister says, "I washed it as soon as I was able, there were lectures," in defense, and because he's still washing, or was, you know, until this whole hatching thing happened. "Sorry," is mutter-mumbled to Gabriela for the yanking, and then, "There was, um, an incident. With a journeyman. And a vat of dye, it's a whole — thing. Incident. There were reports." Down the line Freckles, bereft of hands to hold, shuffle-shifts himself in beside Beryl, and wiggles fingers. He looks hopeful. But not too hopeful. "Is she climbing her mother," Alister finally asks.

Keeper of Secret Waters Green Hatchling meets her dam's nose with her own - and promptly sneezes. That's likely what sends her tumbling off Kouzevelth's foreleg. She lands on her back in the sand, but darnit - that was not her goal! With a grunt, she rights herself, about to try the climb again when her attention is directed elsewhere - towards the white-robed figures waiting. With a mini-bellow, she tucks her head down and is off full-tilt right towards them. For all appearances her aim is to bowl over whoever doesn't get out of her way.

Senira inhales sharply as each green dragon hatches, and her eyes flicker rapidly between each cracking egg. Her first hatching is overwhelming to say the least. "She's… climbing. Like the goats," she answers Lucy's question, whether it was meant in a rhetorical spirit or not. The mention of goats makes her eyes flicker over to Haristal who gets flashed a grin. "Another she-goat." Of course, now that the little green dragon seems poised to ram them, this comparison seems less funny.

Tap. Tap. Tap. The rhythmic sound continues for quite a while from within Eggplosive at Best Egg. Tap. Tap. Tap. All over. Every place. Like the small creature within is exploring the inside of the shell before they're quite ready to do the outside. Wait, oops. That last tap did it. A long crack appears, slowly winding it's way from red splotch to red splotch. Just wait. It'll get there.

Beyrl continues watching this new green, with the lovely hidden colors, like an agate, average covering beauty. He wants to see how high she can climb, and is somewhat dissapointed (though not surprised) when Inri goes to shoo her toward the group. He blinks a bit as she suddenly charges, and gives a grin (though cautiously) as he watches to see who she might tackle.

Gabriela can't help a soft giggle. "I want to hear all about that later. Because all I'm seeing right now is a fascinating fashion choice." Not that Alister isn't dashing in pink. On the subject of dashing. "Um… guys… is that Green about to mow us all down?!" Her hand is held in Alister's vice grip so she isn't able to get away quickly. Leaving her to dance nervously on the hot sand as though playing some odd game of hot potato with her feet.

Under building pressure, Cuprum Curse Egg's fate is finally sealed as the last toss weighs in favor of hatching. Cracks widen, shell breaks and chips away and the hatchling within is unceremoniously dumped onto the sands and already scrabbling for purchase as if to avoid being caught flat on his back on the sands as quickly as possible.

Ego State of Illusion Blue Hatchling
True blue in hue right down to his core, he is a finely built dragon from the very tip of his muzzle and outwards to the graceful sweep of his wings and the end of his proper proportioned tail. His hide seems to show no blemish or variation though under certain light or on close, close inspection one will see the hints of tarnish and age in hints of sapphire and cobalt along his sculpted features, ridges and taloned feet.

Ego State of Illusion Blue Hatchling struggles to his feet with an annoyed flick of his tail, head held high as if indignant towards his current situation. Well! THIS just won't do! He's quick to get to the point. He's perfect, after all and he'll charge right down to the line of Candidates. Fresh and unspoiled! Not for long as his awkwardness foils his exuberance and ego and as he twists to reject one Candidate, his tail ends up knocking his chosen flat on his behind. Sadly, talons do not help in righting this wrong, but Ingan, now Ig'an struggles back to his feet while firmly holding the blue. "I hear you, Jivahath! I — yeah, food. Right. No, it's fine. Come on…" Off they go, with the blue looking mighty proud of himself and poor Ig'an torn between elation and ignoring the pain in his arm and side.

Haristal glances at Senira when she talks to him, then looks over where she's talking about. "Oh, careful. You aren't wearing metal." It's important not to get bowled over by baby dragons when you aren't wearing metal. They've established this.

Lucy muses, "Guess it helps not being super pale," eyeballing Alister almost pityingly, and then cuts a look from Senira to Haristal, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Because that hole in her robe sure does seem goat-maw-sized. But then, "Whoa!" she exclaims as the opalescent green charges. Red Rover.

Brebain can't help but laugh at Thys' suggestion. "Lucky indeed for the blues," he agrees, with the calm certainty of someone who has never actually even remotely been affected by a green flight, and has no idea what they're actually like. That's cool, right? (PS, Aaron, the bookie's over there, off to the left, where he can see everything.) "Ah, like that one, apparently. Unlike his new rider… Oh dear." And he hadn't even met Ingan at the Weaver Hall.

Keeper of Secret Waters Green Hatchling is finding this fun. To her it's a game! She skitters to a halt, looks for her next victim, prongs a couple of times, bucks once and is off once more, zooming around headlong, heedless of where people are. Thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-THUMP! She's light on her feet and the sand mutes her strides somewhat, but the little menace can still be heard.

Inri gawps openly when Ingan Impreses and she is not even going to pretend not to, actually pausing in vague momentary disapproval before noting the dragon, his choice, and his name. Kouzevelth has already forgotten about the egg smacking incident, despite her previous upset, but that doesn't mean her lifemate has. At least she doesn't say anything. Just a 'tsk.'

M'icha blinks and then audibly sighs when the blue hatches and picks so swiftly… but also roughs up the intended target. One down. How many more? "Y'alright there… Ig'an, was it?" Maybe that's karma for the now ex-Candidates foolishness to smack an egg during the egg touchings (okay, it was an accident) but there you go! "Let's get you patched up and Jivahath fed." Even though the blue is already strutting his way ahead. The AWLMs will be left to watch that green warily and wait…

"Hrm. Yes, I've not had the pleasure of meeting Ingan, but I do know who he is," Thys comments to Brebain, one brow raised softly. "But that's a fine-looking blue he's got there, and I hope he's not too badly injured. Though I do wish that little green will choose soon!" She leans forward to get a look at Ig'an as he's with M'icha, and seems satisfied that the Weyrlingmaster isn't panicking over his injury.

Forward or Die Egg is starting to show signs of cracking… those Flashy colours on its shell are striated with fractures. Loading… 95#5434

Alister is definitely watching that little green, his, "Why don't you guys, get behind m—" cut off as he realizes that guard-instinct to provide himself as a human meat-shield is a little less than useful, here. "Just, uh, stay sharp, guys," he covers with instead, and slightly loosens his death-grip on Gabby's hand so that she can FLEE if NECESSARY. He also returns Lucy's eyeballing with one of his own, then says, "Yeah, probably," and it's hard to tell if he's flushing a little, there, because it's just more — pink.

Beyrl glances over to Senira (he's sure he heard her). "Goats?" he asks. He must remember to ask about that later. An interesting detail that keeps slipping his mind. A slight smirk escapes though when Ingan gets chosen in a manner rather suited to him. He snaps his head around as the green comes to a sudden stop, then zips off again. A thin grin creases his mouth, and his eyes refocus on her. "She sure is an interesting one." he mutters, perhaps to no one in particular.

Gabriela is all about games. Though she prefers to keep her limbs in their original condition without adding to her multitude of scars. "You're tall," she muses to Alister. "I think I will hide behind you." See her edge over to make that attempt. Only to have her head pop right back around the poor man's shoulder as she eyeballs Ingan. "Dude! I did not see that coming!" Tug tug on a pink sleeve. "Can you believe that mess? He'll be impossible to live with now." Any time the thudding of the Green gets near she ducks and attempts to hide behind the poor ex-guard. He's a dude and can totally stand to be mauled right?

Aaron watches the drama down on the sands, his grin broadening as he gets to see his first impression of the evening…

As if to throw some more awkwardness into the situation, Daralyn stumbles back as the awkwardly charging dragon crashes by the line to find his/her chosen…and reaches out, somehow managing to grab for Lucy's hand…or robe…or really anything else at all he can grab onto to avoid stumbling backwards and making a complete fool of himself. Regardless of those attempts or their success, it should stand to reason that he does not avoid in averting that fate.

Keeper of Secret Waters Green Hatchling keeps missing her target. This is highly unsatisfying. She changes tactics, slows down to a walk as though tuckered out. Ahah! Some of those white robes relax their guard and BAM! The feisty green nails one. Aaaand she keeps going until something gains her attention.

It's what everyone was waiting for as the seconds ticked by and those cracks grew larger and larger. It was only a matter of time before the cracks reached a point where they simply cannot hold up any longer. And when it comes, the moment of entry, it's as dramatic as Explosive at Best Egg could make it. Shell cascades in every direction, sharp pieces likely to damage anyone standing too near the tiny creature that steps out, wings outstretched and already in movement.

Energetic Empress Green Hatchling
There's no other way to describe this creature other than serpentine. Her form is unusually elongated, not only in the torso, but her neck, tail and wings as well. Sinuous she may be, but she truly is a dragon, not a snake. Overall her color is that of pale jade with a subtle opalesent gleam. The ghostly iridescence lends her an elusive beauty, for only in the sunshine does it shimmer as satin garments of royalty replace the drab matte of peasantry she wears when indoors. There are no scales on her suede-like hide, but a faint lacework of malachite gives the illusion of them, encircling her overly-skinny frame, beginning from the tip of her rangy muzzle all the way down to her obsidian claw-tipped talons. Atop her proudly-carried head, barely-discernible markings of aventurine and peridot form a 'headdress' of sorts that trails down her spine in ceramic-hard ridges, each sharp edge brushed with inky lacquer. When unfurled, her wings extend beyond that of her entire length. Even folded they may drag or be tripped over. Upon the sails of her protracted pinions an explosion of color blooms, hints of cherry blossom sparks seen amongst the display of jewel tones - beryl, emerald and tourmaline - all clouded as though seen through a haze of gunpowder the way evening's mist mutes the silk lantern's glow.

Energetic Empress Green Hatchling shakes herself free of the last bits of eggs though she's made a rather good head start with her explosive entry. Her wings, once outstretched, now hang loosely at her sides and she starts forwards eagerly towards the Candidates. Only she ends up stumbling and while she doesn't quite nosedive into the sands, she does awkwardly hesitate as she attempts to do everything at once.

Senira's brows shoot up as she watches the blue impress and spares a moment to wonder if the hatchling that rattled Ig'an came from the egg that Ingan rattled. "She looks like the baby goats that were on the sands," she addresses Beyrl and nods toward the green hatchling. "Though the problem with them was the running /away/ not the running /over/…" Her coordination leaves a lot to be desired so Senira bends slightly at the knees, ready to jump out of the way of the charging dragonet.

Keeper of Secret Waters Green Hatchling's rowdy game comes to an end in front of a brown-haired, brown-eyed girl as she skids to a stop and simply stares for a long moment. Then, she extends her neck and gently butts the candidate's belly with her head. Whatever goes on between the two is accompanied by the tiny hatchling gazing with obvious interest upward to the ledges where the adult dragons perch to observe.

Flock of Fate Egg might be moving! There's a hint of a twitch to the otherwise staid egg, though you'd have to be looking at just the right time to catch it. Don't blink, or you won't see that glint at the side there change angle slightly.

Lucy is bad at the human shield concept anyway, and steps forward as the deep red egg spills its contents onto the sands. "She's gorgeous," the girl breathes, the first thing out of her mouth most of the evening that hasn't been sarcastic. Lucy's hands are taken and so Daralyn gets a handful of robe, though that does free up a hand when Lucy yanks it out of Alister's grip to try to keep her robe, weighted down by fellow Candidate, from pulling off her shoulders. "I swear to Faranth, I am not doing this naked!"

Beyrl looks over to the new young dragon that just popped from her egg, like a snake pushing out into new life. Almost clumbsy looking, but rather pretty (in a certain light) he watches her, wondering what she'll do. Meanwhile he's making sure he doesn't get tackled (at least too hard) by the hyper little green. Though he doubt he'd mind too much (as long as nothing's broken).

"Well, if she does, at least people won't be staring at the hole in her robe," Brebain mutters, coughing into his hand, and he should not be saying things like that right next to two impressionable young girls (plus Kyzen, and all the other weyrbrats, all of whom are presumably close enough to hear, whether or not they're paying attention to what some old dude in the stands is saying). He sips at his tea, demurely.

Gabriela forgets that she was hiding behind Alister. Or even why she was hiding at all. "Ahzavayth! I will explore any ledge with you." Love at first sight and the whole world fades away. "First though you must be hungry after all that running." Glancing back at her fellow Candi's her expression is serene as the ocean on a calm day. Before she turns and allows herself and Ahzavayth to be ushered off.

That illusion of shattered glass on the side of Shattered Shards Egg is becoming reality - it shudders and shakes as cracks spread like wildfire across its shell.

Kera reaches into her satchel grabs one of the rolls, which she begins munching on as a little green hatchling charges at the main group of white robed pins…candidates. "Oh! Missed." is muttered to whoever is close enough to hear. But that blue one catches his target before the new blue pair is led off, just in time for shards to fly and another greenling appears. "Wow, This must be a record…think the whole clutch will be blue and green?"

"Odds are fourteen to one against it," the bookie tells Kera helpfully. "Not too late to place your bets, ma'am!"

M'icha and the other AWLMs are being kept busy now! With Ig'an now being seen to, the Weyrlingmaster returns just in time to find Gabriela with her newfound green. "This way you two." he says with a grin. "Ahzavayth, was it? Come on. Meat and all you need this way."

Alister's, "Oh." is disappointed at first, or not — not exactly disappointed so much as lacking in any kind of tone. It lasts only a moment, though, and he's stepping out of the way and crowing, "Oh!" in delight because hey, look at that, he's not a meat-shield anymore after all and Gabriela's Impressing. He's also suddenly not holding Lucy's hand, either, which leaves him looking a little bit bereft, so instead he says, "Hey, no hanking — yanking, I mean no yanking," at Daralyn.

Kera considers the bookie with a shrewd gaze before shaking her head and waving off the thought "Nah, the eggs are listening, as soon as I bet a brown snout will appear."

Bronze Kainaesyth is… Well, he's happy. But as the weather has turned more cold a particular grayness has settled, and his exuberance is checked. Low to the ground not-at-all-musical but somehow flute-like, he whistles at the babies. Ha'ze… meh, he'll be around. Hopefully. Full circle.

Zhirayr is a little bit late, but Fort's Steward has a really good reason — there's, you know, a hatching going on, and that means that before too much longer there's also going to be a hatching feast, in which Fort has to show off to everyone who's present and everyone who's come to visit just how awesome they are, and how good their cooks are, and how pretty the Living Caverns can be (with Inri's tiny lights getting shoved back up in a hurry as soon as the humming began). He ends up sitting on Mirinda's other side, after nodding his hellos to Thys, Brebain, and everyone else he recognizes, but then is busy whispering with the Healer about what he's missed so far.

"I'll place a bet," Thys says to the bookie, waving him over. "All greens and blues." As for how much she's betting, the bookie will have to just look down into his palm as she presses marks into it, before calling down to the Sands with: "Congratulations, Gabriela!"

Oopsy-daisy! Forward or Die Egg gives an almighty shudder - which doesn't manage to crack its shell all the way, but it does serve to knock it over into Paraskevidekatriaphobia Egg. The impact shatters its weakened shell and BOOMF. Suddenly there's a little blue hatchling sitting amongst the shards.

Facebook Killed the Email Star Blue Hatchling
Bright bubbly blue, a shade that's absolutely likeable in every possible way, covers this little guy's hide in an almost uniform lacquer. He's shiny and practically perfect in his conformation, with a socially-inclined countenance and a comment-worthy wingspread, profiled in candy blue and white.

Facebook Killed the Email Star Blue Hatchling scrambles up onto his feet, giving himself a shake-down to get some of that clingy goo and sand off his hide. He looks up at Kouzevelth, then at Kainaesyth, then takes his first swaying steps into the world towards the candidates. Along the line he goes, passing Tuwiter and Myspase without so much as a second look, to pick a lanky teenager who can't stop growing, and whose freckles and red hair are off-set by the heat-flush on his cheeks. "His name is Zukerberth!" M'rc shouts out, laughing gleefully. Then away they wander from the Sands, towards M'icha and food.

Energetic Empress Green Hatchling figures things out, now tucking her wings against her side and moving with more purpose and determination now. Unlike her fellow siblings though, her forward charge is a little less menacing. Just a little! She'll approach the line of Candidates but she does not easily find what she seeks. Not yet, anyways! So she'll weave her tiny, tiny little frame across the Sands in her quest. She knows her other half is here somewhere!

Upside Down Egg twitches once, then in a rather dramatic turn of events, flips over. No more Upside Downness.

Daralyn steadies himself and offrs an apologetic, beet-read smile. "Sorry…" he stage-whispers. With that, he does his best to turn his attention back to the hatching…wait… "What's hanking?" he asks Alister. As much as he hates to admit it, asking a stupid question…well, it at least takes his mind off of being a bumbling idiot.

Beyrl blinks lightly as the blue makes its entrance in a way a bit cumbersome. He gives a bit of a smile as the other dragons impress. But there's still that one. The hidden jewel. He watches her approach, feeling hopeful, but that sinks slowly as she passes. For a brief moment, he wonders if he'll impress, but in the next, something tells him he must try. So he builds up hope again, and tries to help himself by thinking of all the interesting things he could do with a dragon. Go exploring, experience the world, go flying.. with those clumbsy wings-on-land, he's betting she'd be a wonderful flier.

One Smart Cookie Egg apparently needs to be unstuck from the sands, for it heaves, but doesn't quite move anywhere before falling still for a moment.

Lucy hauls the shoulder of her robe back up with great dignity and explains to Daralyn hautily, getting the jump on Alister, "Hanking is trying to pull someone's clothing off in the middle of a public event." A few more tugs settle the robe, well…it's never ever going to look good, but Lucy gamely tries to focus on the hatchlings. Oooh, the vanilla one.

Alister blinks rapidly as Freckles — M'rc — Impresses, then flushes — pink, pinker, pinkest! (It doesn't help that the majority of his robe still manages to be white: just makes the overall pinkness of everything else that much more prominent). "It's yanking, I meant to say yank … yes." He'll jump right on board Lucy's train, here, "Yanking off during a public event." Alister. Alister. Look at the words your mouth is making. Think before you let them out.

Energetic Empress Green Hatchling pauses and tilts her little head. Hmm. Wait, no. Back there! She twists around and some might have to dodge again so as not to be bumped into. Yes. Yes! This one looks promising — no, the one! How'd they get all the way there and tucked away? Tsk. Confidently, she'll march her way up and affectionately bump her head against the side of the Candidate, who usually so fond of words has been close to silent.

Senira keeps to her toes, still ready to jump out of the way of any charging hatchlings if need be. She emits an audible gasp as the Upside Down Egg flips rightside up, and watches it somewhat warily—what kind of dragon is that egg going to produce? She's still behind Lucy but not exactly focused on trying to keep her fellow candidate's holey robe out of view. Sorry, Lucy!

Daralyn grumbles back… "I tripped…that dragon ran up and I grabbed at the nearest…thing…" And then he shuts up, deciding that there isn't much of a chance of salvaging this mess and that he should probably not even bother. In the end, Daralyn just facepalms before making a (vain) attempt to focus back on the ceremony at hand.

Flock of Fate Egg has definitely changed appearance, whether or not anyone actually noticed motion — there is now a very clearly delineated line forming through those layers of black-black-black. It sloooowly continues down a near-straight line, cracking through that bright and shiny spot of blue at one end, glinting in the light, and then as soon as it seems the egg has been clear split in half, it stops. Not time yet.

Haristal pulls at his robe, watching dragons more than eggs now that they're hatching and Impressing. It's fascinating and the big guy has a first hand seat. "Did you know they'd look like that? Is that normal?" he asks of no one in particular since he barely glances to the side to even see if anyone's still near him.

And…. this is where Ha'ze will finally show up. A wet rag wiping something very black off his face. His clothing also bears marks of the black soot. He's been doing something. Don't mind him. He'll just cross mutely to Kainaesyth's side, and lean against the bronze dragon.

Beyrl blinks a bit at a feeling in his mind, and he becomes more focused on the green. His face suddenly lights up in wonder and love, and he scoops up the little dragon eagerly. "Xianeth is your name, and our life shall be one. Our story shall be one. And out paths shall take us to.. food? Let us consume a mountain of it!" he declares, finding his voice once more, and hurries off the sands with his dragon held close and warm.

When Shattered Shards Egg finally breaks, will it unleash seven turns of bad luck upon the Sands? You'd better hope not, because that stunningly smooth shell is starting to show signs of caving in as its occupant wrestles to get free. From the delicately spiderwebbed pattern on its side, a chip of shell is pushed free - followed by another, and another, and another, each methodically shunted away until theres enough room for a sizeable green to roll gently out, ready to take her first steps in the world.

Nothing in the 'Verse Stronger than Hope Green Hatchling
Such a luscious amalgamation of curves and charm offsets her warm olive-drab hue, making this sturdy lady the perfect balance of feminine and practical. Wide eyes whirl with the light of the 'verse beneath soot-smudged 'ridges, her openly honest expression sweetened by honey-hued freckles that add a shimmering depth to her dun hide. An oily smear besmirches one cheek, and is rubbed along the cocoa of her neat neckridges, adding a glistening sheen to them that spreads out across her wide wings. That subtle glaze brings out the patterns of her 'sails, florally abstract as they are - simple stampings shadowed violet or rose if the light is just right, with a hint of that pattern along her spine towards her blackened tail. Her slender shoulders are balanced out by her narrow waist and broad hips, with all four of her oil-smudged legs darkening down to boot-black paws.

Nothing in the 'Verse Stronger than Hope Green Hatchling takes a second to find her feet, getting up to them with surprising steadiness after a few wobbling attempts. She shudders, shaking from head to toe, from wingtip to tailtip, spattering egg-goo and sand across her sibling eggs. Ooops. Then she stretches and yaws, those boot-dark forepaws of her extended waaaay out in front while her rear end goes up in lazy feline grace. And then she's off, making a wobbly little beeline towards the candidates.

"Hi." Inri shoots Ha'ze a soft smile, one that isn't actually judgmental at all — she is legitimately glad to see him. Her greeting-glance is interrupted by two things — an Impression she has to write down, though she does recognize the Candidate, "Look, Zuvaleyuth in human form Impressed! Xianeth. It's short."

M'icha heads out once again, flanked by his AWLMs, to gather up the newly paired weyrlings. With the newest blue being settled, he will walk towards Beyrl. "Well, well… congratulations! You and Xianeth, just follow me. We'll get you settled," Quickly too, as more eggs are hatching!

As more and more greens and blues hatch, the bookie is starting to look, well, remarkably… sour. (Even if he has already cleared up pretty well on all those bets for a bronze-first, admittedly.)

Lucy keeps her ire to a delicate flaring of nostrils. Maybe she'll be in a better mood later, when she's, you know, dressed. "Just…don't," she tells Daralyn, and offers him a hand with somewhat ill grace, if he wants to hang on to something that (probably) won't fall off. Senira escapes criticism for abandoning her post; sometimes you just gotta let it all hang out. "There goes Beyrl…"

It's a wonder that aerial maneuver of Upside Down Egg earlier didn't cause a crack before. A single BANG from within the egg, and there, a single crack running smartly up and down the length of no-longer Upside Down Egg appears.

Kera watches as green after blue after green and so on, continue claiming the little white pins below. "Hmm, perhaps betting a few marks wouldn't have been /that/ bad of an idea." Shoulders lift and drop with a shrug. "Oh well. Too late now."

Time ticks by and suddenly, ding! As if an internal timer had gone off One Smart Cookie Egg moves once more, this time with a crisp crackle, the shell snaps and one section falls away to the sands before the egg stops moving.

Haristal's attention wanders toward the new weyrlings, the people he's become familiar with over their time in the barracks, that are making their way off of the sands. There aren't any congratulations, though. That would take too much thought and Haristal only has so much of that to spread around.

An elderly auntie standing there with a wide foamy cup just peers glossy eyed out over to the sands. Well, she appears to be facing in that direction, there's no telling if she's actually capable of seeing. "Whas going on here? You! You tell me what I walked into." That's a wall auntie.

Daralyn graciously accepts the hand and sighs. "Uh…thanks." Beat. "And…uh…good luck." It's not much, after all of the fumbling, but it's something. A gesture. A gesture that (hopefully) won't get him slapped upside the head.

Alister and his lack of hand-holding will step up — step back — step behind Lucy, how's that. "There," he says, "If anyone notices anything it'll be, you know, the whole pink think, less so the … hole in your seat." He does extend a hand toward Senira this time, though, since he's taking up her slightly abandoned position, while also calling out a, "Congrats, man!" to Beryl as the loquacious Harper candidate has been claimed and swept off.

Nothing in the 'Verse Stronger than Hope Green Hatchling is finding that this walking thing is hard. She makes it a few paces, then trips over her own paw and faceplants into the Sand. With a bit of wriggling and a little creel, she gets back up again, only to have to shake that icky sticky stuff off her hide once more - only this time she's close enough to spatter a few candidates with it. Whoopsy! But, having tried and failed, she's not got more of a grip on what to actually do with all those limbs of hers, and so she sets off more purposefully this time, wandering along a line of candidates… and is that a butt she sees there? It's wuffled at, before she nudges on past and keeps searching for the one that's hers.

There's nothing happening with Paraskevidekatriaphobia Egg. Or did it just give a little judder? Yes! Yes it did! But now it's still again.

That crack that had settled through Flock of Fate Egg didn't seem like it was going to do something anytime soon, but while attention has been elsewhere, things have changed. There is a claw — just one! — peeking out through the crack, a claw that is prying the egg open in a piecemeal and methodical manner. It is when it's about three-quarters of the way open that eyes may be drawn back to it, for now a head — broad, attractive and brown — is peeking through the crack. With a bit more effort and a clear shake from the hatchling within, the egg splits evenly in two, leaving behind a gooey and somewhat ? interesting looking hatchling. (That is a dragon, right?)

No Easy Way Out Brown Hatchling
Is it an avian? Is it a wher? No, it's … stumpy dragon! So small and yet not, this brown is a study in how much muscle can be packed onto a small frame. Despite his truncated limbs and his broad chest and his bulked-up back end, his rich mahogany hide has a subtle gleam to it that accents just how darned pretty he is. The broad planes of his face are well-formed, leaving him with a handsome countenance that's just slightly too short in the nose, not that it detracts from his dapper charm. Garnet's gleam colours the 'ridges that run along his spine - on any other dragon they would appear overlarge, but they're balanced here by the sheer girth of his neck. His wings lack width, questionably stubby as they are, with verdigris tracing the equivocal lines of 'spars and adding filigree contrast to his shallow 'sails. Aeronautical ability aside, there's no doubt this lad, with his smooth shiny hide and its glossy red highlights, has strength beyond measure.

No Easy Way Out Brown Hatchling is, in fact, actually a dragon, thank you very much. He's also a somewhat sedate dragon, it seems … unlike the others, this brown is just kind of sitting there for a moment. He stands. He looks back at his parents, with special attention given to Kainaesyth more than Kouzevelth, perhaps hunting for encouragement. And then, with determined concentration, voyages forth to the Sands. There's something — someone — here he is trying to find.

Kainaesyth curls a tail out, he's totally going to try to twine with Kouzevelth. Because he's cute like that. Slowly his head lowers till it rests on the sands. Too tired. Much too tired.

Senira blinks in surprise at Alister's offered hand, though she takes it gratefully, giving him a little smile. "Thanks, pinky." Is deadpanned, in spite of her gentle expression. She gives that hand a squeeze as another egg hatches. "Oh wow, look at him…"

Thys's lips purse just a little when she sees the brown. "Oh, shardit." Bu-bye, marks! "He's rather… unique-looking, isn't he?"

"Oh thank goodness," the bookie says… audibly. And perks up, a lot. That was a lot of money Thys just lost, so he's a lot happier.

Lucy's butt has pants on, thank you, or shorts at least and also an Alister-screen now but still. "Ain't we a pair," she asides wryly to perhaps the guard, though really it could apply to anyone in her immediate vicinity, Senira, Daralyn. The snortgiggle that follows on the heels of Senira's comment is definitely directed at Alister though. "That one's a chunk." She means the brown, this time.

POUND. POUND. POUND. From within a powerful sound of baby dragon DETERMINED TO EXIT rings out. This one will not be denied. Rhythmic comes the sounds until, abruptly, as if a line was drawn and measured the egg splits perfectly into two. Shaking herself, Working Woman Woes Green Hatchling steps from the shell, head up, eyes searching the area. She'll take this methodically kthanks, and step forward to examine the first work… er, candidate standing upon the sands.

Working Woman Woes Green Hatchling
Practical. Undeniably practical, in every possible way, channelling steel and grit into flesh and ichor. Each inch of her stocky form is nothing but purposefully useful beneath the haphazard mottling that darkens her hide, making her rough-hewn curves less easily distinguished. A bold camouflage, combining every dusky shade of the earth's green spectrum, marls her hide from her blocky nose down to the tip of her stubby tail, echoing the ground's sturdy reliability within the powerhouse of her chest and hindquarters, and challenging the sky through her expansive wings.

Working Woman Woes Green Hatchling steps promptly along the sands. No deviation from her. She's going to head right towards that knot of male candidates over there, focused. Determined. And once there? She circles them as if inspecting. A shake of her head. FOUND LACKING. No. Where is the right one? Seriously, this is wasting time.

"He kind of looks like a boat," Brebain muses, looking out at the brown. "If you squint, anyway. A boat with a … really strange sail pattern that looks more like a pair of wings." He gestures, vaguely, with his flask of mostly-tea. Possibly at this point it's mostly-air, instead.

Haristal lifts an arm to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Then he wipes that on his robe. But it will probably be washed before anyone else uses it. As the group thins, the broad sort-of-trader gravitates toward the nearest gathering without conscious thought. Maybe it's a caravan thing.
I don't see that here.

Alister startles a little bit as the little faintly-floral green goes butt-whuffing by, because hello. (At least it's just butts, right?) "You better believe it," he answers back, although again it's not entirely clear who, precisely, he's addressing. "Oh, Faranth, that's a — something." That's for the brown, and then, "She's not bad, either," for the next little green to get dumped out onto the sands.

One Smart Cookie Egg is apparently finished baking, for it suddenly crumbles, revealing a roly-poly little green hatchling lying sprawled upon the sands.

Good Fortune in Your Pocket Green Hatchling
There is no bonsai about the verdant greenery that covers the hide of this chubby little girl. No, rather she resembles a big ol' round shrub instead, the emerald shade that of a neatly-trimmed jasmine tea bush kept lovingly tended and manicured in a tranquil temple garden.

Good Fortune in Your Pocket Green Hatchling flounders to her plump toes, shakes her stubby tail free of sand granules and gets down to business by ambling towards the candidates - one in particular that catches her attention. It's the skinniest, scrawniest kid in the barracks, so shrimpy that she practically swims in her robe and only partly because her chest is so flat. It is she whom the wee fatling plunks herself down in front of while a sweet smile lights up the child's face. "She says her name is Shibuth, that I am her Kouki and that I need fattening up!" And with a giggle at another remark the green has made, the pair wander off the sands to prosper.

Nothing in the 'Verse Stronger than Hope Green Hatchling has totally got the hang of this walking thing now. Paw-paw, paw-paw, lather, rinse, repeat - easy, right? Along the line of Candidates she goes, wuffling friendly-like at them, rustling her wings to dry them off a little. Which one is hers? She pauses a moment, sitting down to scan them with her bright-whirled eyes, until there. Movement catches her eye. That's what she's been looking for! With a stumbling sort of lollop, she bounds towards her chosen one, coming to a skidding halt that sends her crashing into one burly young man's legs.

"What sort of boats have you been sailing in, Brebain?" Because Thys is absolutely not sure about that comment. "He looks… stocky? Perhaps he'll grow out of it. He's got a cute face, at least."

No Easy Way Out Brown Hatchling seems to be hesitating in order to get cues from outside sources for a second, but — no. Now he's got this down. He KNOWS what he's doing. He has a PLAN. Externally, what the plan appears to be is to set off at not quite a run but a speed-walk, stumpy wings a-flapping to get goo off them to stop from further weighing down, and start examining individual candidates. He stops in front of two boys, starts to sit down, and then abruptly redirects. Nope! Other way.

Paraskevidekatriaphobia Egg quakes. It's knocked askew in its sandy bed by its efforts, but remains relatively still otherwise.

Haristal… H'tal seems perplexed by the green that crashes into his legs. He's not an unsteady man, though, so it's the impact more than sending him off balance or anything that's surprising. Also, probably, that it— she talks to him. "My Nadeyuth?" That can't be right. "I think I'm hungry, too," he admits, like it's just occurred to him. "I think it's that way?" He points, even, like this is totally normal.

Paraskevidekatriaphobia Egg's patience seems to have come to an end. Its siblings have come and gone just like the days of the week, and now its time for its inoffensively-grey shell to begin a slow, slow cracking. Those cracks grow and spread until the shell is crazy-paved with dark fractures - surely it cant be long now, held together by a hope and a prayer as it is? And yet it sits, gently trembling as the dragonet within pauses before making its grand entrance… which it does in the grandest of styles! Paraskevidekatriaphobia Egg all but explodes, shattered shards crumbling away as an almighty effort leaves its egg-gooey former occupant tumbling onto the Sands, amidst the confetti of her former home.

Cupcakes, Cupcakes, Cupcaaaaaaaaaakes! Green Hatchling
Sugar-spun sweetness, that's what she is. From her dainty pretty nose to her dusky little toes, this effervescent darling is a spoonful of sugar to cure the world's ills. Apple-blush colours the sculpted features of her delicate face, peppermint freckles sprinkled playfully bright across her rounded cheeks, and dappling the expressive arch above her so-wide eyes. Cresting her slender neck are rose-kissed buttercream 'ridges - too large, some may say, but nevertheless a sinful delight atop the dream-cloud green of her petite body. Her wings are wide, sour punch-spangled across their salt taffy 'sails, each strong spar glistening with the pearly nonpareil that lightens her leading edges. There's a hint of hard candy shine trailing down her spine and tail, while a smudge of colour brightens her rump - three thumbprints of cyan and citrus atop her near-side hip, a stand-out sweet spot to sum up this sugarlump love.

Cupcakes, Cupcakes, Cupcaaaaaaaaaakes! Green Hatchling doesn't know that hatchlings are meant to be ungainly, because she's UP and she's on her FEET and she's moving already! And… bouncing? She's stiff-legged and practically hopping with all four feet at once as she makes her first few steps - jumps - hops? But it's not exactly graceless, and neither is it awkward - it's just a practical bubbly bouncy way of moving. Yay! Bounce bounce bounce she goes towards the candidates, her eyes whirling bright in excitement. Hello there! Hi! Hello!

Alister is squeezing hands, he's totally a hand-squeezer and a butt-protector and lord, they are just dropping like flies around him, aren't they. "Faranth there are so many greens," is what he manages to say out loud, because he's totally the height of eloquence tonight.

Lucy has burned through most of her annoyance at this point, or perhaps sweated it out. She dashes one bare forearm across her forehead and whuffs softly. "I think that's about all of them." She manages a giggle, stifled behind her hand, at the Candyland green.

Working Woman Woes Green Hatchling spares a SINGLE glance for her brown brother when he passes by her stepping away, this time going for the knot on the OTHER side. She's got her bearings now. It's only a matter of how quick her feet can take her to where she is determined to go.

Lucy winces suddenly, hands going to hear ears and attention swinging irrevocably towards the businesslike green who has somehow appeared at her side. "But I…but…Hallenayth?" It's hard to tell who leads who off the Sands. Needless to say, Lucy doesn't care a bit about the back of her robe anymore. "Theres food here…" the girl says weakly, but the green knows.

M'icha isn't doing all the running back and forth himself, not with his gimpy leg. He's got some assistants ferrying new pairs back and forth to speed things up. He's here when H'tal and then Lucy impress though, and with a gruff, "This way," he directs them off the sands.

Brebain grins at Thys. "Very ungainly boats," he tells her cheerfully, saluting with his flask. "That is a lot of greens," he adds more quietly.

Senira glances over as Haristal impresses, flashing another one of those bright smiles. She spies the bouncing form of the most recently-hatched green hatchling and stifles a giggle. Giggle turns to gasp as Lucy impresses. "Oh, wow!" Without a new mindvoice to distract her, Senira does think about that hole in Lucy's robe. "Now everyone's gonna see her… …shorts." She comments under her breath in Alister's direction.

No Easy Way Out Brown Hatchling stops before another couple of boys, almost seems to shrug — moves on. He gives brief consideration to Lucy, but then she's gone, and it was the upstart one who took her, too — before skidding on the sands and kicking up a giant puff of sand-dust that manages to hit a couple of unfortunate bystanders in the face. At which point he realizes the one that he'd been looking for all along, the one with the best memories? Is right here, he's just … the wrong color. Humans aren't supposed to be that kind of pink!

Cupcakes, Cupcakes, Cupcaaaaaaaaaakes! Green Hatchling bounces along with extraordinary co-ordination for somedragon just out of the egg, pausing at every remaining candidate as if to say hello. Which maybe she is doing? Big eyes whirl and blink as she passes them by… boy, girl, girl, boy, boy, boy, girl… girl. Girl. Yes! Hello! She'll take you, thankyouverymuchyou'reamazingandmine!

Alister's "Oh, Lucy," is a little bit delighted and a little bit dismayed, and his grip on Senira's hand increases exponentially until he realizes he's doing it and loosens his grip abruptly, smile apologetic. "Sorry, sorry about that, it's just that this is all so," very this. He watches the last (are they last?) hatchlings with a wary sort of hope, while his now-dry, still-pink hair fluffs in a halo around his head. He's not really paying attention — until he is, until he is paying so much attention to, "Akleteyth, you need to eat, I just ate before we got here," and then that's all A'ster has hands for, really. "Come on, Stumpy, let's go find food."

Thys nods in agreement. "A lot of greens. And I can't believe I was off in my bet by one. One brown! What's his name?" There's a pause, in which she's no doubt being filled in by Rhenesath. "Akleteyth. Sounds like 6 marks, to me."

Zhirayr leans past the two little girls (and the bigger girl, and her brother) to peer at Thys. "Is that how much you just lost on that bet?"

Senira doesn't have time to feel bereft of Alister's hand or presence. She barely even registers his own impression to the brown hatchling. She startles visibly at nothing in particular—or at least, that's how it must appear to those on the sands and in the galleries. She gives a shake of her head then beams down at the happy green dragon. "Yschazith! Of course your tummy is growling, let's go get it filled!" She stumbles toward M'icha with Yschazith by her side. And she only falls down once or twice, honest.

M'icha is halfway back to the sands when everything happens at once. Good! That'll save his bum leg and a few calories! "Over here," he calls to A'ster, Lucy and Senira gruffly. He's not beaming, but then when does he ever? His mouth twitches into a not-frown, though as he adds, "Congratulations," to all of them.

"Yes," Thys says grumpily, wrinkling her nose. "Perhaps I'll work it out of Alister in some way in the future, though." She winks at Zhirayr, then sighs softly. "Another hatching over! They pass so quickly."

"Is that all of them?" Inri glances about, noting Impressions right and left — including Alister, to the lone, um, that is a brown, right, that was a brown dragon? "Okay." She pulls herself to her feet, taking a deep breath; the part she hates. The announcement part. Addressing those left standing, she says, "We're — sorry," that doesn't seem quite right, "that your lifemates weren't here today, but of course you are all welcome to stay at Fort for as long as you like, and are encouraged to try Standing again. I'm sure that the Weyr staff have put together a gorgeous dessert," because a feast would be kind of odd just after dinner, "with some celebration in the Living Caverns that we encourage everyone to attend." Professional smile: stays on, until she turns back to Kouzevelth, Kainaesyth and Ha'ze and is, instead, personal-smiling. Babies! We made them! And they all Impressed!

Zhirayr just laughs at Thys. "I'm sure you'll find some way of managing that," he agrees, and — eels up out of the way, again, managing to effectively go over some people, and past a lot of others, to get back to the Living Cavern before anyone else, to warn the staff who didn't try to see the last few minutes of the hatching that Everyone Else Is On The Way.


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