Who A'ster, Thys
What Four eggs. The best four eggs ever laid. And a surprise.
When Winter, Turn 2711 (pre-barracks collapse)
Where Hatching Sands, Fort Weyr

116.png thysicon10.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.

Regardless of his game face, it's been clear that the longer it took for Rhenesath to take to the Sands, the more tension A'ster collected; it's been draining off in measurable chunks with each egg laid, so by the time four has been squeezed out, put in its place, and mama-hen Rhen deemed unlikely to lay another, he's practically giddy. No, wait, belay that: there's no practically about it. With respect to the confirmed clutchmom's sensibilities he is hissing more than shouting, but it's clear that it's only the thing saving everyone's eardrums. "Four," he crows in throttled-back delight, reaching to grab Thys by the shoulders and turn her so she's facing him; he's fairly radiating reflected pride as well as his own relief. "FOUR EGGS, Ames, they made FOUR ACTUAL HONEST-TO-FARANTH EGGS. Take that, gossip!" Yes, he really says 'take that, gossip.' Articulate is not terribly high on the list of things he is at the moment.

There was stress aplenty between the two of them; Thys also had her own worries, that have now been more than happily set aside. When she's twirled around she laughs, reaching up to drape her arms over A'ster's shoulders and grinning proudly. "Four perfect, beautiful eggs." She draws her hands forward, cupping his jaw and pulling him down so she can kiss him. When the kiss ends, she runs her hands down his chest, then turns around to press her back to him, reaching to knot her fingers with his so she can draw his arms around her as she looks over the eggs. "Four. I'm so pleased." Thys tilts her head to be able to look back at him, while drawing his hand, still clasped in hers, down to rest low on her belly. Then she loosens her hold to press his palm flat against her soft tummy, her hand atop his. There's a flicker of nervousness as she studies his face, her smile and glee of moments ago fade, just a little - enough to notice, perhaps?

A'ster is kind of a dumb, dopey idiot at heart: like a golden retriever charmed into human form. Bit less hairy and slobbery, but all warm and physically affectionate; if he had a tail, it would be wagging. Instead, by the time Thys has herself turned around, he is resting his chin on her shoulder and trying to keep from turning HUGGING into SQUEEZING, and mostly managing to channel it into ROCKING THEM BOTH BACK AND FORTH— but also doing a lot of idiot-grinning over at Thys. And paying enough attention that he catches that flicker, and pulls back slightly — not away, just so that he can look at her without going cross-eyed. "What," he asks, quiet but urgent, concerned, "is there someth— are you just saying they're perfect because they're ou— how soon can she tell that there's dragonets in them?"

"Sssh, Ali, they're fine - Rhenesath isn't concerned, so you needn't be." And it's true; Rhenesath is clucking and crooning over her little clutch like the good mother hen she is. Thys gives his hand on her tummy a little squeeze, and her forehead creases slightly as she looks hopefully at him. She's quiet for what feels like forever, then leans back against him with a heavy sigh. "Ali. You know how I've been feeling sick? It's not just been with worry. I mean, that's been part of it, but…" Again, she squeezes his hand, pressing it against her.

"Okay," A'ster says, "okay, alright, if you s— oh, no, are you developing an allergy to creamcake?" There is genuine dismay on his face at the prospect, all forehead-furrowed, nose-wrinkled dism— wait for it. Waaaait for iiiiiiit -ay. Slowly, his eyes go wide and he pulls back again, back to look at her. Then faster, he reverses course and instead looms so that he can look down at their hands over her shoulder. "Wait, are you- oh, shit, Rhen couldn't fly, you couldn't between — oh, Ames, I'm such an asshole."

And he gets it. A second of relief floods over Thys, and she knots her fingers in with his again, squeezing tightly. "Why are you an asshole because I was stupid enough to forget?" She turns her head to be able to kiss his cheek, then pivots around to face him. One hand is pressed to his chest, the other rests on his waist as she looks up at him, brown eyes glassy. "Ali. I don't know what to do."

"Because I should have thought about it, too. And, because I—" He folds his hand over hers on his chest, squeezes it. "Because I know kids aren't anywhere in your plans? I'm — I'm not even sure if they're in mine. Whatever you decide, I'm with you a hundred percent. If it's too late for an extra-long flight between to be an option, I," he drops his head, rests his forehead against hers. "I like kids. You don't. I'm not going to tell you that you have to put yourself through a pregnancy for something you don't even want at the end of it, but if you do decide to keep it - - I've got family, there's like a hundred of 'em; someone'd happily take on a baby, no questions asked." Or, you know, the nurseries at the Weyr, dumbo.

Thys shakes her head. "No no no, don't say that. Don't say it's up to me to decide." Her brow furrows, and her lips purse. "I can't. I can't decide. Ali, it's been driving me crazy - not wanting to tell you, not wanting to admit it, not wanting it, wanting it. Don't make me decide. Please." She draws in a shuddering breath, one that, with her eyes being as damp as they are, suggests there may be tears on the horizon. It doesn't please Thys, anyway, who pulls her hands away to scrub them over her face with a frustrated sigh. "I've never wanted kids. But I never thought I'd fall in love again, either, and… then there was you." Her hands drop, and she settles them on his waist. "I can't decide. I feel guilty for not wanting it. I feel like I'm betraying myself for wanting it. I didn't know - I don't know - if it's me or Rhenesath feeling… broody. I just don't know. I'm excited and terrified all at the same time."

"Hey, hey," A'ster says, reaching for the goldrider's hands as she scrubs at her face. He doesn't pull them away, but wraps his fingers loosely around her wrists and just — holds on. "It can't be up to me. It's not — you're the one who's got it in you, you're the one whose body-," he seems torn here, but ventures, quiet: "We can take this a day at a time, okay? If you realize you really — you really don't, you can't — then Stumpy and I, we'll take you between ourselves. Or to the Healers, and hold your hand 'til it's over and take you home when it's done. If you're still torn up over it — then we hang on to it, and once it's out we'll — go from there. Keep it or give it to my ma in a basket with a note or- whatever. Okay? But I'm not. I'm not going anywhere and I'm kind of freaking out but I figure you've been freaked out this whole time by yourself, Faranth, that must've been awful — I've been so caught up in whether or not there'd actually be eggs I forgot to pay attention to anything else."

Thys sinks against A'ster, nestling her face in against his neck. "I've been worried about the eggs, I've been worried about Rhenesath, about what I would ever say to you if there were no eggs, panicked because I realised I was late, and then Ila'den…" She shakes her head, curling her arms around him with her hands resting above his rear. "And I didn't want you to think I didn't feel things for you after you said you loved me and I didn't say it back - I knew the night I told you. That I was pregnant. I'd worked it out, and I'd told Ashwin, and… Ashwin knows. I'm sorry I told him before you."

A'ster laughs, and there's some strain in it but there's relief, too. "Good, I'm glad — I'm glad you weren't the only one who knew." He wraps his arms back around her, keeps her tucked close and secure against him. "Don't be sorry. Don't — I almost said don't worry, that's dumb, I don't know what's wrong with my mouth this morning — four eggs," he repeats, a little awed for all that he's the one who was the most confident about there actually being eggs. "We'll figure this out, okay? I promise."

"Ok," Thys agrees, lifting her head to nod at him. "Ok, we'll figure it out." She squeezes him close, then nestles in against his neck once more. Rhenesath is happily brooding, and has already settled down to curl herself around her eggs with a wing stretched protectively over them. Thys sighs, pressing a kiss to the brownrider's neck. "We ought to go tell the Weyr. And I want creamcake." Again she raises her head, this time looking at him with one brow raised. "I want creamcake, a cup of tea, and you. I didn't get to say good morning properly, yet." Thys lifts her hand to stroke it through his blonde hair, ruffling it up only to smooth it back down.

"There are still guards posted," A'ster points out, irrepressable. "I mean, it's not quite a closet, but I think we could make it work — and then creamcake. Tea. Victorious crowing to the living caverns. That sort of thing."

"There are still guards posted," Thys echoes, casting her gaze over towards the entrance to the Hatching caverns. "A'ster. You're terrible." And yet there her hands are, slipping down past his waist to squeeze his butt. "I can't wait to see their faces when we tell them there are eggs." Squeeze. Knead. "I can't wait to see the faces on those poor guards when we walk out past them… sound travels in here." Up she goes on her tiptoes, lips slightly parted and pursed as they seek his.

"I can absolutely guarantee they've heard worse," A'ster assures, blythe and cheeky now that he's gotten the go-ahead; he leans in to the kiss, his hands begin to roam, and while it may not be especially long before they're in a position to play eye-contact chicken with the guards posted outside, well. He definitely gives it his enthusiastic, vocal all.

Add a New Comment