High Reaches' 5th PC Clutching

Nuff's gold Tiareth x G'vin's bronze Chiernnath
7th May 2000
Logged by G'vin


Tiareth's Weyr
Pastel tapestries and soothing potpourri have been stuffed into the darkest corners of this massive (if comparatively low-ceilinged) queen weyr, in favor of airier hangings without depictions of dragons - much less golds - in sight. Gauzy purple curtains whip in the breeze from the ledge, and a gigantic crazy-quilt slumps over Tiareth's rush-lined couch; another, smaller version hunches in the corner, framed by clothespresses and pegs filled by riding gear and weavings-in-progress.
Decked out for the party, most of the kids toys have been swept out of the way, and purple streamers leap and ripple from the walls.

<High Reaches Weyr> Chiernnath senses that Tiareth grumbles softly, her voice tickling at the senses and steadily growing into a steady itch that you simply cannot scratch. «I am tired of being fat.»

<High Reaches Weyr> Chiernnath senses that Revnath rumbles gently, his reply couched in soothing cinnamon tones, only a hint of reassuring nutmeg floating though. « You will not be fat for much longer, I am sure. »

<High Reaches Weyr> Chiernnath senses that he's voice is like a shifting kaleidescope of varying sounds of the everpresent clarsach. Deep and rich, mindtones are coated in velvet honey that gives him a deep, mellow sound. « Then simply become un-fat, Tiareth. »

<High Reaches Weyr> Chiernnath senses that Tiareth's touch deepens slightly, a large draught of sparkling cold apple cider. «I cannot simple become un-fat, Chiernnath.» she informs the other dragon, undertones of tone evidence of her /obvious/ superiority in this area of knowledge. She's been through this before, remember?

<High Reaches Weyr> Chiernnath senses that Trydanth zings out his amusement at the whole clutching process, carefully suppressing the knowledge that Clutching=eggs=dragonets=Weyrlings. « You will become un-fat soon, Tiareth. You always do. »

Nuff trundles in from the Peek-A-Boo Ledge.
Nuff was running down the stairs, turns, and runs up them again reaching for G'vin's hand. "C'mon, C'mon, its time to go."

G'vin whips his head around, "What?" Dumbly he adds, "Time to go where?

Nuff tug tug tugs, trying to adjust her traditional purple clutching-turban all at the same time. "The clutching Gav, the clutching. C'mon." Nuff's excitement takes off the turns, making her more childlike than ever. "Eggs, our dragons' eggs. C'mon c'mon."

G'vin blinks his eyes and shakes his head. "Already…?!?" He grabs his lucky piece of jewelry and dashes his lean frame after the weyrwoman, mentally in converse with his dragon.

Nuff slips behind a purple tapestry and disappears.

Down down down again; the stairs are narrow and uneven.
Council Chambers

This short, low-ceiling'd tunnel comes out on the far side of the galleries.
Sand's Edge
Hot - hotter - hottest! Heat rises from the Sands just beyond the upraised stone, rippling and undulating outwards to flow out through this vaulted entrance. The air is hot and heavy, a thick mantle that clings to those who skirt the edges of the Sands and slip into the tiered galleries along the inner wall. The whoosh and promise of cooler air is but a few steps away in the bowl.
Nuff is here.

<All> Chiernnath senses that Tiareth suddenly surges, large bubbling waves of hot apple cider pouring into all draconic minds. «It is time.» she announces, relief and apprehension evident in the muted fluting tones of her voice. «Finally.»

<All> Chiernnath senses that Quarith feels Tiareth's surge of emotion and responds with her own cultured, dulcet tones. « Good. »

Nuff moves warily out onto the Sands.

A single step and the heat increases. Another and it gets hotter still. A few more and you are out onto the Sands themselves, bathed in waves of warmth.
Sands
Heat rises - ripples - wavers in a stifling curtain that envelops dragons and eggs while smothering riders and visitors. The black sands have been raked into ruts and dips, an alien, uneven surface for anyone trying to walk across them. Some say tension seers the heat: residue of hope, fear, relief, sadness, pain and ultimate joy staining high grey walls and lurking about the many viewing ledges that speckle the walls. Ancient murals of dragonlore fade across the walls near gallery and entrances.
Nuff is here.

Tiareth moves into the heat, shimmered and blurred by the ripples that rise off the Sands.
Chiernnath moves into the heat, shimmered and blurred by the ripples that rise off the Sands.

Nuff sidesteps the arrived dragons, bouncing up and down and waving to her fat fat /fat/ queen. "Tiareth, there you are, I beat you here I did I did I did. I never did before, did I? I did. Now we're all here. We are? There you are, G'vin. Hurry up and wait."

Tiareth lumbers heavily onto the sands, her engorged belly nearly dragging on the sands. She turns a doleful eye on her lifemate, rumbling softly. Sunshiney tale sweeps sand into mounds behind her and she waddles some more, crooning at Chiernnath as she does so.

G'vin looks rather lost, his forefinger scratching his temple distractedly. "Um. yeah. Wait?" He blinks owlishly at the oddish weyrwoman. "Wait? For what?" Rubbing his forehead, the man is obviously confused and flustered.

Nuff is going more sideways, than ballistic, trying to get in close to Tiareth but stay out of the way at the same time. And she's still trying to drag G'vin around with her wherever she goes - like the bells on her turban and bells on her toes. Thankfully she's lost him along the way, turning back with wide-eyes and a wider smile. "For the eggs of course of course, silly man. You always have to wait for the eggs."

Chiernnath lumbers after the gold, eventually settling his bulky self down in one spot, rustling up the hot sand and making a nice little nest. Well away from any piece of sands that the gold might want, he watches serenely from his perch.

Nuff bounces up and down again, her turban falling sideways, askew. "Oh oh oh, here she goes. You are going, aren't you Lumpie?" The elderish gold dragon certainly lives up to her dragonet-nickname today as the clutch bulges out on all sides, as round and eager as Nuff.

Tiareth is indeed ready to get rid of her bulky self, and return to her girlishly gaunt figure. A loud rumble escapes the old queen as her sides begin to heave and roll, the first eggs about to emerge. Giant sweeps of tail fold sands into great mounds about her as the first, tiny, egg emerges. The egg is a mottled green, textured lines and curves glimpsed before the egg is buried under the first lump of sand.

Lascaux Cave Painting Egg
Sandstone echoes, wind-blown over the archetypal cave's entrance, whisper their shadowy way over the surface of this egg. Archaic memories dust the eggshell, painted handprints of powdered berries and crushed ochre. Charcoal lines become illusions of image, to reach through time and forge a link with the past, in remembrance of past life and hope for the future.

Plains Indians Egg
The starkness of this earth-brown egg softens to more pastoral shades, blending blossoms of lavender and maize with the simpler greens that landscape its shell. Darker contours follow the run of river-blue that winds through the gentle verdancy, fencing the creamy irregularities that roam the surface away from the rougher edges. Yet, for all the quaintness of its coloration, there's something sacred about the peaceful rusticity of this egg's sylvan scene.

Tiareth laies another few eggs in quick succession, her sides heaving heavily and her breath panting. Glimpses of mild brown and frothy blue make their colors known before they are buried quickly out of site. My eggs. No one else can see them. Mineminemine.

Niagara Falls Egg
Thick and frothy, foam coats the base of this monolithic egg, covering rocky crags of granite in an ever-swirling random pattern. Clouds rise, shrouding the remainder of the egg in a fresh-water spray through which spread the blues, reds and yellows of nature's most magnificent rainbow. Behind the mists lies that which people come to see: the awesome and wondrous strength of water, pouring down, coating every nook and cranny with eternal life.

Nuff is still hopping about, though is gettin out of the way. That does not mean she has to be quiet though. "Go Tiareth go! Oh look wa sthat a purple one? It was? No? You usually lay me at least one purple one, won't you?" She shifts from foot to foot, turban bopping. "See that G'vin? You can have that green one there."

Tiareth ignores Nuff's requests for purple, as per usual, and shifts one of the earliest eggs over towards Chiernnath for tending. That done, she digs another trench and turns towards her tail, humming happily dragon hummings as a series of three quick eggs slip out onto the sand: midnight and indigo, glittery greens and golds, and another mossy forest one.

Easter Island Monolith Egg
Midnight and indigo swathe this egg's sky-domed vertex in a darkly dazzling dance, peppering it with a diamond patina of stars. Beneath the skyscape looms a patch of dusky silver-gray, shadowed hollows likening it to an impassive visage. Enigmatic and untouchable, it perches upon the craggy, cliff-like tumble of nadir-spread umber and ebony, fixing its intangible gaze upon the questioning blaze of starfire.

Silicon Valley Egg
Extremely tiny and intricate designs pattern this shiny ovoid. As a whole, it glitters, and light reflects off of little pathways that trace around the surface in an elaborate map of roads and passages. Even when there's little light, it seems that little points of radiance run along them, making the entire shell seem to be moving around itself. The overall color, if one had to be given, would be a shifting combination of green, yellow, and red, depending on the angle it is being looked at from.

Celtic Ruins of Ireland Egg
Moss-green mottles the ancient stonework that blocks this egg in shades of grey. Age might have weathered the harsh lines into smoother curves, but a pattern can yet be glimpsed there at the crest, where moonlight silvers and shadows blue the shell's eroded contours: figure intertwine in an age-old dance, though the steps have long been forgotten.

Chiernnath is honored by Tiareth's offering as he gently guides the egg into a warm, safe haven of sand, covering it up quick. He is ever careful with /his/ children!

Tiareth turns to regard Chiernnath, motherliness evident in the careful way she tends to those eggs already laid. A great groan escapes the large gold as she hunkers down to lay yet another egg. A large one this time, golden hide ripples as it is at last laid, golden shimmers over its surface at war with the darkness that trims its sides.

Le Mont St-Michel Egg
Jagged peaks rise forbiddingly over sandy desolation, surmounted by a needle-sharp spire. Granite walls huddle, one level upon another, to form a rocky silhouette that menaces the surrounding landscape. The light of an inner pinprick of gold glows with faith, intelligence and charity, but it is sadly dimmed, encaged and guarded by hostile ramparts, Romanesque parapets, and the angry riptides of turbulent seas that snatch at the peak's base.

Nuff bounces from side to side. "Not purple. Not gold neither, is it Tiareth?" Tiareth would know, she always knows, but the latest egg is more rockish grey and granite than gold. "It could be more puprle y'know, really."

Tiareth stretches like sunlight playing across the finely tuned strings of the harp, her abdomen stretching and bulging as the next egg emerges. Tail moves with maternal quickness; this brightly colored egg disappears with only the barest of glimpses into the trench. Sand is swished on top of it as the gold moves on.

Geisha District of Kyoto Egg
Bright swatches of gaily colored patterns circulate, undulating with a rare richness and prosperity. Patterns and colors interweave and create ghost-like kimono images, dashed with brightly hued obi. Pale, almost chalky, white peeks out from the array of bright colors every so often, lending credence to the elegantly painted geisha. Colors follow an age-old pattern of adoration as each bright hue of the rainbow is chased by yet another energetic shade that sweeps across the shell. Classy, yet flashy, the chaos of elegance is balanced by the richness of prosperity.

Nuff bounces over to G'vin and tug tug tugs on the bronze-rider's sleeve. "Neat, ain't it?" She rubs her little buddha-Nuff-belly, patting down the squirmy bits. "Wants Nuff should have G'vin kids too?"

G'vin turns to give Nuff a proud smile. "Neat? I would more call it fascinating, Nuff." A boyish blush heats up his neck, spilling into his cheeks as the man gulps. Nuff-G'vin spawn? Gyak! "Babies?"

Nuff pats her own tumtum again, as if there should be something inside. "G'vin has babies already? Nuff does. There's Buff and Stuff and Gruff and Huff and…" Nuff makes them up, some of them. "Jack too. She's almost old enough to put on the Sands."

G'vin gives Nuff an odd look. "You… aren't…. uh…." Words are garbled as the bronzerider rubs nervously on his neck. Glancing at the occupied dragons, he whispers, "..pregnant, are you?" He tries his best to contain his blush, but fails horridly.

Tiareth groans, her eyes whirling in muted tones of red and blue. She can't seem to decide if she's agrieved or happy to be having these eggs. The sunshine gold makes time to whuffle quickly at her rider's turban, blowing sweet breath into her face. No more children to baby-sit, please. Spasm's take over the great queen suddenly, and she turns a pained glance at Chiernnath as two more eggs emerge, reddish and silver shimmers glimpsed before they disappear under the ever-growing mound of sand.

Nuff just smiles a little Nuffish smile, and pats her belly again. Being Nuff, and round and chubby all the time anyways, it'd be hard to tell what is due to Cookies, and what is doo to Schnookies with G'vin. "Mebbie Nuffs is, and mebbie Nuffs isn't. " She eyes the younger bronzerider sideways. "You wants Nuffs is?" With any luck they'll have better grammar than Nuff.

Ayers Rock Egg
Brick-red dirt makes an outback of the egg beneath, turning every curve and crevice into the ruddy orange of the desert. With every shift of light, Uluru's brilliance veers upwards across the shell: orange to red, red to purple, purple to blue and back to orange again, the circle complete. A few aboriginal designs dot the nadir in concentric circles in white and brown and ochre's yellow, dreaming… dreaming… dreaming the dragonet inside.

Gateway to the West Egg
Perhaps one of the larger of the eggs, this ovoid arcs up at an odd angle, as if perpetually reaching up for something. The majority of its color is a slightly dull, but still metallic, silver that, at certain points, catches and reflects the light back to the viewer. No matter what angle it's seen from, the center of the egg seems to be decorated with impressionistic lines, and dabs of dull hue that might give the hint of buildings or people, or perhaps even trees. At the bottom is the hinting of water, broad and deep, reflecting both the light rightand the west-facing arch.

Glowlamps play across the brilliantly lit hide, giving Tiareth an incandescent glow. Abdomen shifts and churns like living sunlight as the next egg peeks out into the world, only to be hastened along by a second, slighty bigger egg that tumbles down into the pre-dug trench. Grass-greens and inky blues are glimsped at before the mothering gold gently sweeps the warm sands over them.

Mystical Stonehenge Egg
An early spring morning seems to have kissed the perfect oval of this egg, whisking its grass-green base with wisps of cooling breeze. Stone blocks, charcoal-dark and ash-pale, parade in an assortment of sizes around its center, backed with the colors of a perfect sunrise: muted lapis and indigo, fiery pink and soft peach combine in a caress that seems to originate in the dawn of time itself.

Eiffel Tower Egg
From rounded cone-shaped top to smooth sinewy bottom, this peculiarly formed spheroid takes on a sense of style: sleek and slick, it's popular to say the least. Inky blue streaks mimic thin wires that have been stretched tight down all sides of the blanched grey orb creating a pattern that is truly unique in every way. Taller than a dragon's egg probably should be, it gives the impression of being timeless and enduring: an old yet graceful woman.. Elegant and tall it stands like a proud monument to the sands it rests upon, being tres chic without hardly trying.

Nuff laid one the first time: Jack. Two the second time: Tuff and Chuff. Three the third time: Duff, Scruff and Ragamuff. So… watch out G'vin, logically one would assume she'd lay four the fourth time? Think of it, they could call them Fluff, Stuff, Wuff and Xenaff. Out loud Nuff idly runs through the alphabet. "Auff, Euff. Fuff…"

Huff and puff and Tiareth'll blow your house down. Or perhaps just blow you off the sands if you try to touch her babies. Gold hide glimmers softly in the glows of the hatching caverns, gawking people above all but ignored by the queen. Two more eggs make their appearance, nearly on top of each other in their hurry to make entrance into the world. Both eggs are patterend in verdant hues of green, one huge and the other not-so-huge. But they are buried before anyone can have more than a glance.

Hanging Gardens of Babylon Egg
An oasis of humidity amid the tawny, starlit gleam of the desert, cultured exotica flourishes, watered with the sweat of swarming, swarthy shapes. Verdurous fronds burgeon from the egg's terraced sides, blotched with a riot of fluorescence. Mottled blossoms twine from coiled tendrils, ably winding around the lush ovoid. A longing for distant mossy mountains - homesickness for those verdant uplands - enthuses a prolific fecundity.

Spanish Steps Egg
Shady greens frame this rather large egg, blurring at the edges into a sky-blue that sweeps across its width. The rest is all mounting levels of off-whites: pale, dingy, creamy, /cracked/ - not real cracks, but patterns marked delicately onto this egg's broad surface in hints of ecru and the lightest of mauve shadows - all this is evident and obvious, but the knowledge of what lies at the staircase's peak remains a mystery.

Nuff continues. "Gruff, Huff, Iuff, Juff, Kuff, Lluff… like Yama." She breaks her attention into two parts, one for Tiareth and all the eggs, and one for G'vin. "Lluffie. You can give'm real names of course, y'know. Everyone is supposed to have a /real/ name, they say, but what do they know?" Nuff's real name is top top secret.
Nuff has a real name.

Tiareth sweeps her tail in a wide arc, covering the latest mound of eggs. Another shock of shudders sweeps over her ever-shrinking form. Eggs seem to come in twos today, as another pair slip out. The queen leaves these exposed for a moment longer than the others as she gathers more sand to cover them with. Shimmery white one egg is, the other matte black: polar opposites are these egg twins.

Pearl of Bahrain Egg
Long and thin is this egg, yet not lacking in dignity: pure iridescent white forms the base for a lush emerald green that sways, freckled with droplets of crystalline azure. Shadows of cloudy grey rise to give an illusionary support to a regal sphere of untouched pristine white. Leaving the perfectly-marked orb untouched by their watery streams are fountains of soft aqua and washed-out oceanic green, shimmered over with a wash of bright sunlight.

London Eye Egg
Smoggy black encrusts the smoke-choked browns that base this egg, and sends its spidery tendrils aloft to web the cloudy crest with urbanely urban precision. That pattern wheels about the apex, lent the illusion of motion by the rippling azure that ribbons the circumference, and runs rogue through the inornate gloom that permeates this shell's polluted shades.

A pause in the egg laying, as poor Tiareth tries to catch her breath. How many eggs are there now? And how many more does the haggard queen have left to lay? Chiernnath is given a soft croon, as this latest set of eggs is rolled over to him for care. Suddenly the large head goes up as if a great pain has suddenly hit, and 'Reth grumbles softly, positioning herself for another egg. A bright amber egg, this one, and upon its arrival on the sands, Tiareth gives her lifemate a /look/. A very konwing look.

Egyptian Sphinx Egg
As quixotic and querulous as any conundrum, quarrelsome shadows etch the vast deserts of this capacious egg: indentations of iridescent platinum riddle the grainy-gold shell, questioning its stony ambers, and querying every passing strip of saffron and spice. The metallic mirage shimmers and shines, offering no relief from the billowing dust of more fiercely heated hues; stone and brick blaze to red, coruscant colors burn as hieroglyphs about the tawny image of a sun-bright sphinx.

Nuff gives up trying to tease G'vin and looks right back at Tiareth. For a long moment and then whines. "That's not purple neither!"

G'vin's attention turns from his busy bronze back to Nuff. "Huh?" is inelegantly asked, his fingers coming up to rub eyes. "I think it's a very fine egg, Nuff!" So does Chiernnath for the record. "So many…." Gaze is again caught by the scene before him.

Nuff admits nothing. Tiareth admits nothing. "One chouldn't count their dragons before they hatch, right G'vin?" He's younger, but he should know anywyas.

Fingers of fatigue begin to snake their tendrils around the gold's flagging hide. Twinkling like the fading sunset, her sun-gold hide convulses as two eggs slide out together. Red clashes against a rather large sun-washed egg as Tiareth sweeps the hot sands over them. Chiernnath gets a proud croon before another spasm steals her attention.

CN Tower Egg
Red and white underscore the steely mottling of this towering egg, brightening the dull greys with the fervour of its nationalistic splendour. But there's a darker maple that weaves its own interleaf through the more vivid colours, lending a taste of autumnal chill to the sand-warmed shell.

Mount Rushmore Egg
A mountain of white-washed stone towers against the serenely dark sky-shades that cover this egg. Its paleness is marred by streaks of shadow, lending form to a set of visages that could be construed as man-made and molded. Here a nose, there a proud chin: shading and spotlights give the semblance of these maybe familiar faces, whilst a wavering blazon of red, white and blue caps the proud curve of shell.

Tiareth flows with this latest, greatist, spasm. Golden hide twitches. One egg falls to the sand, nightime blue melding with the brown of the sands. She begins to cover it, but is disturbed by the coming of a second egg, large and romanisque. Rumbling softly, she pushes it over to the pile. One last great heave and the final, the last, is laid.

Nuff gets tired, though not as tired as Tiareth, and settles back on the nearby table to watch the rest. Occasionally she hums as happy as Tiareth, legs swinging back and forth under the table. "Kinda small clutch, eh? Chiernnath isn't as biga s he thought he is?"

Baltic Sea Egg
Midnight blue and smudged green simmer over the shell of this fair-sized egg, its translucence nearly disguising furrows and cracks that might give the impression of unruly waves roaring and breaking on the sandy, salty shore. Bubbles roil and rise about a twisted square of green at one rounded end: a small splotch of island surrounded by deep sea blue.

Roman Coliseum Egg
Washed with a timeless combination of marble and limestone, and coated with a transparent layer of beige, this soft orb is covered with the dust of countless vacant centuries. An ancient arena encircles the delicate shell, its crumbling walls a tell-tale of pain and terror that drop dramatically at one end, where the ravages of time have caused ruin to set in. Sunset backlights the ruins in a blaze of scarlet and orange, shadows creeping delicately through empty windows and arches to emphasize the eerie atmosphere that cloaks the shell with muted colors and the whispers of battles fought and glory won.

Golden Gate Bridge Egg
Thick, malicious smears of grey lash across the silky surface of the egg, blazing into light, foggy shades, alighting the gentle curves and quietly whispering among the more angry shades with almost a sleepy effect. Whirls of dingy brown speck the edges, the quick touch of traffic's roar; .alluring, rusty orange juts out of the smokey shades, towering as it claims the egg with its own grace. The climbing color rings the egg carefully in vaulting copper, gilded flecks integrated into the striking color as it flows over the surface before melting into the liquid blue below, its peace bestowing a faint touch of tranquility upon the dismal chaos of ash.

Nuff watches the last - last? Must be last - of the eggs slip to the sands and then wanders on over to her dragon. Head close, closer, closest, she whispers sweet everythings to the exhausted queen and pats the sunbright muzzle. "But you did marvelous 'Reth, always."

Tiareth whuffles slighly at her rider, exhaustion evident in every crease of her hide. She pats the sand at her feet, her little nest where she can watch over all the eggs. Head swings over to Chiernnath, and a mellow croon escapes her muzzle. Didn't we do well?

G'vin walks over to Chiernnath as well, giving the big proud daddy bronze a good patting. Croon is directed to the mother as he settles down for a sound snooze. His children. Eyes glint with pride as they slowly drift shut. "Now, that's that.. I supposes.." G'vin himself gives a loud yawn and settles himself on a foreleg, and off the sands.

Nuff mirrors G'vin, though leans onto Tiareth, and settles in. "On the Sands, again… How many eggs was that? Twenty? Twenty one? Twenty two…? Just like Chayath…" Nuff drifts off.

Tiareth curls about her rider, her own eyes beginning to close. The eggs are safe here on the sands..a little nap won't hurt…

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