Who A'ster, Aion, Am'ry, C'rus, Doktah, Ibreily, Jeltje, K'shok, L'gan, M'icha, Merek, Metan, Nyalle, Rulayn, S'ic, Sygni, Th'ero, Thys, Vossrik, Xhanfyr
What There's a mid-morning Hatching and a mauling at Fort Weyr.
When Summer-Autumn, Turn 2711
Where Hatching Sands and Galleries, Fort Weyr

amryicon11.png SyIcon5.png thysicon17.png xhanicon9.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.


Public Announcement from Nyalle: The dragons are rumbling at Fort, and the time is almost here! (And mid-morning, just after a lovely breakfast!) Join us! +go FOW, nb, hc, hg

Mid-morning, just after breakfast. What a perfect time for a hatching! The humming begins first, rumbling throughout the weyr, vibrating the ancient stone and calling all to the Hatching Grounds. Kayeth is there, watching her eggs with affection and adoration, while Nyalle - of course - frets nearby. Velokraeth and Th'ero aren't far behind, the bronze taking up a position beside his mate, while Th'ero stands beside Nyalle, but with a respectful distance. And a skin of water. And a reminder for the Senior to breathe.

It's a glorious mid-morning when the dragons begin to hum, and the eggs begin to rock. Candidates are pulled from various chores and such and told to dress; hurriedly they pull on their robes and file up at the doorway, soon escorted off to the hatching grounds. So, with only a few last words of encouragement from the Weyrlingmasters, boys and girls, men and woman alike give their respect to the dam and sire in a unified bow before being released onto the burning wasteland that now brings life.

The Commemoration of Egg begins to shift, methodically, back and forth.

Not Your Typical Jack-O-Egg gives a little quiver. Its time is nigh… but not just yet.

AGHGETITOFF Egg twitches where it rests on the sands. No trick of light or anything like that. It //definitely moved.//

<Galleries>C'rus heard the call and made his way up to the galleries to find a seat. He found one in a good spot and has plunked himself there to watch the goings on down there on the sands. He is sitting attentively watching the candidates being marched in.

Xhanfyr glances around at those who may part ways and those that may walk away forever changed, and offers only a singular and weakened smile. It's genuine and heart felt, but he steps away and onto the sands to find his place among the rocking eggs.

Rulayn walks out onto the sands, dressed in her white robe and sandals with her messy hair now combed into a more presentable manner. She conducts herself before the Queen, bowing politely before taking up a position around the eggs with a nervous glance to her fellow Candidates. She's too busy staring at the rocking eyes to think about the heat.

Jeltje is white from head to toe, and not only owing to her robe, her pale complexion a horrible contrast with her dark hair and eyes, serving only to make her look more washed out and outright frightened than she might actually be. Still, she stands tall, if tensed, and sets her sights on the eggs, her attention steady and unerring, even if the rest of her isn't.

<Galleries>Merek has taken his time to come, the bluerider settled in at a seat once he finds one, and pets on the small green firelizard in his lap, Flower, who looks around with a beady gaze. He seems to be curious more than all else.

Sygni waltzes out with her usual arrogance, not her first time on the sands, potentially not the last. Nerves? No. No nerves here. Just a twisted, dimpled grin as she joins her fellows in bowing to the clutchdam, formal as most have ever seen her, probably. There's a flickering glance towards the stands, mischief flashing in blue eyes, but there's eggs a'wobbling and space to but between them and herself, and off she spirits to one side, the better to watch and wait.

Metan's progress onto the Sands is full of a lazy sort of confidence that makes him seem entirely at ease with what's before him. If the crooked smirk he directs to a handful of Candidates is anything to go by, he is quite as relaxed as he looks. Or he could be overcompensating.

The Commemoration of Egg continues to rock, before a rhythmic thumping begins to emanate from within. Thud, thud, thud.

Doktah takes deep breaths, trying to calm herself as she lines up and gives her bow to the bronze and gold present at the sands. She tries to sandwich herself between Rulayn and Sygni, offering both her hands for reassurance as she looks to the wobbling eggs, eyes wide behind fogging glasses.

M'icha hobbles out after the last of the Candidates, grumbling and barking some sharp order to those that lag. Get moving! With a piercing glare sent to Am'ry, he'll leave the younger AWLM in charge for the most part, happy to take up his usual spot to the sides where he'll guide the new pairs through their first feedings.

AGHGETITOFF Egg moves again and with more than just a twitch, it //rocks to one side, then to the other as though whatever is inside is rapidly increasing its efforts to escape. Cracks begin to appear almost immediately and flecks of shell crumble to the sand. Almost… there…//

<Galleries>Besides Nyalle on the Sands, there is a conspicuous lack of goldriders in the stands watching the Hatching on this fine Fortian morning. When one finally does enter it's Thys, on A'ster's arm, curled against his side. It's no secret to Fort that Rhenesath is close to rising, and the junior looks flustered as she tries to avoid as many gazes as possible. They choose seats together, Thys taking the time to arrange the knee-length skirt of her Hatching day outfit before settling in with her hand almost inappropriately high on the brownrider's thigh. She's got eyes for him more than she does the hatchlings - though at least she does try to tear her eyes away on occasion.

Not Your Typical Jack-O-Egg has been showing signs of movement, its purple and white shell gently rocking back and forth as its occupant tries to break free. There's a crack forming - can't be long now!

Xhanfyr eyes the eggs, neverously shifting his weight from one foot to the other, because he probably thinks he feels the heat through his sandles. He glances over the blurr of faces and shakes his head, lips pursed and then teeth applied to bottom most. Were his hands shaking? It felt like they were shaking. Breathe. Just breathe.

Leimna is in white you guys, don't worry; she's beardless and black colors-less (sans the hair, she can't really do anything about that), completing her bow with fellow candidates before chasing down her cousins and giving Xhan a wave in passing. Sygni gets her elbow grabbed, and Leia leans with an almost-whisper. "If things go bad, tell Ibby I always hated her the most."

<Galleries>S'ic sits at the back of the stands watching quietly, The bronze rider form Monaco keeps his eyes focused down on the sands below.

Ibreily does not quite skip as they break from the formality of the bow, but the candidate's eyes are bright as she follows along. The unholy din of their combined families in the 'stands is thoroughly and completely ignored, as Ibby ambles along to take her place. The eggs are already rocking, other candidates milling all around, and that grin is a little too wide. That stumble is completely feigned, for the elbow to Leimna's side as she leans, amused. "Shut it."

Rulayn ignores Doktah's hand for the most part. Her eyes are solely focused on the mounds in the sand as they rock, crack and split. She's holding her breath now, watching as the seconds tick by until the first hatchling emerges. Her own hands are busy clenching at the skirt of her robe.

Am'ry is here, and leaning casually against a wall while he can, making the most of his last moments of peace before work begins anew. He catches M'icha's gaze, gives a nod to his boss, and slips his hands into his pockets as he waits for the hatchlings to arrive.

Sygni grins when Doktah squeezes in at her side, a hand offered to the bespectacled candidate to squeeze to death if she'd like. "Alright there, Sparky? Need a clean bit of robe to wipe your glasses off on?" Her shoulder is waggled in offering, blue eyes seeking and finding Xhanfyr to offer him an audacious wink. "Nice legs, Slim." Horrible. And then she's grabbed, and Sygni laughs before nodding, solemn as can be. "I'll be sure to give all your things to Zan." Lashes flutter at Ibby, but otherwise she quiets for now.

Not Your Typical Jack-O-Egg's shell splits, pieces of purple and white falling to the Sands and leaving a precious little blue amongst the shards.

Shoot for the Moon Blue Hatchling
Silvery-blue coats his hide, like liquid moonlight sprinkled with the glimmer of starlight and the shimmer of sapphires. He's small, but perfect - so very, very perfect. The slant of his muzzle and the cant of his headknobs are gloriously handsome, while the arch of his neck, the length of his back, and the whip of his tail are /just so/. Across the starry expanse of his wings he bears a map to the cosmos, spangled with suns and moons as pale as the rest of him. Shoot for the Moon Blue Hatchling takes a moment to stand up from his egg, but he manages to get all four feet beneath him and working properly in record time. He takes a few stumbling steps, figuring out how this whole six-limbed thing works, but he knows exactly where he's going - and he stumbles into little Diilo in record time, knocking the young candidate to her tushie on the Sands. She's fine, he's fine, and as she giggles he croons in love and hunger. "His name is Lhunath!" Dii gets to her feet, and follows the directions of the weyrlingmasters to find her new lifemate some food.

With a triumphant cry the Shoot for the Moon Blue Hatchling has found its lifemate at last. After a few moments the Weyrlingmaster leads the new pair off the sands.

<Galleries>Aion is here, sitting in the stands with a bit of food in his hand from breakfast that he'd left to go come out and check out the hatching. His eyes settle on the candidates, looking between the lot of them though perhaps seeking one in particular. He gives a brief nod to those incoming, but for the most part he seems content to sit there on his own.

Xhanfyr all but stops breathing when he hears Sygni's voice, narrowed eyes sliding off towards her. "You are not helping…." he hisses, looking down at his own legs and then back up at her with a soft blush already on his cheeks. It was the HEAT OKAY? "…and thank you." Impression made, so quickly too and the boy's mouth simply opens and closes. Gaping. "O-o-okay! Um…" A pause. A breath. "Congrats!" he calls after the new blueriding pair.

Doktah edges slightly towards Sygni, squeezing the other candidate's hand tightly. She may be trying to play it cool, but once those eggs start splintering it becomes a more difficult facade to keep up. She gives a sideways glance, murmuring at a volume which is difficult to hear over the din of the chaos on the sands. "It's fine. I survived last time." She assures, trying in vain to sound cool.

The Commemoration of Egg begins to break apart into fractured pieces, starbursts of cracks racing over the shell until the wet hatchling remains, surrounded by shards.

Don't Call Me Pretty Green Hatchling
Delicate fringes of jade, emerald and spring green nebula clouds swirl across the hide of this petite, lithe green's form. Lit from within by flickers of distant stars, bright flashes of yellow and gold dot along her muzzle like freckles, cascading down her elegant neck above a shifting swirl of subtle green hues, changing depending on the light. There is depth, here, and a subtle shimmer that harkens back to her dam. Flecks of rust are scattered along the backs of her legs and pool on the bottoms of her paws, creating the illusion of mud from some long-forgotten planet brought with her to the terra of Pern. The shifting green coloration continues along her ridges and across her haunches, spring green over jade, caressing a flash of emerald before fading once more into the paler spectrum of the hue - though pale does not mean boring, as her coloration is striking. Her wings are nearly translucent, their sails webbed with color upon color, layers of clouds stretched across their delicate looking expanse. Narrow and long, she could coast for hours on the solar winds if she chose to.

Leimna breaks free from Sygni to keep from making a baby-dragon death cul-de-sac, catching at Ibreily instead with a cheeky smile. "You know I lo-ooooh. Ibby, look at him." And he's already impressed. Wicked. Leia's eyes light up, and she doesn't quite shake her cousin - but almost. "Syg, Xhan, Doc, Roo. Look." Such awe.

Ibreily shifts a little, already too-hot, or so the flush to her cheeks would suggest. "Blue first! You owe me a thousand marks, Nerytte." The harper doesn't quite cackle, but she does watch the handsome fellow with warmth just shy of manic glee. Sygni's terribleness is probably not helped any by Ib's waggling eyebrows. The harper leans a little more on Leia, too short to properly prop an elbow on a shoulder but she does try. Of course she loooooves her. "Ooooh."

Don't Call Me Pretty Green Hatchling shakes her wings out and lifts her head, peering around calmly, almost cooly, at the gathered Candidates. Ah. She takes a step forward, grace and poise embodied, flicking her back leg to free it from some egg goop. Off. Ah. Better. Now, to business. She begins to prowl forward, her gaze intense as she scans the Candidates' faces.

Rulayn is holding her breath way too often as the blue emerges and finds its lifemate, uttering a squeaky and small congratulations before her eyes trail back to the next egg. Then to the other candidates, then back to the newly hatched Green. Suddenly she's reminded how hot it is on these Sands.

Jeltje eases one heel a little more firmly into the sand beneath her feet, either ever so slightly adjusting her balance, or… preparing to turn away? It's difficult to tell just which, for she remains exactly where she is, only a little less completely upright than she was only moments ago. One hatchling is observed, then the next, and though she tries to make herself watch them as intently as she watched their eggs, she cannot.

Xhanfyr side glances to Leimna when his name is called, lingering perhaps a second longer than to call it a glance, and then a green appears. She is stunning to say the least, and the boy swallows hard. Still remembering that whole breathing thing, he continues to bounce one foot to the other.

AGHGETITOFF Egg explodes in shattered shell and a thunderous cracking sound from one last good KICK from the occupant. In its wake is the bulkiest, stockiest looking brown yet to Hatch and certainly no pretty sight either. Not that he cares, as he begins to figure out how to get his short, thick legs under him.

And that's the end of that - with the first Impression happens, Am'ry springs up off the wall and gets to work. "Lhunath, and you're… Dii. Congratulations, there's food for him over this way."

Drag Your Clan to Glory Brown Hatchling
A hulking mass of carved, aged sandstone, this brown is as far removed from lithe and sleek as one of his kind could possibly get. Reddish brown coats most of his rough looking hide, where it only fades to dusky taupe over his blunted muzzle. It sweeps up over his wide spaced and heavy features, down over squared, thick jowls and to his throat and beyond to the curve of his underside. Umber and slate overlay like plates of heavy armor, giving further illusion that he is a creature of raw power. The beginning of this armor starts by capping his already huge, broad head and blunted head knobs above, then leading on to his short, thick neck and down over his back and over each limb. Brutish in looks and just downright ugly in others, he's barrel chested to the point that he is heavy-set in the front but balanced and supported by stocky, muscled forelimbs, and powerful strong haunches. His wings are as wide and broad as he is but suited for a beast his size, even with a tail that is shorter and thicker than it ought to be but not to the point of imbalance. In essence, he is a winged armored tank, a brown of formidable strength and stamina and just about unstoppable.

Sygni is unmoved by your protestations, Xhanfyr! "Am I supposed to be helping?" All of the cheek. All of it. "And you're welcome." Grin. There is, of course, an admiritive glance for so stunning a blue, head peeking around to peer at Ibreily with a waggle of brows. "Reminds me of Uncle Jaesriuth, no?" There comes a snort for Doktah, one brow lifting as her hand is taken, her offer denied. "Fair. It's probably best to not be able to see anyways." Hand squeeze. So reassuring. "Ooh, what a lovely green! And a brown, too." So begins the whiplash, a beat taken before she adds. "… Shells, but he's… interesting." Heh. That's one word.

Doktah is having an increasing amount of difficulty keeping up banter with her fellow candidates, what with so many hatchlings lurking the sands looking for their lifemates. Combining that with the fog on her glasses, it really is hard for her to focus on anything specific. "… You're probably right." She murmurs to Sygni at such a quiet volume it's likely she goes unheard altogether.

<Galleries>K'shok shoulders smoothly through the galleries for a good vantage point, as much for those in the stands as for those below. He radiates a self-satisfied curiosity. The faces of the young people spark no recognition, but the wonder and excitement still call to him. Hatching day a holy day, almost, each as beautiful and mysterious as the first. The flask he brought will make it even better.

Don't Call Me Pretty Green Hatchling continues forward on the prowl, peering at the faces of those whom she passes. No, no, no. Unworthy, the lot of you! She snorts. Moves onward, to find the one she seeks.

Metan's smirk is slightly less sure now, faced with the reality of what graces the Sands. Still, he stares them down, gaze flicking to one, then the next, always on the hatchling nearest his position at the edge of the Candidate group.

Xhanfyr blinks as another is hatched, this one brown, and handsome even covered in gross things that he probably doesn't even want to know about. Another eyedash to Sygni, "Yes. As one of my best friends…yes." he hisses across the sands. Not that he thinks its going to help mind you. No, just dancing here. That's all dancing in possibly the hottest place ever.

Leimna's at once enthralled by the little green and her egg-discarding poise. But whiplash indeed, her attention is stolen by the brown as a breath escapes her and Ibby gets another not-quite-shake-but-almost. "Look at them both, Ibby. I want to reach out and touch them." But she's too smart for that, isn't she. Xhan's lingering look is met with blue eyes, followed by a smile before her attention is back on the babies.

Rulayn can't understand how the other Candidates can even speak right now. Rulayn's just too busy, lost for words as her eyes trail to the hatching Brown. Then it's back to the Green as she prowls across the sands. Those claws look sharp, and Roo isn't sure her robe is going to shield her that well if things turn nasty.

Drag Your Clan to Glory Brown Hatchling is upright now and shaking that huge, ugly head of his from side to side as if to clear it. Ugh. The heck is this? WHAT is all this noise? They want noise? He'll make some noise, alright! With a roar of challenge and an ungainly (don't anyone dare tell him that) leap forwards, he'll begin to prowl around the rest of the eggs and start to fix his attention on the group of Candidates huddled not far away. Lips pull back in some sort of terrible grin that flashes teeth. Heh, scared are they? Just you wait. JUST YOU WAIT.

Ibreily isn't hopping, YOU'RE hopping. "He does." The candidate watches the pair with amusement, eyes flicking between the rocking eggs and the gorgeous little green. "Picky, isn't she?" The candidate grins, brightly, but then - huh. The newest hatchling gets eyebrows raised up to her hair line, and the candidate coos. "Look at him." She croons, delighted, nodding emphatically for Leia. "They're soft, I bet." With that hide on that brown? Sure, Ibby. You have your delusions. Scared? Not yet.

Sygni hears. Again she squeezes Doktah's hand, lips curving up in what is a definite smug little smile as she leans over slightly enough to murmur, "Shall I describe it to you? There's a pretty little green that can't find what she wants, and a big brown that-" LAUGHTER. "That really wants us to know he's here. Hello, you big baby!," she croons right back at him, courting danger always, even as she slants a look back at Xhanfyr, pleased despite words. "You should probably pick better friends." Wink.

Vossrik was here the whole time. Super swear. He was hanging back by Candidate Not Appearing In This Hatching, doing the hot sands dance, feeling the flow, working it. Curiosity gets the better of the boy, and he hopshuffles his way to the knot of those candidates who are fortunate enough to have names. "Duuuuu-uuude, they're mega-little! Lookit their useless little wings! And what's all that gooey junk all over them?" Tentatively, he cranes his neck out and gives a passing green a Look. "Kiiiinda nasty."

Firelight Egg … did Firelight Egg move? Firelight Egg vibrated a little. It thought about it. It decided to wait. Now's not the time, not yet. Patience.

Xhanfyr is very good at talking. Okay, so maybe not so much. ANYWAY, now completely ignoring Leimna, he flexes and unflexes his hands at his sides as he continues to keep his eyes on hatchlings and rocking eggs and Sygni. Yes he sees you and your smugness over thar. He forks two fingers at his eyes and then points at her. A 'just you wait till this is all over' sort of thing which is very intimidating considering he's the color of all things red. "Vossrik!" he chides, because it is a thing that he does.

Am'ry hears Vossrik. "That's the same gooey junk you were covered in when you were born, Smith-o." Then he goes back to watching and being prepared.

Doktah has at least one advantage here, her desert upbringing having given her additional preparation for dealing with the heat of the sands. Plus, she's done this before. Still, not being able to see clearly is getting to be more and more of an issue. She spies some silhouettes of lurking dragons, and a certain egg wobbling. Her pride is beginning to falter. "… Fine." She says to Sygni, admitting weakness. "I could use clean glasses."

Wrappers EVERYWHERE Egg wobbles a little. Just a little.

Leimna's eyes are on Vossrik, sparing him momentary attention when there are dragons hatching and - "Voss, shh." Am'ry to the rescue. Leia chokes on her laughter, eyes back on the dragons as she holds tight to Ibs. "Oooh, he is fierce. Listen to his little roar." A finger waggle, but near her stomach. She is doing her best impression of Not Food, Not Food, Not Food. "Hello, little guy."

Amok! Amok Amok Amok Egg shudders patiently. Where's the virgin to light its flame and summon forth the dragon within?

Firelight Egg definitely moved this time. (Wait, are you sure? You're sure.) It is only a jolt of movement, one that comes with a sudden loud, echoing CRACK! that results in a split down its side that begins to emit a faint glow from within, but nothing - no one - emerges.

Ibreily presses her lips together to keep from laughing, but her eyes do all the talking. "He's got our attention, doesn't he?" She defends, then snorts loudly for Voss and Am'ry. "Gross." She decides, loudly, with a finality. It's definitely gross. The cracking and rocking eggs draws her attention briefly, then, and Ibby breathes out, smirking Leia-wards. Wait. "Is that egg. Glowing?"

Drag Your Clan to Glory Brown Hatchling tosses his head and with another roar, CHARGES the lines. Skidding to an abrupt stop in his maddened charge, sending sand flying as he attempts to turn swiftly but his awkwardly heavy, bulky frame won't allow for it. One Candidate gets shouldered, roughly, aside and it's then that the brown realizes how soft these white-robed things are. HA! Why bother going around when he can go THROUGH them! Thankfully, it takes only two more victims being rammed before everyone gets the picture and gets out of his way. The brown doesn't care at this point, his eyes have settled on his goal. Right. There. YOU! Poor thing might never expect it, but she'll get a full strength headbutt and hopefully, for her sake, more to the side than head on because… that's going to hurt in a 'definitely got the wind knocked from me and can't breathe' sort of way.

With a triumphant cry it seems that the Drag Your Clan to Glory Brown Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

Rulayn has to stop herself from toppling over at the little brown's rather loud entrance. Oof. Only when she's sure the hatchling isn't about to bull-rush into the line of Candidates does Roo look back to the other rocking eggs. And then-.. She spoke too soon. She shrieks a little as the Brown charges through the line, falling to one side and clutching onto whomever might be closest.

Sygni's free hand lifts in a fist, shaking back and forth, a 'FIGHT ME' gesture if there ever was one. She doesn't move to do so, however, instead laughing and drawing Doktah's glasses carefully off her face, stooping to clean the moisture off them with the hem of her robe before attempting to slide them back on the girl's face. There might be eye-poking, and a low-muttered, "Sorry, sorry!," even if not. In the doing of it, she misses movement from her favoritest of eggs, but that crack certainly drags her right on back - luckily. "Shoot!" Back she hops, aiming to drag Leimna and Doktah with her, though her success is questionable at best in her haste for there comes a big ol' brown. FLEE.

Xhanfyr just can't even with the hatchlings prowling and being all super selective and eggs everywhere rocking and AHHHHHHHHHH. But its okay, everything is fine. This is fine even. He almost can't even pay attention to anything else, so if he misses something still love him. Then there is IMPRESSION! Who is it? Why can't he seeeeeee? It's the big dude now hovering in front of him. "Dude! I can't seeee…"

Vossrik is outnumbered, and holds his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alriiiight," he murmurs in as pacifying a tone as he can manage, given the total lack of dignity involved in boinging around in a robe that exposes his chickeny legs. Whatever scraps of dignity he DOES have fly out the window as he lunges away from the barrelling brown and crashes into Rulayn. "Yeesh! The crap was THAT."

All three Candidates nailed and tagged by that brown recover, if shakened, and are hurriedly brought aside to be checked over amid the chaos before they're ushered out again. No one will blame them from hiding a little in the back though, right? RIGHT?

Firelight Egg bounce-jolts once more, rolls, and explodes. Just like that. The crackling embers break apart into a thousand pieces, releasing a pale-headed and lengthy green from within its depths. She pulls herself to her feet gracefully for a hatchling, surveying the sands almost ethereally, taking things in and determining where in this pit she stands before moving further.

Wrong Kind of Witch of the Wilds Green Hatchling
She is a big, bold green dragon. She has an acid-wash highlighted head and a very long neck and two arms and two wings and two legs and a - that's right - very long tail. They're all attached to the solid bulk of a bracken-green body, she's not a six-limbed flying existential void or anything. At least, not the last time anyone checked. That would be so cool though, right? But alas, she is emphatically corporeal: no swamp-gas'd spirit of ennui here. Just a big'n wide, long'n tall, superlative green dragon.

Doktah is successfully dragged back by Sugni. What choice does she have? Sygni has her glasses, after all! The spectacles are restored to her face, slightly smudged but decidedly clearer. She blinks, trying to make sense of things now that she can see again. "Wh… wait. What? Who impressed?" So much confusion!

Wrappers EVERYWHERE Egg wobbles a little harder now… so hard, in fact, that it tumbles onto its side, knocks another egg, and rolls a foot or so. Amidst the colourful chaos of its shell cracks start to appear - it can't hold on much longer now, can it?

Jeltje digs her other heel into the sand, this time only to stop herself from flinching away from the brown's charge, as if, if she could just root herself to the ground, she could trust her feet not to carry her away and make her look the coward. No. Still, she stays, her hands curling into white-knuckled fists.

Amok! Amok Amok Amok Egg is bumped into by Wrappers EVERYWHERE Egg when it rolls, causing a crack in its side. Ok, so that might not be the virgin it was waiting for… but that's enough to send striations across its leathery shell as the dragonet inside gets closer to bursting out.

Don't Call Me Pretty Green Hatchling pauses, lifting her head and arching her neck. She senses something. Her…stupid brother. SNORT. Hush, you! There's WORK to be done here. Someone's gaze upon her. The green whirls around, never losing her balance, and marches right up to the one who stares at her. YOU. You are mine.

With a triumphant cry it seems that the Don't Call Me Pretty Green Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

Th'ero grimaces when the brown hatches and mows down a trio of Candidates before Impressing. He's been a silent sentinel where he stands behind Nyalle but now there's a low, heavy exhale. "They're alright," he mutters to the Weyrwoman. "Let's hope that's the last of that." No more lively, crazed hatchlings, right? There's a sidelong look to where Velokraeth is smugly lounging, looking far too pleased with himself with the results so far from the clutch.

Wrong Kind of Witch of the Wilds Green Hatchling fans her wings with a distainful huff, and steps delicately down, down, down from the remains of her egg and onto the sands. Allow her to ignore the egg-goo that darkens the ghost-writ glow-light wending its way up her limbs. Those limbs have far more important things to do like stalk the sands, sinuously seeking … something. It's possible even she doesn't -quite- know, just yet.

Nyalle gasps with a jump at that brown, frowning and shaking her head. "That's just not proper." TSK.

Xhanfyr will see even if it kills him, giving the big palooka a push with tiny ineffectual fists! Not really no, the guy looks behind him mutters something about tiny is as tiny does before shuffling off. Xhan sighs, deflatedly, brown eyes following him with a 'ya, thanks'. A puff of a sigh and he sends out his congrats to those that just impressed. Eyes back to those hatchlings though, and the eggs.

Rulayn finally is able to pick herself up, still clutching slowly at Vossrik as she looks around the Sands. Whew. Was it safe to come out now?

Sygni reels, but holds her ground, making sure Doktah is okay before joining the others in glancing around - not at who impressed for her, though, but rather at the candidates that are being led to one side to hunker. Wince! "Shells, hope they're okay!" Only then does she glance around, unable to make out impressions and ergo huffing quietly, letting attention wander until the dust settles. "Ooh, look, another!," she says, pointing the not-so-existentially-mutated hatchling out to her fellows. "Maybe this one won't try to upend us, hm?" Amusement! She has it!

<Galleries>There's commotion down on the Sands, and that draws Thys's attention away from where she was nuzzling into A'ster's neck. "Oh - oh Faranth. They all look ok though, right? They're all ok." And the shock of it gives her an excuse to pat the knee of the bronzer who happens to be on her other side. Did she squeeze a little there?

Amok! Amok Amok Amok Egg has waited long enough. It's been patient. It's been bumped into. It's had enough. The leather-brown of its shell is full of fracture lines, and one final push, one last effort from its occupant, forces it to shatter. Some shards fall to the Sands, some stick to the newly-hatched brown that lies there, panting slightly, returning a greeting croon from Kayeth with a mewling little warble. Hello, mother.

A Virgin for the Black Flame Brown Hatchling
A spell for the ages weaves its way over the hide of this grimalkin dragon, accentuating shades of auburn so dark as to look almost black across the litheness of his figure. Although he may be swarthy enough to blend into the night, a keen eye will pick up myriad subtle nuances that paint him an umbrageous palette of bistred beauty. His sculpted face is gaunt yet not without charm, sharp eyeridges overshadowing his wide, whirling eyes and leading down to his pointed muzzle. Pumpkin freckles dapple the soft hide around his nostrils, muddling with cocoa to pale his lips, making his protruding fore-teeth all the more obvious. They curl over his lower lip, an obvious overbite that adds comical character to his angular countenance. A touch of gold curls around his sloping, slender headknobs, their tips faded to honey-pale blonde. The same pattern colours each of his neckridges, their very tips flaxen-faded as they crest the proud curve of his gold filigreed neck, the underside of which is dappled with the faintest hints of russet that continue through to colour his belly, and even the inside of his slender legs. Those russet dapples fade towards the midnight shade of his stealthy paws, imbued within the very strength and power that drives nimble movement and silent stalking. His never-still tail is a study in darkness, twitch-twitching with feline sinuosity - the upper side is auburn, the lower russet-dappled, with both melding into one obfuscous tip. To carry him into the night, his wings are wide - an expansive, impressive stretch of billowy sails and sturdy spars. Adumbral titian fades into a rosier shade towards the tips of his wing membranes, the trailing edges lined in satiny violet.

Ibreily OOF. "GUYS." That's about all the warning they're getting, 'cause Ibreily's going DOWN~. She comes up swinging, though, gasping uselessly for breath for several long moments before - still breathless - she rears back and thumps her head into the one who sent her sprawling. "KRALKTH." She roars, hoarse and gasping, but apparently having re-learned the art of breathing. Using a sturdy haunch to right herself, Ibby kneels, at least. "Shells, you idiot, you could'a knocked my brains out, and then where would you be!" She thunders, but by thr end of the yelling she's laughing, a little slumped over before she turns around and gestures helplessly between her cousins and the dragon. THIS. ALL OF THIS. "Alright, come on." And she stands, dusting herself off. "Don't get yourselves mauled." That's an order!

Jeltje, now Jet for good, stumbles, finally. Not backwards, or to twist away from all that's before her, but forwards and up to the green who has marched towards her. Staring, she extends a steady hand, fingers almost bent backwards as she moves to touch her palm to her new lifemate's nose. "Kyramith… there is no other way." Her other hand seeks gentle purchase against Kyramith's neck, tentative at first, then more securely when it's plain that she is no apparition and this is no trick. She is hers.

<Galleries>C'rus keeps his eyes peeled on the commotion, "Everyone seems ok.." he says to no one in particular. Though if there are medical needs there are staff ready to go.

Am'ry looks up to Ibreily and Jeltje, waving them over. "C'mon, ladies. Bring your lifemates, there's food for them over here…" He double-looks at Ibreily, checking she doesn't need a Healer or something.

Leimna saw the little brown and his assault, so it's a good thing she moves when he's headed right for Ibby and - oh. Leia's hands clap over her mouth, and it's all she can do to keep from screaming congratulations at the top of her lungs, because that's what she does normally. Instead she squeaks it, "Congrats, Ibby, he is beautiful." And violent, but she doesn't mention that. Instead, she's scooting her way closer to Xhan and lipping, 'She did it!' to Sygni.

Vossrik offers Rulayn a hand up. "C'mon, up-up-up!" he encourages, but stops to punch the air in a Judd Nelsony sort of way. "WOO! Hey, lookit! Jelt and Ibs got them some dragons! C'mon, Roos, hurry up. You can see." Apparently the whole nickname thing finally became contagious enough for Voss to start doing it. Nothing so descriptive as REDFRUIT though. Or 'thick fingers'.

<Galleries>S'ic keeps looking down at the sands below, a sketch pad in his hands that he takes rapid notes in.

Doktah wobbles as the chaos continues unfolding around her, just barely keeping her footing as hatchlings barrel through the line of candidates. "Bwuh?" That's about as intelligent as her reply to Sygni gets. So much of her mental energy is currently focused on avoiding injury or collapse. But she does barely recognize two of the new impressees among all the heat and mayhem. "Congratulations, Jeltje! Congratulations, Ibreily!" She calls out, unable to applaud given that she is still seizing Sygni's hand.

Rulayn is finally back on her feet and looking around in confusion at those who had managed to find their lifemates. There's a smile for the pair (which probably goes unnoticed) before the young woman composes herself again. Breaaathee..

Xhanfyr really did congradulate Ibreily and Jeltje, honest. Though he's edging away from his spot because the eggs he was nearby are rocking and then hatching. Which is totally normal, claws and all and he's off, crabwalking off towards Sygni and Leimna. Lightning can't strike twice right?

A Virgin for the Black Flame Brown Hatchling shakes his head to fling away some of that gross egg-goo from him, and takes a moment to blink blearily at the scene before him. Kayeth is looked to for guidance before he attempts to get to his feet… it takes a few stumbling tries, but he's quickly on all fours and makes his first unsteady steps towards the candidates.

Wrappers EVERYWHERE Egg has been active for a while, wobbling back and forth, cracks growing, shell weakening… and the breaking point is //now. With one last, almighty shudder, the shell rolls the tiniest bit before *CRACK* - it falls apart, shattering into tiny pieces that leave a large, egg-goo shiny blue sitting in its shards. Must've been bigger on the inside to hold that much dragon!//

Purveyor of Aids to Weyrling Mischievery Blue Hatchling
The darkest depths of wolfish night are proud to present this lupine dragon. Hidden beneath nightfall's cloak is a figure long-limbed and lithe, with padfoot agility writ into supple muscle and silent steps. Black colours the tip of his muzzle, from which paw-print dapples emerge on a meandering journey, ambling across the handsome planes of his cocky-canted head and the prongs of his 'knobs, then down along the moon-flecked 'ridges that crest the arrogant arch of his neck. From there, they spread across the vastness of his wings, hundreds of thousands of inky prints padding their criss-cross way through the chimerical topography of his translucent 'sails and spars, the tips of which brighten to sweet lupin purple. His rangy physique speaks of swiftness and shenanigans, down to the potter's blue of his gryffinclaws and the dogwood tip of his point-me tail.

Sygni blinks. Sygni twitches. Sygni knows that voice, the one shouting a dragon's name, and- "NO. NO WAY." Point! Right at Ibreily. "NO. WAY." But she is headbutting him and he is being Kralkth, and he is- "BROWN." Well. So much for being cool and collected. Syg cackles when her cousin finds her feet, teeth bared in a fierce grin even as she waves her off. "Go, go! We'll do our very best." No promises though. She is dancing a bit, jerking Leimna and Doktah between her . But there was a second impression, right? She seeks it, eyes lighting up with a bright, "Congrats, Jeltje!" Wiggle!

Wrong Kind of Witch of the Wilds Green Hatchling curls a lip - or at least, gives the impression of curling a lip, rearing back to avoid the passage of a clutchmate. While she's there, she catches a whiff of - something, and hunger-whorling eyes narrow as she slews an indignant look off of the sands, onto the stands themselves. Is that. Is that dog she smells? Both shoulders shrug, a heavy huff of distain, and she abruptly wheels herself away and stalks farther out across the sands. No-one here can steer her course, after all - she goes where she wants, when she wants, and - well, maybe she needs a little bit of a push. Which is why she starts investigating candidates, side-eyed and sly, dismissing each with a cool hrmph, and turn of acid-washed head. All these offerings are inferior.

Purveyor of Aids to Weyrling Mischievery Blue Hatchling sits in his shards, leaning his dark muzzle down to poke at one piece that looks particularly interesting. It's not as exciting as it seemed, even if it's brightly coloured and kinda awesome. It would have to be awesome to hold him, right? With a weird little noise that's almost like a bark, he stretches his wings out and demands attention. Hey, Kayeth, Velokraeth! Look at the best blue you ever made!

Kayeth rumbles kindly. Of course you are.

Doktah blinks as she is suddenly dragged along in Sygni's dancing. "Waaagh!" It makes it all too difficult for her to keep an eye on the remaining dragons, eggs, and candidates. Nevertheless, she tries her best. Inattentiveness as hatchings never ends well.

Xhanfyr crabwalks right INTO Sygni with a very calm and totally not nerve-wrecked chin jerk upwards. "Hey how you doing?" Cough. Don't mind him, just looking for a human shield, uh, well a friend. Yes. A friend. That's it. A passing glance over those that remain, and there mmust be breathing. MUST. Falling unconcious due to lack of oxygen at the dimpled blond's feet would be something he never lives down. Ever. A very awkward non-eye contacting salute for some reason to Leimna, and he surveys who is left.

Rulayn finally has herself arranged and back in the line, although any attempts at keeping her hair neat have gone askew. Ah well. She picks a spot between Doktah and Vossrik and begins grabbing at her skirt again as she tries to focus on who and what is left on the Sands.

<Galleries>K'shok breaks into a grin as the girl heaves into the brown hatchling with a headbutt. That is a Kralkth if he's ever heard one. "That's the spirit," he growls, lifting his flask in a silent cheer. Local morning be damned.

Vossrik claps his hands together gently, sprinkling sand from his palms and blessing the hatching cavern. "Whoa, did that blue just friggin' BARK? Like… like a dog!" The clapping hands become Voss's signature Kermit flail. "That was THE CUTEST THING I have EVER SEEN!" Pure glee suffuses his features and he shakes Rulayn's shoulder. "Roo. Roo. Roo." Danger zone! "He BARKED!"

Leimna was so caught up in Ibby's impression that she didn't notice Jeltje at first; she does now, crooning congratulations as she's re-snagged by Syg and tucks in against her side just at the little blue makes his appearance. "Oh, but he is beautiful." She wants to keep them all forever, and pet them, and feed them gross things. Like Xhan, if he keeps treating her like a leper - and then a laugh. "He did laugh." She will join your A B conversation and be the C, Voss and Roo.

A Virgin for the Black Flame Brown Hatchling is surprisingly steady on his feet, for one who's only mere minutes old. He moves like a feline, slung low and soft-footed, towards the first of the candidates. The girl he comes across is sniffed, her robe is wuffled at, but he shakes his head and moves on. No, no. Too old. Along the line he goes, checking out everyone as he passes them. Why are they all so old?!

Virgins? Can't swing a cat without hitting one.

Last-Second Tiger Costume Egg wonders if its late to the party as it begins to shimmy.

Sygni laughs, impromptu jig halted when Xhanfyr collides with her legs, lest she trip and fall and take them all for a tumble. "Heeeey, Slim," she croons, arms spreading so she can lean her upper half way, way over him. "Enjoying the view?" Browwaggle. Horrid. Still, they're all safe from her awful dancing now, blue eyes sparkling over at Voss with a tinkly giggle. "That was seriously cute." But there are other hatchlings to eye, one that looks at her like something ancient excuse you, Sygni likewise dismissing it with a huff before she peers up over at the green again. "At least that one has taste." Well. One presumes anyways.

Metan's attention follows that brown, his eyes narrowed slightly, as if attempting to anticipate his next move. But then, that is second nature and perhaps not so unique to his observation of the young dragon prowling the Sands.

Ibreily is, at least, kind of amused by Kralkth's antics. "FUN, you say." The harper laughs, throwing her hands up and following Am'ry's gesture. She gives one last look to her peers and cousins, then slouches off, wheezing a little still. Sharding ow. The chunky little brown can't quite manage a swagger, but at least he's got more sense than that brother of his. "I don't know, was he barking? Maybe it was a cough." Ibby mutters, eyes a-rolling as she scoots off to find the little brown something to eat.

Wrong Kind of Witch of the Wilds Green Hatchling isn't one of the more physical dragons on the sands, but she's definitely not afraid to shoulder her way through to get where she wants to go. Excuse me? No, excuse YOU. She narrows in on a pair of girls, their number already one diminished, eyes them both. But it's only one of the pair that she wants, the other brushed brusquely aside in favor of her intended lifemate. She doesn't headbutt, she doesn't lash her tail, she just draws herself up to her full height and stares down her intended.

Purveyor of Aids to Weyrling Mischievery Blue Hatchling is done with barking his awesomeness to all of Pern. They get it by now, don't they? Whether they understand how amazing he is or not, this swarthy blue is about to show the candidates, at least, first hand just how epic he is. What a fantastic beast! He scrambles to his feet, puffs out his chest, and begins his walk down towards that line of white where the one who can handle all his sweet blue hide is.

With a triumphant cry it seems that the Wrong Kind of Witch of the Wilds Green Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

Xhanfyr might have emulated that armflail thing really, biting down hard on his bottom lip as Leimna goes all over there with her attention. Noooo! Waaaaaait! There are handgestures though, apologetic ones that she won't see because she's BUSY now. But at least there's Sygni. And he gets a faceful of boobs. Excellent. "If I liked staring at my sister's rack maybe." That's right! He said it! And he didn't even BLUSH! Much.

Last-Second Tiger Costume Egg continues to shimmy until it LEAPS, then falls, and small cracks begin to chase each other across its shell.

Favored Familiar Egg hasn't really moved. There was a little vibration but that's about it. Nothing's going to make this egg hatch until it's ready!

Doktah turns red. Is it the heat? Is it the banter between Sygni and Xhanfyr? Impossible to say. Though her now-unclouded gaze does seem to stay pretty fixed on the unimpressed hatchlings roaming the sands. Perhaps she's gotten to that level of nervousness where words are no longer available.

Vossrik laughs, which morphs into a series of coughs that double him over. "D…dude!" he croaks after a truly masterful performance of diaphragm deep hackings, pointing one shaking finger at Xhanfyr. "That was HARSH!"

Jet does not have to encourage Kyramith - the young green knows exactly where she's going and what she wants, and though she remains at her new weyrling's side, it's clear that she is somehow, already, leading the way. This leaves Jet to continue to half-stare and half sneak glances at her every now and then, head tilted. She follows, obediently, yet she keeps watching Kyramith and not, as though expecting… something. Something that isn't happening.

A Virgin for the Black Flame Brown Hatchling is busy sticking his nose up candidate robes and into candidate bellies, when he hears something. Wait. He freezes - sorry candidate who has a dragon-nose prodded against their thigh - and then abruptly pulls his head back. That's the one! With a level of grace that's unusual for one so young, the brown hatchling bounds his way across the Sands to skid to a halt in front of the one who's lit his flame. Not too old. Definitely still a virgin. Totally his.

Rulayn cranes her neck to follow the green in passing, then looking back to the barking blue and brown as they make their moves. There's less eggs, less people and.. Still poor Rulayn is nervous. You'd think it'd be getting better by now.

With a triumphant cry it seems that the A Virgin for the Black Flame Brown Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

Last-Second Tiger Costume Egg splits into pieces, leaving behind the egg-wet hatching.

I've Come to Take You Home Bronze Hatchling
Oh, he is small: unimpressive in length from evenly proportioned nose to the tip of his well-turned tail. Oh, he is dainty: the curving arch of neck, the conscientious drape of delicate wings over perfectly proportionate haunch. Oh - oh, but he is unremarkable: while his hide contains a range of shades from sun-bleached beige to olive-toned umber, they have been blended by an overzealous hand. At any reasonable distance, his multi-hued hide appears anything but variegated, and the cumulative effect is a muddled, muted affair like dusty, damp concreted. But oh, oh! how deceptive that all these signs seem surely set for brown: there is an omni-present, subtle, barely-there sheen to his hide no matter the lighting. In full sun, his true nature is unmistakable - pale-bronze hide seems lit from within, his metallic birthright a million brilliant, scintillating points of unexpected, shimmering light.

Favored Familiar Egg definitely moves this time! Side to side it rocks but it's still taking its sweet, sweet time about it. Good luck seeing any cracks too (they're there) on that dark, dark shell!

Xhanfyr is, honestly, distracted by the boobs because regardless of the fact that they were on someone he considered close enough to be a sister, they were still really nice boobs. But, he is soon enough distracted by them via Voss, his savior, his…HEY NOW! "What? She does it on purpose!" he finger waggles at. That is, until he's very slowly turning his head towards bounding across the sands. Almond eyes widen to the size of something large because yes, and hands immediately go put defensively. HAIIIIIIYAAA…oh. Oh. OH. "Uh…okay but who's X'fyr?" Blink. Blink. Bl-OH! The dawn comes to Xhan's pretty little head probably so empty right now there was plenty of room for, "Kamysth. Yeah. Okay. I'm yours."

Sygni gasp. Rude. "I'll remember that, you skinny little-" But whatever Xhanfyr is will simply have to wait, insults reserved for another time. For now, her eyes unfocus, widening, her whole form stiffening with a sucked breath. Oblivious to friends or family being shouldered out of the way, her hands drop, finding and sliding along what might be a wing, might be a muzzle, might be a- "Oh, I am, am I?" And just like that the magic is over. Sygni - no, Syn - jerks back into herself with a snap, hands going to her hips, totally unafraid of you, bossy lady! This might be it, friends. This might be the end. But then there is activity nearby, and there will be places and times to wage mental war, but it is not this day. "Fine. But you and I have much to discuss about just how this is gonna go, Morizanth." And judging by the too-fast whirl of draconic eyes, the green wouldn't have it any other way. Off Syn sidles, a switch in her step, offering Xhanfyr the highest of fives even as she aims for Ibreily, grin sun-bright.

Rulayn bites her bottom lip as the bronze finally emergies, exhaling as now the one egg remains. Of course, looking to where the Brown now stood, Roo's eyes fall upon Xhanfyr and she cracks a warm smile "Congratulations!" she calls out, her voice cracking slightly as she dips back into silence.

Am'ry laughs when he sees X'fyr Impress. "Shards yes, I only pick the best! C'mon over here, Mr Bendy. What's that brown calling you? X'fyr? C'mon. Get some food in Kamysth's belly."

Leimna is dismissed, and brushed aside and she takes a stumble because RUDE, that's why - but Leia doesn't look in the least offended. "Syg!" it's a squeak of excitement, emotion lodged in her throat because Sygni and Ibby are growing up and she's left on the sands with - Xhan. Who gets blue eyes on him that are FILLED WITH EMOTION and then swept back to her cousin with, "Congratulations!" And then back to Xhan because Faranth. HIDE YO CANDIDATES, THEY IMPRESSING EVERYBODY OUT HERE. "Congrats!"

Aaaand he missed Sygni? How is that possible? Am'ry raises a hand and waves at the new greenrider. "C'mon, Sassy. You and your pretty little lady, too. There's food this way!"

Doktah blinks in surprise as another pair of familiar candidates find their lifemates. With her hands freed, she now has room to applaud the pairs. "Congratulations, Xhanfyr! Congratulations, Sygni!" Those lenses on her glasses are fogging up again. Discinclined to clean them again for the moment, Doktah edges back towards the line of fellow candidates, her hand reaching for anyone willing to take it.

Vossrik is still doubled by breathless giggles, ones that get even worse as Xhanfyr becomes X'fyr and Sygni pairs off with a dragon that appreciates her 'pair' just fine. Now it's a smaller group that pulls in, awaiting their fate with wide eyes and, well, tear-streaming cackles. "W-well, at least she won't prolly remember that later so he won't get a beatdown."

I've Come to Take You Home Bronze takes one step out onto the sands, then two, then threefourfive, almost tumbling over them in his eagerness to get out, to see his new assignment. Inside of his shell? Bo-ring. He's a man - er, a dragon - out for adventure. Just as soon as he's got this whole wing situation sorted. There are hints, under egg-wet hide, that there might be something to this tiny dragonet, but really - it's hard to tell with any of them, at this point. He picks a direction, and strikes out.

Liemna will take your hand, Doktah. She does, and she squeezes it, and she edges closer to the other candidates as well while eyes trail after the epic little blue and his newly hatched bronze brother. "Dok, look at them." Another finger waggle for the babies. Handsome devils.

Purveyor of Aids to Weyrling Mischievery Blue Hatchling is awesoming his way around the Sands. Everyone gets to see a bit of him. You get a look! You get a look! A look at all this epic for everyone! He struts his stuff, stopping at one point to give himself a canine-like shakedown to make sure all that icky egg-goo's off his hide. Hey, sorry, candidates - did some of that get on you? Just think of it as epicjuice. Strut strut strutting along he goes, and then… You. It's not the most graceful of movements when he flings himself at a young lady with red hair, knocking her right over onto her back. And… does he have his muzzle in her boobs?!

With a triumphant cry it seems that the Purveyor of Aids to Weyrling Mischievery Blue Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

Favored Familiar Egg snaps, crackles and… pops open to deposit an equally dark green onto the sands. She creels and cries piteously for being so rudely tossed outside the confines of her egg. She was //comfortable! What INJUSTICE is this!? Picking herself up with as much dignity she can, she'll stalk off towards the remaining line of Candidates.//

X'fyr is there, he is, he's just not there? You know? Somewhat tearful, a whole lot of proud, and just…EVERYTHING. ALL THE EMOTIONS. ALL OF THEM. He sends a grin so wide to everyone giving him congrats, fingerwiggling at two of them YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE, and the he's off like Thys' pants because its happening! He shoulder bumps against Syngi, now Syn, and eyebrow waggles. "Oh this is going to be FUN!" Oh no. The poor weyr. He gives Am'ry a proper salute though, lopsided in the smile department and all mischievousness in those brown eyes. Yes, this is the beginning of the end.

Magnetic Intuition and Magical Lure Green Hatchling
As dark a green as a green can be, she is a dainty, slender thing. She caries herself with poise now and grace as she stalks across those Sands, calm as calm can be. Until something spooks her… and then all hell breaks loose.

<Galleries>"… The dragons at my Impression were /much/ more, uh. Less showy," Merek states after a moment in quiet contemplation, still petting the firelizard which squawks up at him, as he shhhs her, and then scritches the head.

<Galleries>S'ic keeps sketching quietly and taking notes, "his eyes flicking betwee the sands and the page

Magnetic Intuition and Magical Lure Green Hatchling scrabbles and skids over the sands in a flurry of chaos, the dangerous curve of her talons doing little to stop her forward momentum. It's as though she's being pulled one way but struggling with all her might in her spooked state to go the other way. It'd almost be comical… only it's not. Tail lashes out and strikes one Candidate and her wings threaten to buffet another and may very well make contact with one particular Candidate a taller male who'd earned his knot by trying to outdrink the Weyrleader and spoke of bets and fighting rings. If he goes down… it will be bad, as the green will end up going with him in a tangle of limbs and in her state she's not aware of where she may place her feet or what limb or part of his body she's crushing or raking with those talons. All she wants is her intended and she doesn't understand why he is over THERE and not here. Can't they understand? The poor victim is going to get a nasty surprise but she is destined for another, who she calls to at that very moment. It's Laigren, soon to be Li'en, who stumbles over the flailing green. "Hey! Easy, Ymalinth, it's alright! I'm here, calm down!"

With a triumphant cry the Magnetic Intuition and Magical Lure Green Hatchling has found its lifemate at last. After a few moments the Weyrlingmaster leads the new pair off the sands.

Doktah seems a little surprised to find herself holding Leimna's hand, but she doesn't fight it. She gives the other candidate a little nervous smile before looking back to the hatchlings. "Careful of the bronze." She warns, edging back cautiously. "He won't do anything to us but claw us. And…" Then there's another impression! Doktah has her hand occupied again, so she just calls out once more. "Congratulations!"

Nyalle cries out when the green collides with the Candidate, two steps forward before she catches herself and forces herself to stand, rooted to the spot. "Healers!" Though they're already aware of what's going on, no doubt.

Rulayn is quick to make another 'eep' and scoot away from the rather erratic green as she comes crawling out of her shell and colliding with others in a matter of moments. She lingers to the side of Doktah and watches the commotion, before letting out a small sigh. Whew.

Vossrik finally composes himself and, enthusiastically, fires a double thumbs-up at his retreating friends. Slight movements capture his gaze and he tips his head and ponders the wandering bronze. "Hey, Doks. Is that a BROWN you figure? Or BRONZE? Oh, you think?" Leaning forward, he squiiiiints. "I seriously can't tell?" Thus, he misses as Th'ero 2.0 gets her dragon and renders his beard safe for at least awhile. "Wait, no I think I saw… oh dude, Leimna got a BLUE. Oh thank FARANTH. Don't think th'world was ready for her and proddiness."

Who turned out the lights? No, really. Who? Not Leimna this time; though hands are out and on the muzzle as she - gets the dragon-equivalent of groped? Leia's laughter comes out on a harsh breath that's giddy, and emotion, and we are going to cause so much trouble, Fort what have you done as she readjusts, and uses Foryth's help to stand. "Foryth. Leia. Food." A beat, and then a mischievous, "I'll teach you all about what these are, but then we're going to have a lesson on where Fort's real assets lie." HERE'S LOOKING AT YOU, TH'ERO. But she will take his lead, and bring him to food. AND TROUBLE. "Goodluck, you guys!" is breathed to those remaining. With feeling.

<Galleries>Thys gasps, sitting up straight real quick when there's a candidate in obvious trouble. "That's…" Nyalle's calling for the Healers, and Thys goes pale. "That's Metan!" She clings tightly to A'ster, eyes wide as she watches the scene below.

<Galleries>C'rus quietly gets out of his seat to make his way down to the infirmary. Staff probably already has that taken care of, but its best to doublecheck things. The rest of the hatching he'll have to hear about after the fact.

I've Come to Take You Home Bronze is impetuous, but not reckless. He gambols forward, hops up to survey his surroundings, then corrects his course. Head down, shoulders up, he is - oh, he is determined. He is on a mission, and he is going to stay his course. Coordinates locked in, sir. The collision of green and candidate has him rearing back, fanning his wings and creeling, trumpet bright - it's close to an echo of Nyalle's shout, inasmuch as unImpressed, slightly-frantic baby dragon can manage. He flap-flap, flap-flap-flaps his wings - and then hears the question that will plague him all his life. It's the right voice, though, surely - and he is assured that the healers have the situation well in hand, so he can abandon his high-alert cry for healers to arrive, and veer off to briskly cross the sand and present himself, all proper and only mildly undignified, to his lifemate.

With a triumphant cry it seems that the I've Come to Take You Home Bronze has found its partner at last and impression is made!

Am'ry looks surprised when there's a blue with Leia - but also relieved. Thank Faranth he's not green, right? He mutters something to M'icha, then waves at the new blueline, inviting her over to him. "C'mon then, Leia, bring Foryth over and we'll get the two of you sorted out."

Vossrik - now V'sri - stands stock-still, his eyes wide, his double-thumbs-up falling to his sides. "Diqth," he breaths, reverently, as if saying something sacred. He drops to his knees and offers one shaking hand to the bronze hatchling. "His name is Diqth, you guys."

Syn smirks as she makes her way towards Am'ry, receiving X'fyr's shoulder-bump with amusement. "This is going to be something," she agrees in wry, droll tones, eyes lifting to peer towards the stands before they are out of view, a sharp smirk and what might even be a wink shot towards family and friends, but before she can reach the assistant weyrlingmaster proper there comes enough noise to draw attention, and what might have started out as a screech of glee for the blue next to her cousin that is her COUSIN turns into a noise of mild panic when poor Metan is trampled, crushed, potentially mauled. Syn's breath leaves her in a great rush, hands extending for cousins, Xhan, anyone to pull against her even as Morizanth slashes - perhaps needlessly - between herself and danger. "No," Syg chokes out, dragging the dragonet back with her, head shaking rapidly, rapidly. "No, come on, come on." She can't bear to watch. She wants off the sands now.

Rulayn pokes her head past Doktah to give Vossrik - no, V'sri a smile and a wave. Another round of congratulations are in order, it seems, as the last of the hatchlings find their lifemates.

Doktah once again finds her hands free. And there's… just one more hatchling hanging out on the sands? She takes advantage of the break to give some applause to her friends who have already headed off the sands. "Congratulations!" Too many names to manage individual celebrations now.

Nyalle steps forward as the Healers work on poor Metan, and the Senior's eyes keep flicking towards that direction. "Candidates - residents. I'm sorry your dragon was not shelled for you this time. I know it can be difficult to be left standing. Please, enjoy the feast and the freedom. If you wish to leave Fort, let us know and we'll secure passage for you to wherever you wish. But, we hope you'll choose to stay at Fort, and remain a part of our family."

There's chaos on the Sands as the poor mauled lad is sorted out, and Am'ry just about realises that there's another Impression been made. He makes his way out to the new bronzerider so he can steer him and his lifemate away from the trouble over there. "C'mon. You and Diqth come with me, we'll get him fed." A look is spared over his shoulder at Metan as he leads V'sri and his bronze away.

Healers do rush to the side of the fallen Candidate once it's safe to do so and so does the Weyrleader move from his spot from behind Nyalle, leaving her to lead the last speech as he hurries to check on the damage done. M'icha watches all the last of the chaos with a grim, tight expression and a slow shake of his head but he has his hands full with his newest charges.

Rulayn hovers there for a while as the final pair are led from the sands, and eventually she looks towards Nyalle. It's over? Well, seems that way. She glances to Doktah whom she's still stood beside before attempting to give the other girl a hug. "Maybe next time, right?"

Kayeth is already moving towards the exit, rumbling softly - commandingly - at her rider. Perplexed, Nyalle follows. Then, OH. Nyalle follows FASTER.

<Galleries>Healers are doing their thing, the eggs are cracked and hatchlings Impressed, and Thys gets unsteadily to her feet. "There'll be drinks and food in the living caverns for those who care to join us in…" Celebration? No. She can't say it. Not while Metan's being worked on. She closes her eyes and edges her way along the row of seats to where she can make a clean break for the bowl.

Doktah is still for a moment as it all sinks in. But this isn't her first time left standing. She nods, salutes to Nyalle, and bows to the clutch parents before she finds herself scooped up in a hug from Rulayn. "… Yes. There's always next time." She sighs deeply. Is it with sorrow, or relief? So hard to tell with her. Either way, it's over. "… There is to be a feast after this. Will you come with me?" She asks, looking to her friend with wide eyes as she prepares to exit the sands.

Ibreily has managed to get a fair portion of food down Kralkth's craw, but the screeching draws the weyrling up short. The hatchling brown bellows a challenge across the sands - that green can gome get them if she dares - but Ibby's far away. Little pats of meat are probably going to simmer in the sands for a while, as the weyrling leaps to her feet, wide-eyed and beating a terrified path back towards - they're fine. Both of them, and. Their dragons. "Shells." The weyrling breathes, staring at Syn and Leia for a long moment; relief, mild nausea? Probably both. The moment snaps with a sharp look for Kralkth, eyes widening. "Shut it!" She snaps, expression darkening as she shoots a salute in their left-standing friends' direction and whirls, moving off with the others. Definitely time to go. Kralkth will catch up, not at all ruffled by his lifemate's bad reaction to his non-concern.

<Galleries>L'gan straightens out his jacket and rises from his seat. "That was an eventful hatching," he murmurs as he follows the crowds out of the galleries with a quickness. "That means I better sharding get out of here before fire rains from the sky or some other nightmarish thing occurs." Out of the archway and into the unknown he goes.

<Galleries>Merek stands up and makes his way on too.


Add a New Comment