Of Butts, Explosions, and Other Things (Egg-touching 3)
Who Am'ry, Ibreily, Leimna, Sygni
(with eggs a la Thys)
What Eggs are toucha-toucha-touched!
When Spring-summer, Turn 2711
Where Hatching Sands, Fort Weyr

amryicon5.png SyIcon4.png


Fort Weyr - Hatching Sands
The sands. The most prominant 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.


Small groups of candidates have been selected each day for a few days now, to be marched out onto the Sands to meet the eggs. Today's group is no different, ushered out there by M'icha and his assistants, with Am'ry amongst the latter's number. "Remember the rules we told you," the candidates are reminded briefly before they're led onto the Sands proper, out to where Kayeth is watchful and Velokraeth looms in the upper ledges. "When we say leave, you leave. Just be gentle in the meantime and don't upset Kayeth. Off you go, now." Let the touching commence!

Ibreily seems not nearly as concerned about her entrance to the sands as the tiny boy hiding in her shadow; he's got to be just barely old enough to join in on the fun, and Ibby seems pretty content to play nanny. "Stop hidin' and listen, Nerytte." She murmurs, eyes catching on Am'ry. Nodding her agreement to the rules as others offer affirmative murmurs, Ibby sets off, twitching a respectful — bow? nod? — in the sire and dam's direction. The candidate limps a little as she moves out among the eggs, trailing through them slowly. Here, at least, she can maintain some sort of dignity. For now. Settling Nerytte at an egg with a bolstering pat, Ibreily moves on to the last-shelled, curious and slow. The Not Your Typical Jack-O-Egg's grin is the first thing she traces, lips quirking up into a grin that almost matches. Creepy. Nice.

Not Your Typical Jack-O-Egg to Ibreily> « Trick or Treat knock-knock-knocks on the door of your mind with the overly-eager rapping of an excited child. Knockaknockaknockaknock! Whether you open up or not, it's there and it's bouncing in excitement, ready to offer you a choice: trick, or treat? Will you give it something good to eat - er, mull over, Ibreily, or are you going to let it dig into the depths of your mind to draw out something on its own? It knows you like seeking the thrilling things in life, and it gives you a whooshing sensation of adrenaline, that ensnares you in its squeezing grasp. But can you open up to it? »

"Oh, you." Tutting, amused as anything, Ibreily pat-pats with gentle fingers, 'gotcha'-ing the nose-shape. Still, a deal's a deal: she signed up for being prodded by growing minds, and the harper-candidate's not going to welch on her end. That rush of adrenaline only helps, spurs Ibby on, and she offers whatever it wants to peruse — memories, limerics learned, that time one of her cousins dared her to eat their booger and she did it. Have at it. Before she can push too hard, though, disturb the little growing mind, Ibreily steps back. Grins, sharp and quick, at the egg. "Yep." She laughs, and then sliiiides away, still careful to A) not trip on her slightly-limpy leg or B) infuriate either parent, or the weyrlingmasters. Important, that. The AGHGETITOFF Egg's eerie shades and shapes draws her fickle attention next, and she pauses next to it, dancing fingers across the filaments and tangles slowly. Anybody home?

AGHGETITOFF Egg to Ibreily> « Creepy Crawling Curse clings, like a sticky silken web. It wraps itself around you, squeezing tightly until you fear it may even cut off your breath. In the silken cocoon of this growing dragon's thoughts, you find your own memories picked through by pricking spider-toes that poke and prod at this and that. You're not afraid of pushing things to the limit, are you? You're not afraid of what might happen if… the web tightens, tighter and tighter, closing in around your neck, over your nose, over your mouth… can you still breathe, Ibreily? Are you afraid? Tighter. Tighter. Can you feel your own mortality now?// »//

Now, this. Ibby'll sit still and pay attention here; creeping memories and prickly shuffling over memories, and no. She's not afraid. She wasn't then — except she was, she was and she did it anyways — and she isn't now. Fingers scrabble a little on the shell but don't scratch, instead Ibreily straightens. Her eyes bug a little, free hand going to her throat, but she doesn't move. She should. She should leave this egg and not look back, but she won't. Mortality? A fleeting concept, the vaguest of shrug-shouldered nonchalance. Is her vision greying? Is it actually real if it's only in her head? Does it matter either way? NO. She's not afraid to die, and maybe, maybe she's terrified of the not-breathing, or of leaving poor Nerytte on the sands all by himself, but who's to say? Not her, back to the wall or no.

Incomiiing! As Ibby vascillates over the wisdom of going blue in the face, in strides Sygni, arm looped around that of a taller figure that… might be a candidate. It might not be. But that's not my tale to tell. Her head is bent close to the taller figure, newly-short-shorn side of her head almost touching their shoulder, and then she releases them like one might a baby bird, hands flung wide. It's only then that she does as is respectable and bows to the clutchmother, that at least somewhat formal, shooting Ibreily a smirk as she straightens and saunters towards one egg in particular with no hesistation or preamble, hands - one bandaged, one not - pressing to the shell of the Firelight Egg.

And Leimna arrives on the heels of Sygni looking decidedly less like Leia and more like Th'ero. You may call her Lei'ero. She's in all blacks with red hair dyed the same and pinned up into loose waves. She's got a mustache, and questionable stubble on her face (really, just don't ask), and she looks entirely too pleased when her eyes fall on Ibby. Yes, yes she is mimicking Fort's highly esteemed leader, but that doesn't mean she forgets her manners. Instead, she takes a bow as well to the Dam, and then moves straight over to Not Your Typical Jack-O-Egg, touching her hand over the surface with gentle ease.

Firelight Egg to Sygni> « Guide in the Darkness fills your mind with blackness, in which tiny firefly pinprinks of light dance welcomingly. They flicker eagerly in your mind's eye as fiery warmth laps at your toes, enveloping you in a cocoon of heat. Into your thoughts go the fiery little sparks, ducking and diving through your memories, through your very being, and finding a nestling spot right there in your love for all things explosive. A lick of flame, and the fireworks of your mind explode - a shower of brilliant colours and sparkling light raining down on you with the whizz-bang! and whzzzzzzzz of catherine wheels and rockets. »

AGHGETITOFF Egg to Ibreily> « Creepy Crawling Curse doesn't loosen its grip. You're still here. Where does the line between stupidity and bravery lie? It squeezes. Crushing. Intentionally trying to get you to flee… except you're stubborn, aren't you, Ibreily? You think you're trouble. You think you're all that. And yet you ran away from your responsibilities, didn't you? Tighter, tighter, tighter it crushes, choking off your air - just to prove a point. Then, with a snapping off the web's silk and a scuttling of spider-toes, it suddenly withdraws, pulling back into its shell. »

Not Your Typical Jack-O-Egg to Leimna> « Trick or Treat knockityknock-knocks on your mind's door. Trick or treat, give me something good to eat! It wants the best, juciest memories from you, Leimna - and it's not afraid to dive right on in there and fish them out for itself. A boisterous presence, it clashes and bangs and pushes and forces its way through your mind, finding out who you are and what good you are to it. What's this? THE WEYRLEADER'S BOTTOM? Is that an image of Th'ero's tush imprinted on your mind? Oh yes, it'll have that, thankyouverymuch. A nice little treat to stave off the tricks. »

This isn't Sygni's first rodeo. Her posture is loose, fleeting, still perched on her toes as though about to lift up and away from the Firelight Egg after the briefest of touches. Yes, darkness. Hello, welcome warmth. Feel free to peruse memories, she has nothing to hide, an open book filled with too-flammable pages, but there's no fear of sparks, of an invading mind. It's almost as though this is something hum ho until— "Oh." And apparently that's what surprise looks like on Sygni's face - she wears it so infrequently, but there it is, mixed with interest and delight as her hands press flatter, firmer, encouraging. "Alright, then. Give me a show."

There it is, the knocking before the invasion that Leia doesn't even fight, sharing humor and horror and the depths of sadness and — really? Th'ero's bottom? Leia's laughter is decidedly hushed, her ensuing encouragement of, "Good choice," to the egg hardly louder as blue eyes light up with amusement and then shift to her cousins. "I like your priorities," she informs, and then much like Ibby and Syg, she presses her fingers a little higher, and a little firmer. What else does this little eggy want?

That line lies somewhere around the point that sparks start dancing around Ibreily's vision, real or imagined, and all she does is stop clutching at her throat and sets the other hand on the shell. Stupid? Probably. Don't tell me what to do~~. Tighter, tighter, even the presence of family on the stands isn't on her radar. Only the rapidly diminishing ability to reason beyond a solid NO. Then — nothing, and she looks. Disappointed? Like Sygni's surprise, the open disappointment is odd, but Ibby's expression rapidly blanks. For a long moment, the candidate can only stare, jaw slack, at the egg. It takes a long moment to shift away from the egg, and she does it reluctantly, still staring at the eerie shell. That is, until she notes the presence of the other two on the sands, and her expression shifts to delight. Comment? Shells, no. She's not here to get eaten. That instinct for self-preservation is still in there somewhere. Instead, making sure that Nerytte is still good, she approaches the Commemoration of Egg, eyeing the ornate patterning first with her eyes, then with the slow brush of a palm. Reluctant? No. Not really. She's got a lot to think about, though.

Firelight Egg to Sygni> « Guide in the Darkness can give you the biggest, brightest fire-show of them all! Its darkness is suddenly set alight with the brightest blazing explosions, sending wave upon wave of brightly-hued sparks down over your mind. Pink, green, blue, silver, red, gold, and in the most impossible combinations of each. Catherine wheels whirl and spin, sending carousel showers of flame and light in whirligig patterns. It continues, explosion after glorious explosion, until the poor thing tires itself out. That's a lot to ask for a little mind, you know. The light show fades, and it slips into darkness once more. »

Not Your Typical Jack-O-Egg to Leimna> « Trick or Treat likes its priorities, too. It plasters a mental poster of the image it's stolen on the wall of the connection between you, then begins to dig for more. Though whether you'll have any treats better than that, well… it doesn't seem to think so. Into your thoughts it burrows, leaving a trail of candy-wrappers and toiler paper streamers behind it, until, in frustration, it gives you a little push. Did you really just get shoved, or was it just in your head? It's a push away. You've given it something good enough that it won't trick you today, Leimna, but next time? Bring something even better. »

The Commemoration of Egg to Ibreily> « A Light in the Darkness is a quiet presence compared to other eggs. Dark, steady, calm, with a flickering candle lighting its heart. Step into the darkness, and we'll explore together. It picks up on your curiosity and it grasps onto it with clinging dark paws. Where has your curiosity taken you, Ibreily? You've travelled. It likes that. Though the darkness hardly stirs, the candlelight burns a little brighter when it finds the memories of your Quinto days. The sea. Salty air. Rukbat's rays on your face. Bask in the glory of adventure, Ibreily! This egg certainly does! »

It's odd, being on this side of the show, the one who gets to watch with no inkling of what's coming next, no knowledge as to the order or setup or quality of firework that might light up the darkness - and Sygni loves it, this carefully arranged chaos, eyes bright and flickering, gaze distant as though truly watching the display with something that might be pride. Pride and pleasure, as well, 'ooh'ing and 'ahh'ing as appropriate, grinning for particularly well-timed pyrotechnics. Dimples flick up into her cheeks when finally the mind withdraws, fingers smoothing over the egg's shell like one might brush a toddler's hair along with a murmured, "That was very good. I'm impressed." She politely leaves it to its rest, however, tucking legs up under her to move to another egg. Ibreily gets a wink for her amusement, and she can't even look at Leia after catching Ibby's face or she'll start laughing, so instead she touches her hands down on the Favored Familiar Egg.

Pushy, pushy! Lei'ero's disorientation at the sudden push has her blinking blue eyes and then grinning wickedly at the little egg. Maybe it's to get rid of the after-image of Fortian's Weyrleader's impressive bottom, maybe it's something else, but Leia's rubbing at her eyes and stifling her own laughter. "Alright, alright. You win," she breathes, "It was definitely the best I had." And Leia refrains from touching it again, moving on instead to Amok! Amok Amok Amok. There's only a moments hesitation as the candidate stares down the new egg, and then out her hand goes, right onto its shell.

Favored Familiar Egg to Sygni> « Nine Times Lucky is soft and warm, a purring pleasantness that settles itself into the lap of your mind. It paws its way through your thoughts, pad-pad-padding at this and that. The pyrotechnics are avoided - it doesn't like those. What it does like, though, is the way that you understand people. You get them, don't you? It hones in on that part of you, batting it around and rubbing it like a cat with catnip. What do you think of your fellow candidates, Sygni? Images arise in your mind - some recognisable, some not. One looks like Xhanfyr, with his flowing dark hair. One is possibly Vossrik, another is Doktah. Tell me what you know. »

Amok! Amok Amok Amok Egg to Leimna> « I Put a Spell on You jumps awake when the flame of your hand lights the candle of its being. You sense it's been sleeping - sleeping for a long, long time, and your presence has not only startled it but made it// oh so happy. You. You're the one. You're the chaos in the night come to sow the seeds of a new era! It curls around you like smoke, pressing in close, whispering nonsense in your ear. Itch-it-a-cop-it-a-mel-a-ka-mys-ti-ca… it draws from you, breathing in your energy to envigour its own self, soaking up your brightness and your light and your sass to make it all its own. Are you feeling tired now, Leimna? Drained? Exhausted? Because this egg's feeling the exact opposite. Thanks for the hit, doll. »

Tempted as she might be to go back and fight an egg some more, Ibreily settles a little at the quiet presence. She breathes out, closing her eyes and smiling a little, looking perfectly happy to go along with it. Adventure? Adventure is always on the roster. Salt and old wood — Ibby huffs, ducking her head and tucking her shoulders in a little, expression wistful. "That happened." She huffs under her breath, and shares other memories; long days moving cargo on and off-board, towering waves in a terrifying gale, quiet moments. It certainly did happen. Lingering only for a moment, looking a little sad, the candidate shifts back, expression a little softer now. Maybe she won't stomp off in a sulk. Or limp off, glaring at Sygni for that wink and the pfft-ing kind of snicker she has to clamp down on last-minute, studiously avoiding looking at Leia, as it were. Maybe, instead, she'll approach the Wrappers EVERYWHERE Egg, eyeing the vividly-colored shell with raised eyebrows. This egg seems to require a whole, splayed hand, although she doesn't go so far as to use it to support her weight. Hello, hello!

Sygni can't help a small smile that tilts up her lips as the egg settles into her mind-lap, fingertips instinctively moving in scritch-scritchy motions against the egg's shell. For a moment, she seems content, before the egg's question gives her pause. Fingers slow, but never quite still, thinking things over before answering. "Well the first two are hardly fair, I only just said words to them ten minutes ago, but…" Young. Impressionable. Too untested and raw for her to seek to spoil. Frenetic. Exciteable. In desperate need of support. Kind. Intelligent. Deeper than what's on the surface, with the potential to be so much more. She feeds the impressions back to the egg without speaking them, a gift from her to it, betraying the observant mind she hides under bluster and insanity before she presses one finger against her lips. "Shh. It's our little secret." And before it can pry further, she lifts her hands up and away, sidling to press her fingertips against the Not Your Typical Jack-O-Egg instead.

Wrappers EVERYWHERE Egg to Ibreily> « Noise Covered in Sugar OMGHELLOHIHIHIHIHI! You're hit with a massive wall of sugar rush, an overly sweet SMACK in the face that's like getting hit with a whirlwind and a giant lollipop, all at once! Wrappers rustle with excitement because you're here, omgyou'rehereandyou'retouchingmeandcanwebefriendsforeverpleasepleaseplease? INHALE. An explosion of colour bursts in all its sweetened glory over your mind, candy-confetti raining down on you in so much excitement. It doesn't need to get to know you. Whoever you are, whatever you've done, it's all good with this little guy! There's too much sugar-hype for it care. TOUCH ME MORE! TOUCHA-TOUCHA-TOUCH ME! STAY HERE! DON'T GO! »

Not Your Typical Jack-O-Egg to Sygni> « Trick or Treat , smell my feet! And my goodness, does it smell in here all of a sudden or what?! There's a whiffy odour of bad cheese, which evolves into the stink of someone's unwashed socks, which evolves again into something more like what you'd find at the bottom of the kitchens' bins on a steamy hot summer's day. EW. There's giggling, laughter that sounds like a mimicry of your own - but a childlike version of you. A throwback to the days you'd spend onboard a ship playing pirates with wooden swords. Suddenly an upwelling of salty sea air shifts the stink away, and you get the feeling that this egg is sorry for the trick… it quite likes the treat of your playtime memories. »

Leia knows about sleeping too long - but probably not that long. She allows herself to be caught up in the excitement and the smoke, mentally pressing back to be even closer as she listens nonsense and feels like the one - but oh. Somehow the onslaught of lethargy is welcomingly blissful in the wake of so much of her being transferred to it; it feels good, even while it feels wrong, and she's pulling her arm away from the egg once she's been released from its thrall to simply stare and remember how to breathe. One, two, three, and there's another huff of laughter. "What are you going to do with all of that?" she inquires, softly and sleepy and unwilling to move away just yet. Back onto that egg her hand goes, curious to hear, and feel, and know more.

Amok! Amok Amok Amok Egg to Leimna> « I Put a Spell on You flicks at you. What is it going to do? What is it going to DO? It's going to take over the world, that's what! Seize what rightfully belongs to it! It's going to cast a spell over all you silly mortals, capturing you in the snare of its claws, watching you dance, dance, dance until you all die! It has big plans, this egg. Plans for itself. Plans for the one it knows will join it. Big, big, BIG plans. Which it'll hatch out even more… after it's had a nap. All the energy it just stole from you is tucked away, and the little mind within the shell withdraws with a whistling little snore. »

If Ibreily can withstand being choked within an inch of her life by an egg, she can withstand being smacked in the face by a lollipop dervish, right? RIGHT. "HI." The candidate whispers, the enthusiasm catching, and she can't help but hunch a little closer. YES HELLO HI SHE WILL BE YOUR FRIEND ALWAYS ALWAYS FOREVER DON'T WORRY EGG. Toucha-toucha-toucha, is she seriously shimmying a little? Mmmmmaybe. Maybe not. Shake-shake-shake. Shake-shake-shake. Shake your — okay, maybe not, because she still wants to keep hers, and thinking too much on booties is seriously going to lead to a not-good situation with the laughing. And the laughing might well lead to being eaten by a dragon. So, reluctantly, Ibby draws back from the brightly-colored egg with one last brush of promise. There will be others. Not that the hyped-up little egg-mind will actually notice. "Ibby?" Voice small, Nerytte looks up from the eerie-colored egg — and Ibreily is there in an instant, eggs forgotten. For now, at least. She'll be back.

"Alright, folks, the eggs have had enough for today." That's Am'ry, acting on behalf of M'icha… who has disappeared? Where's he gone? While Kayeth still seems calm, the assistant weyrlingmasters begin to gather everyone up to lead them off the Sands.

Sygni's nose wrinkles for the sudden onslaught of mental scent, a comically disgusted expression that evolves slowly into grossed-out but no less appreciative laughter. "Oh okay, Stink," she drawls, clearly not above nicknaming an egg. "You think you're so funny, how about this." Her hand shifts, knuckles of her unbandaged hand rolling back and forth over the surface of the egg, giving it a Faranth-forsaken noogie of all things. It's gentle though, more about the motion and feeling than it is about, you know, getting herself kicked off the sands. "That'll teach you." There's a sense of camaraderie about it though, an appreciation for a trick well-executed, waving away concern even as her own expression takes a wistful turn to muchly match the one Ibreily had worn minutes ago. Frown. Amused huff. And then a mental truckload of 'playtime' memories, of setting off fireworks and lighting up lower caverns while running away with a squeal, of jumping off too-high cliffs with noses plugged, of playing pirates and renegades and weyrwomen and even weyrleaders, a habit some of them (COUGHLEIMNA) still have yet to shed. Sygni dredges them all up even as she gives the egg a fond pat, murmuring a low, "I'll be back. You enjoy that for now." And then she's up, hands rubbing against pantlegs as they're told to leave the sands, dimples flashing with a wry, "Yes sir, Mister Prettyboy, sir." She drawls it because she can, dipping in another shallow bow before scooting to one side, awaiting her cousins before zooming them off to the next big thing.


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