HRW's 21st PC Hatching Log

MOO Time: 2010-12-05 16:16:56
Internet Time: @928 beats
And on Pern …
The time is 12:16.
It is afternoon of the forty-fourth day of winter.
It is the nineteenth Turn of the Tenth Interval.
It is a winter afternoon. The sun descends westward, still bathing the land in its warmth, but its rays are losing their warming grip. It is a mackerel sky, high cirrocumulus clouds drifting in over the clear blue to herald changing weather.

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.

Flash of pure ivory reflects the bright light of the Hatching Cavern, signalling the entrance of the Candidates onto the burning sands. Upon focused observation, the traditional robes on each one seem a bit… well… /stunted/ as most show off quite nearly too much leg for the observers on the sands and in the galleries. In an organized fashion, small groups bow to the Queen Kaelidyth and the clutchfather Aikuonath before they shuffle through the scorching sands to form semi-circles near the clutch of eggs. Fear, anxiety, joy, and excitement cover the faces of the Candidates, all awaiting the determination of their fates.

Not The Stairs! Egg creeeeeeaks to the left and creeeeeeaks to the right. Hmm, not quite time yet. Gotta wait for that ominous music, doncha know.

Plastic Ain't Fantastic Times Ten Egg is shivering, and quivering.. But it doesn't look like that egg is moving to Hatch. How uneventful.

Slosh. To the southern-parameter, an egg releases its shape with a soggy crumple. In slow motion, out pours the slippery contents of a coal-gray green dragonet, hard lines softened in the warmth of the sun. A few uncertain settlings and resettlings and she's off to spill herself across the feet of a tall blond candidate. A gasp. A sigh. And with a soft murmur of, "Slusheth…" the two make their way off the sands together.

Mulletacalypse Egg is waggling, yo. Back and forth it goes, thrashing all around.

Eth'n is off to the side, watching this event from an entirely different perspective, but there's certainly a moment when the candidates emerge that sparks a hint of amusement in his eyes. And gets a hint of a smile as a look is cast to see if anyone /else/ appreciates the Candidate's new… attire.

There's no doubting that Linny has been fussing and fretting all damn day about this— HATCHING TIME. Now, she still picks and preens at herself, with her clothes and with her hair, since, after all, all of the focus will be down on the Sands, and even if it will be on the hatching dragons, /she/ still wants to look good. After all, it /is/ her lifemate's clutch that is hatching. Now, the petite weyrwoman stands next to Kaelidyth, eyes watching the candidates for a moment, eyes unfocusing regularly in conversation with her beloved gold. There's a guttural sound when a green hatches first, but hey— all clutches can't be as great as when Kaelidyth emerged first, now can they?

Oh yes, these robes are shorty-short. But Rysta flaunts it, showing a little too much skin in that bow and wiggling her hips as she saunters into place around the quaking pile of eggs. Someone closer might see that her hands are shaking and her eyes are a little too wide, but that kind of thing is hard to see from the Galleries. Fortunately. She finds a place near Xanvik and sticks out her tongue as a slimy green emerges. "Bad omen, that. There are gonna be some ugly babies."

Lendai is never one to be left in the galleries when there are eggs hatching. Even if they aren't her own dragon's, Lendai is out here anyway. Off, towards the side with a wine bottle in hand. "YEEEEEAH!" More hootin' and hollarin' come from the goldrider. "EGGS BE A'HATCHING!" Perhaps she's drunk already.

Tilla strides in, her hair neatly braided down her back, and a fond, dreamy smile on her face. She takes her place on the sidelines, near tables with bowls upon bowls of meat. And to the side, buckets and buckets of oil. As the blond candidate and Slusheth are lead to her, she beams, "Congratulations! C'mere, let me show you how to feed and oil your new lifemate." She beams in pride, remembering her own clutch and the joyous day she met her lifemate.

Kaelidyth seems less worried about the /color/ of this daughter of hers, and moreso delighted by the sheer fact that she's BEAUTIFUL! And such a /name/! The queen trills her pleasure, interrupting her deep thrum with the noise, half-rearing in pure curvy delight. She can haz daughters! Though seriously, what is /with/ those candidates? If someone blinds her, she's eating them, short-robes and all.

Braigdyn marches along with haste, steps heavy, hands.. totally tugging down at his robe to keep the overly-short bottom from showing more than it should. Thankfully, he can walk and hold his clothing down at the same time. He finds a place on the sands, and parks himself there. Like a great tree taking root. Though he ca't maintain the stillness, the head alteady having that odd candie-shuffle starting.

Selezin isn't quite so sure about this robe, tugging at the high hem a little too constantly as he follows along in the wake of all his fellow Candidates. The eggs rock, the eggs roll and with all this hatching going on he totally missed the first green's arrival.

Xanvik really does like boots. There's a slight tromping in the sand as he makes his way to stand with the others, fingers occasionally trying to tug /down/ the bit of lopsided robe that rides up just a bit too high. For once, it seems, that the teen has little to say, other than giving quite a bit of staring for the eggs..and the slimy thing that comes out of the first. "Oh..boy.."

Nerahda barely has time to get her bearings and wave frantically at the crowd before a dragonet hatches and impression is made. Swallowing slowly she sways. "Uh…" Theory gives way to practise as she looks to the closest candidate, her bottom lip trembling. "Zaphan?" She wails pitifully before shuffling closer to him. Safety in numbers yo.

D'ren hustles onto the Sands with a mug in hand, which is handed off to some random person along the edges as the Weyrlingmaster makes his way forward. Smiling at Linny the man positions himself off to the side, motioning one of his AWLMs forward to fetch the first Impressed pair and lead them over to Tilla.

Zaphan is careful to look for Nerahda and Arienne, just in case they need his… er… help? "Nerahda… th-they hatched." He even offers a hand to the girl, fear does change one's perspective while he watches the goings-on. Braigdyn is also searched for, aiming to keep his position in mind just in case he needs to use his meat shield sooner than later.

There's a bit of hestitation as the eggs already begin to start cracking, Arienne looking about at the eggs all a-shakin' and the chaos that has already begun. It's like a flitter, but much bigger, right? That's what the green looked like. No danger, no danger. She finally makes a move, also inching closer to Zaphan and Nerahda. Yes, safety. Or they'll just be a larger target.

Linny narrows her eyes when the word 'ugly' makes its way towards her ears, hawkish brown eyes flicking from candidate to candidate to find the offending person. Ain't no way she's about to let someone get away with calling Kaelidyth's spawn ugly. As if.

The last of the last is Kaishori. Always going to be that way in some regards, but at /least/ she won't be the brunt of so much perusal, so much exposed flesh. While everyone else may tug and pull, she'll at least have the comfort of having that longer hem… Now, to find her spot right /behind/ Braigdyn, that oughtta do for now even if there's a sidelong glance towards those rocking, cracking eggs.

Seiven is a lone ranger, darting through space — or not. Perhaps he is a small fish… never mind. He's a pale candidate glomphing onto some other candidate, eyeballing the newly Impressed pair with alarm. Right. Sure. He finds himself within a handspan of Nerahda, and notes her trembling lip. Oh, boy.

Rhaeyn perches nearby Eth'n, slipping from the Galleries above to sit on the very last step of the weyrleaders box, legs dangling bowl-dirt from the bottom of her boots. "I see what you did there." The weyrwoman seems very, very amused with it all. "A green, already. This bloodline favors quick hatchings," comes the approving murmur from the woman — though this goes more for her seatmate G'deon rather than the current weyrleader, hazel gaze flickering over the Candidates critically. "She looked healthy." There's a quizzical glance to Gids to see if the bronzerider agrees, and she slides the bottle — yes, /the/ bottle — back over with a smirk.

Plastic Ain't Fantastic Times Ten Egg sags, just a little, looking close to imploding. Oh no! Or, it's just a trick of the eyes because it looks perfectly fine right now.

Braigdyn stands there, eyes getting wider, though his face has resolved itself into impassivity. Well, except for that lip-tic. Gaze going over the sands, though as he spies Kaishori and Zaphan, there is an upward tug at the edges of his mouth, a very thin smile of rassurance for them. The girl behind him especially getting as warm an expression as the big man can manage, before he turns his attention back to the sands and the eggs.

Mulletacalypse Egg shimmies and shakes, more and more. The motions getting crazy! Like a drunken redneck whilst going muddin'!

G'deon is here. Of course he is. With all his old duties dumped on Eth'n, however, the rider is mostly here to make sure none of the new dragonets receive any permanent damage. Y'know, the usual. Maulings, unfortunate positioning of egg shards… "Yep," Gid replies to Rhaeyn, his smile small and amused. "And soooo good looking." Hah. He takes a quick swig from the offered bottle before he leans back on his hands. "Spoke to D'ren over there about signing on as an assistant, by the way. So if anything bad happens, I'll have to hop down there to help him out. Just so you know." And another swig before he hands it back.

Xanvik gives that robe another little tug. Too much thigh! Still, he moves his mouth for a moment before glancing toward Rysta next to him, and back again. If his breath is a bit quick..well that's just him remembering a little /too/ well that he's supposed to keep breathing. "Man, they're moving, they really are, huh?"

Plastic Ain't Fantastic Times Ten Egg Plastic Ain't Fantastic Times Ten Egg sort of… bubbles. Oh dear, that's just -not- right. The bubbles darken and warp, sliding lopsided as the hard shell below radiates minuscule stress fractures like some b-rated stop action film.. Finally, as if the structure just cannot take one more complication, it bursts into a pile of tiny dark rubble, oozing like pure silicon, a sheath of egg goo coating its former inhabitant.

Terror of Midwinter Night Brown Dragonet

Sacrificial solstice scarlet pours blood unabated down fiery sweep of chaotic being. Raiding resonance reverberates with the promise of bloodshed and terror-struck insanity, fitting night-dark and close over supple hide. Compact form manifests deep mahogany hue, drenching the brilliance of fiery self-image of blunt-faced brown to carmine-tinted, red-visioned mayhem. Night falls over the sweeps of deadly wings, lethal darkness terrifying in excess of wide sails and shadowing snaggletooth neckridges of asymmetrical portent: unrelenting, the fiery chaos remains persistent, a rampant contrast to twilight ruin of underbelly reign, struggling for domination of this landscape of battles pitched warfare. Strident bloodlust clashes against cooler head of nights domain; this battle wages on, heedless of gentle eyes of this living battleground.

Nerahda glomps onto Zaphan's hand gratefully. "It's a lot scarier than I imagined it would be." She admits, but lifts her chin bravely. "Did you see how quick it was?" She breathes, her attention solely upon Zaphan, certain people skulking nearby, but don't have the decency to say hello, or offer a hand to hold are ignored.

Rysta takes a tiny step back as she spies the Junior Weyrwoman and clutchmother's expression. Oh, she did not just say that. Must have been the Fortian next to her. She takes a deep, shaky breath, then another, a brushes a damp curl away from her forehead. She scans the quaking eggs, then elbows Xanvik and points to the Weyrwoman and companion. "Look. A little early celebration?" Her voice only shakes a little. "They're hatchin', even."

Zaphan is very uncomfortable with Braigdyn's hairless smile, it is like a naked ferret, unnatural. But the boy's eyes only last so long on the large man, instead turning to the two girls near him. "N-n-no blood yet." Hopefully he didn't speak too soon, the boy looks down to make sure that he hasn't wet himself yet, then looking back over to the shaking eggs. "B-Brown, Nerahda. Big… quick." Now he's sounding more like Braigdyn.

Bampf! Fwosh! An avalanche happens where one egg topples into a second. The entire thing erupts into a spill of green and brown babies, roaring their little creely voices as they carry on this forward momentum to overtake two panicked Candidates. They never had a chance.

Terror of Midwinter Night Brown Dragonet crouches low in the sand with red whirling eyes focusing upon those robbed figures. Oh so carefully, he watches, scooting forward and pausing. A sound is heard, shifting is made as he suddenly tenses up and moves to bound behind the rest of the unhatched eggs and watching carefully.

Braigdyn stands tall and tree-like, feet lifting only a fraction off the ground, though his gaze never drops. He keeps an eye on the ricking eggs and the nearest candidates both, though he does eventually stop glancing over his shoulder at Kaishori. There's a grunt, almost amusement, as he catches Zaphan's words, though thankfully, there's no repeat of the naked smile.

Arienne shifts from foot to foot, and while the heat contributes to it, it's more primarily the nervousness of it all. Even as the brown busts forth, she can't help but agree with Nerahda. "They're fast. They're everywhere." Normally, if this WAS a flitter hatching, she'd have food to jangle. But she's only got thigh to jangle, and well, she's kind of attached to it.

Mulletacalypse Egg is wiggling and wobbling all up ons over here. One can almost hear a resounding 'YEE HAW!' with every movement it makes, the shakes almost violent in their never-ending shimmies that go back and forth. Tip of the egg goes down to the sands, only to shoot back up and go back down to the other side. Egg top smacking the grainy ground with a loud /SLAP/ here and a loud /SMACK/ there. With each action made, cracks start to form on the redneck egg. All over, with a spider web-like effect over the entirety of the shell. There is no stopping once this egg gets going. And it's going, going, going… /CRAAAACK/! Goooone! That which once was the Mulletacalypse Egg is now no more, and instead a dragonet is in its place. No Two Are Ever The Same Green Hatchling is here and the days of yee and hawing are now over!

No Two Are Ever The Same Green Dragonet

T'is not arrogance that flurries faded evergreen and melting mint as indefatigable spirit o'er the snowy sweeps of self-possessed awareness. T'is not bold reckless, the manner in which frost rimes the dichotomy of diminutive form with such icy rotund. T'is not even ill-meaning, the contrast of narrow wings too-short, tipped with winter's silver, against such verve de joie displayed on short-boned face and curved 'knobs, dripping careless for neck's fragile, close-seated neckridges to puddle icemelt and silver sage against the composition of chubby belly. T'is not, t'is not! T'is only she, the seeker, lifting fearless gaze to the unknown. Dainty paws whisper tea-green steadiness — for all of her proportion, and for all the lack of overbearing pride, she is one to be reckoned with; and her reckoning she will take as only her due.

"It amuses me," Eth'n murmurs, slanting a quick look to Rhaeyn before his eyes turn back to hatching at hand. "I would expect nothing less of good health from our dragons," he adds, absently, while craning his head a little to watch R'yst, his current progeny in punishment, and then D'ren. It's like an orchestra. "Mmm. Brown next is good, yes?" Then he's making aims to grab the bottle. There is not enough alcohol here!

Cataclysm Egg is still. Silent. Awaiting.

Xanvik shifts a bit at the elbowing, giving a slight sniff and /look/ at Rysta for it. "What? Huh? Oh." There's a bit of a stare toward the 'celebration', before smirking. "Hope they share well enough if we walk outta here alone." And then there's an avalanche…that gets gawked at. He'll just be quietly glad he's "Hey, that one's..hiding?"

Terror of Midwinter Night Brown Dragonet shifts suddenly, away from those eggs, and away from those who may be watching him. He is still low to the ground, moving slowly and attempting to hide in the shadows. Oh so carefully he makes his way around, attempting to come behind those poor defenseless robed figures. And just like that! He's gone from sight.

D'ren watches closely to make sure each newly impressed pair is quickly met by one of his staff and led over to Tilla for their first meals. He watches the greenrider for a moment, making sure she doesn't need help, and then turns his gaze back to the Sands. Trying to keep up with everything is a chore, but there's a smile on his face despite everything.

Oh yeah, Kaishori is definitely going to be using Braigdyn as a shield, her petite head poking out and around and /up/ to the moment, still blinking WIDE at his naked face. That will get some getting used to, but then more dragons appear and even this stubborn red-head can't deny the awe, the fear, and the sheer experience of seeing dragon life born first hand.

Sleep is for the Weak! Egg sits in the self-possessed darkness of midnight confines. The long night has lasted, and the day of reckoning can wait a while longer yet.

Rhaeyn has a private, crooked smile for Eth'n, and Eth'n alone. "Right." For Gids? "Mmmm. You always were an overachiever." There's a special smirk for him, too, and she takes the bottle — booze makes these things THAT MUCH BETTER.

Linny can't help it, she /really/ can't help it, but there's a slightly (okay, more than just slightly) irritated look that's sent towards D'ren, feeling abandoned by the bronzerider who is too busy playing Weyrlingmaster to stand by her side as fellow clutchparent. But with Kaelidyth by her side, she's not feeling too alone, and so with a flick of her hair behind her shoulder, the goldrider turns her attention back to the clutch, attempting to keep a mental tally of colors.

R'yst is stalking the sands like the miserable little man that he is. Sweating, too. This is awesome. And by awesome, he's cooking like a bug under a magnifying glass. Or maybe that's just Eth'n's gaze he feels on the back of his neck. Oh jolly.

Not The Stairs! Egg is just waiting. And waiting. In the shadows, even! It's creepy like that. A creepy egg. With… creepy markings. Luring the weak and the stupid to their predictable demise.

Braigdyn's gaze is drawn inoxerably to the hatchlings, bushy brows marching up toward his hairline. "Never seen them up close," is commented, possibly to Kaishori, or other nearby candidates. Fort time at a hatching for the big man? Likely! He turns his eyes to the rest of the eggs, and then spots.. a certain R'yst over there. Lip /twitch/.

"Not a lotta shinies, huh?" Rysta just can't help herself, though she does send a slightly apprehensive glance toward the Weyrwoman Linny. She takes another step back, just to be safe. "Oh," she murmurs, distracted, "If I walk outta here alone, I don't plan on bein' alone for long, ya know? I'm gonna do a little celebratin' of my own." She turns to follow the path of the sneaking brown, then blinks as it disappears. But there are other rocking eggs and hatchlings to distract her attention, so she quickly goes back to the main show.

No Two Are Ever The Same Green Dragonet moves away from the remainders of what her redneck prison for far, far too long. The green dragonet now looking forward with extreme intent, swirling eyes focused on the task before her. Perhaps she shall send a glimpse to the sides, just for curiosity's sake. So, she will. Siblings breaking free are given a once over, her clutchparents given their due as well. Alright! Enough time wasted with that! Looking straight in front of her now and No Two Are Ever The Same Green Dragonet is off and moving, her chubby form moving with surprising wobbly quickness across the searing sands.

"Sneaky." Nerahda adds to Zaphan's observations, communicating in one word or less is the latest rage now. She sways slightly, partly from nerves, partly because of the geothermal heat escaping the sands. The green is watched curiously. "Pretty." She observes to Zaphan and Arianne. She continues to ignore Seiven.

Zaphan's movement is rather erratic, yeah he has Nerahda's hand but he is also lightly dancing on his toes. "H-h-hot." He's just describing /everything/ at this point, isn't he? With the movement of the brown and the disappearance the boy frowns, "Uhh… Braigdyn?" The his face is aimed toward his tall friend, with a look meaning, 'hey, I lost the brown, so if it appears behind me then I'm going to be tackling you.'

Xanvik tilts his head faintly..after just a moment. "Er..hiding real well." There's a quick, and wary look around when the brown all but vanishes, but as there are no horrified screams of agony..well. It can't be /too/ bad. The green does get a bit of a look though, and his robe is given another slight tug as he inches closer to Rysta. "They're..popping out everywhere!"

Selezin is shifting, moving and draaaaaaging down that hem although it really won't be all that successful. With all that inaction, it probably has him up close and near some of his fellow canddiates, though which ones is hard to say. Zaphan? Xanvik? Maybe.

D'ren will have to send Linny flowers later, because since the goldrider isn't in danger of mauling or impression, she's not getting his attention. No, his focus is on the dragonets and the candidates, and the newly made weyrling riders. Eyes pick out a few Candidates in particular, checking, making sure they are well before his gaze moves on.

Eth'n shares that look, but doesn't noticeably respond, except perhaps to lean in and whisper something to the Weyrwoman before attention turns back to the eggs. "It is different from this side," he comments. Booze absolutely makes it better! To Gid: "I heard from the grapevine," darn those Inferno blabbermouths, "that you've joined the ranks of the assistants." That? Is a toast to the bronzerider complete with cheeky, congratulatory grin.

Arienne darts her head, left, right, forward, almost like a deer caught in the headlights. There's so many at once. Maybe it's not by surprise that Arienne begins inching away from Zaphan and Nerahda and coming out on her own, strafing the sands as though she is about to pounce to snag one, but afraid to do so.

Cataclysm Egg is as still as an unsuspecting world. A hushed pause. It's not yet time.

Terror of Midwinter Night Brown Dragonet appears from the shadows, just as quickly as he vanished. Behind one particular robbed figure that had drawn him closer. A scent? Something about him in particular that has made this brown oh so curious. Something that made him WANT. With what could be described as a scream, wings flare widely and uncaring of those who around this Xanvik. No, not a care in the world for them before those wings descend to curl around him while his neck curls in to SMELL him with a hint of determination. He pulls away just as suddenly, head tilting as he waits with an impatient twitch of his tail.

Terror of Midwinter Night Brown Dragonet turns his jewel faceted eyes toward Xanvik, and steps forward.

G'deon snorts lightly at Eth'n as he goes on watching the new dragonets. "And here I thought you heard it 'cause I just told Rhaeyn here," he drawls.

And then there were two: Seiven shuffles boots against the sands, and notes the possible thinning of the crowd with a little fake-nonchalant shrug. When Xanvik is Impressed, he gives a little wave. "Congrats, man. Hope he can keep you quiet." Or something.

"They tend to do that," Rysta murmurs back, as if she has much experience with hatchings. But then that brown appears again, heading right for … Xanvik? She steps adroitly away, just in case her presence should be bad for anyone … her? "WOO-HOO!" She bellows, nearly in the poor kid's ear. "See, what'd I tell ya? Of /course/ you'd Impress!"

Eth'n has to laugh at his own distraction, "Or that." It's really distracting in here! Or something.

Tilla takes a long eyefull of the fierce brown and the lovely green. Especially the green. What can she say, she's biased. "Mm," she nods approvingly, taking a swig out of her wineskin. "Nono, have them chew, sloooowly," she re iterates to one weyrling pair whose dragon is facedeep in a bowl. If he didn't have wings, you'd think he was a little piggy. OINK OINK.

Braigdyn turns at the sound of his name, looking down a crooked nose at Zaphan. As if in answer to the boy's unspoken question (if there is one), the big man utters a brief but definite GRUNT. Hope Zaph's gotten fluent in gruntese! Because that is the only reply offered.

Zaphan's ghostly blues dance to where the brown sneaks up on Xanvik, eyes widening even more with worry, "X-xanvik! Err… b-b" And then it is too late, as the boy just stands and watches the goings on, "Wh-what just happened? Is he going to eat Xanvik?" That is offered to Nerahda, because she /is/ the source of all his dragon-related knowledge. But wait, there was a green around here… "Errr…" Braigdyn's grunt is caught and he offers a return gruntsqueak.

No Two Are Ever The Same Green Dragonet has figured out this walking thing quite fast, though truly she knew she would. Head is tilted up, staring intently at each candidate as she moves. Each gets rejected after only a glance, she knows where she's going. There's a group of candidates, sorta in the back, No Two Are Ever The Same Green Dragonet makes a beeline in that direction.

Cataclysm Egg shivers in the bed of sand. Faint lines begin at the top of the world, the top of the egg, as the assault begins. Soon. Soon the world will break and what was bound away will be re-born. Soooon.

Xanvik was minding his own business. Really he was. And then there's /shrieking/ and he flails least until there's wings preventing him from doing so. It takes a bit more flailing to turn around though, only to find himself nose to nose with the same brown that disappeared. "Wh..wha? Oh. Argolath? R..right. Right yeah, sorry. We'll go." Eyes still a bit wide, with quite the stupid expression on his face, he and the brown scoot off towards one of the AWLMs.

Arienne looks towards the start of the celebration and grins back towards Xanvik, giving him her quiet congratulations as the chaos keeps her busy otherwise. Maybe this isn't so bad after all. But she quickly turns back towards the unmatched dragonets, keeping her eye on them, including the No Two green, her breath heavy, mind anxious.

Cataclysm Egg lets out an explosive CRACK! The world breaks, severing the ties between Teldrassil and the Barrens, teeming landscapes parched by the network of fissures crisscrossing the shell that fractures and crumbles away, muted by the single sound of a haunting cry; a darkness emerges from the ravages of a broken world. That single, foreboding wail is the only announcement to mark the birth of the Haunting Dance of the Spirits Blue Dragonet; an old soul in a new world, an element incarnate.

Haunting Dance of Spirits Blue Dragonet

Breathless, the falling veil of night; royal blue kneels to the inevitable dark. Tempest winds buffet brisk across the biting lines of slender flanks, stripped bare of bulk from lean shoulders to tapered hips, substance whipping away into the whistling lash of streamlined tail tendril. Ageless gaze holds cool beneath the filigree frost of eyeridge awning, braced tight to either side by the airy slopes of forbidding cheekbone, sweeping down to tapered jaw and even here, there thrives the windswept drop into glacial shadow. But think not the darkness is total; between the daggar'd pickets of delicate spars, sails unfold luminous ribbons of ethereal brilliance; gusts and gales unraveling in veils of electric cobalt, thrashing as cold fire where the vexing light of day dares evoke its hidden colors. Beneath, down the weightless wisps of long limbs, faint first in scratches then crossing stronger in slashes, the haunted black of naked branches grasp upwards in fell fingers, thickening to arms, to interwoven trunks, until silent feet pad heartless in ink that leaves not a foot print behind.

Rhaeyn squints. "Wait. What did he say? Arsgolath? Arse-go-last? What?" She leans forwards, a hand steady against Eth'n's shoulder to keep her from pitching forward. "Gids, did you hear tha— that's pretty." See? The blue. Right there.

Nerahda is jostled somewhat as THAT brown claims his own with wings and screaming. Nice. "Oops sorry Zaphan." She mumbles, her brown eyes wide and large. "Xanvik just impressed." Cos he needs these things explained. "Congratulations Xanvik…" She calls out. Or trys too. Her voice appears not to be working that well. Her swaying kicks up in intensity, unlike the others, she doesn't seem to figit with her hem, or feel the need to hide her legs, she's cool just the way she is. "Oooh Blue." She points out.

Zaphan has a general fear of everything, but even with this experience so far, he plans on adding 'Standing in front of a bunch of hungry dragonets' on that list. "Cong-grats Xanvik." He manages to eke out before turning back to spot the speeding green, "She's… er… moving fast… should we, uh… like run.. or something?"

Braigdyn offers Zaphan a definite nod at that gruntsqueak. They are Manly Men; they could carry on entire /conversations/ in that manner. Though.. time and place. Braig's attention is quickly shifting to the newest-hatched critter, with an appreciative.. grunt. Okay, maybe the big man has just lost the ability for words.

"Huh." Not quite sure what to make of Xanvik and his newfound lifemate, Kaishori merely blinks after her former Candidate then up towards Braigdyn for a few moments. Sure, she gets the grunteez and in reply he'll get the shrug-eez.

Rysta straightens up as Xanvik heads off. Her only real concern out of the way, Rysta can enjoy this little tableau much more calmly. She crosses her arms and flips a stray curl back and examines the newly hatched with critical eyes. "At least the blue is impressive. Still, kinda plain lookin' clutch, here, far as color goes," she says to nobody in particular. She stays on her toes, in case she needs to move away from another headlong dragonet. You never know.

There's a yearning sort of look sent a-Rhaeyn-wards, wishing that she could join in on the alcoholic beverages right now, but alas, Linny stands there, being every bit the posed junior weyrwoman, offering polite smiles to the new weyrlings as they make their way off of the Sands. But you better believe there's some drunk debauchery (hopefully) in her future. She deserves to celebrate after being stuck on the Sands all this while, right? Right.

As the blue breaks out of the (evil!) egg that caused Arienne a bit of an emotional twinge during her last visit to the sands, she is caught by the beauty of the wings and form. But after a Picard-esque tug on her too-short robe, she's back to strafing and keeping an eye on the crowd of glossy wet dragonets. "So pretty…"

No Two Are Ever The Same Green Dragonet is in no rush here, she already has made up her mind. And as it is, her brown clutchsibling has already taken one from the same group. No matter, it was not the one she wanted. It does not take much time to get to where she's going. Ignoring all those around the one that shall be hers, No Two Are Ever The Same Green Hatching comes to a stop in front of a boy. She stands up straight, head being held up proudly as stumpy tail twitches all about. Eyes swirl with increasing with excitement, as she has found her Partner. The one. Her front paw raises and is offered in greeting, along with a pleasant croon. Hello, Zaphan. Ready to go to work?

No Two Are Ever The Same Green Dragonet turns her jewel faceted eyes toward Zaphan, and steps forward.

Crack! In a flurry, another shell explodes to release the whirlwind of a creamy brown. Shaking off egg-goo like the passing remains of a heavy blizzard, a shocked candidate finds himself hooked for life.

"I can never tell what they say when they Impress," Eth'n says with a laugh, perhaps pink-cheeked from heat or something else. A glance is shot-G'deon and Rhaeyn-wards as is the alcohol is grabbed for. DROWN HIM IN DRINK. Ahem. Embarrassment aside, he manages to add, "Sounds like a /fun/ name, in any event."

Not The Stairs! Egg quivers with antici - - - - pation!

Haunting Dance of Spirits Blue Dragonet stands in the ravages of a lost world, but does not linger. As a cold winter's wind, he blows past the broken and ravages of a former home in a grace belied by a youthful and clumsy form. An old soul is nestled deep within the glitter of whirling eyes as the quest begins. Reminiscent of the biting cold wind, the blue dragonet fluidly slips through the shadows of the crowd of impressing and hatching dragonets and candidates. Glimpses of midnight blue and inky legs are all that are visible as the quest is begun.

Nerahda blinks for just a moment, and when she opens her eyes, Zaphan is Impressing. Well really! Seizing the moment and living life dangerously, she gives him another lightening quick hug. "Congratulations! I knew the dragons picked you for a reason!" She whispers before backing away. She's all alone now.

Braigdyn shuffles his feet, sort of. One foot lifted, and then dropped. Even if he has BOOTS on, the sands are still hot! Spying Arienne's robe-tuggage, Braig does a rough mimicry, holding his own garment down with as mush a straight face as he can manage. The big man isn't squirming, really! But it's the green by Zaphan which has him going still again, an almost-fascinated stare for the boy. And then another sudden, naked smile breaks out on Braig's face, eyes crinkling at the corners with as much warmth as he can put into the expression. There is a nod to the boy, whether Zaph sees it or nod, and another grunt. A manly grunt.

Not The Stairs! Egg quivers with kinetic tension, the vibration of this crucial moment hanging for all to see in horrifying suspense. A quiver, like a breath quickly taken, skitters over the nighttime shell. Tensions mount. Heartbeat's staccato racing suddenly quakes, like footsteps pounding up the spiral shape of oaken brown. The threat… the threat, after all this, turns out to not be from without… but from within. Stealing The Who From Cindy Lou Bronze Dragonet is now here to steal Chri.. er… the hatching feast.

Stealing The Who From Cindy Lou Bronze Dragonet

Modern muscle ain't got nothin' on the lean lines and smooth speed of this old-school bronze. Take your pretty-boy paint-jobs and shove it where the sun don't shine - they got no place here, on the crags and pitfalls of bronze, tarnished grinch-green and eyesore lichen. Danger limns rakish regard and sharp headknobs, thrill races headlong over sharp slalom of lich-mottled neckridges, and corrosion carves the last vestiges of dying shine from broad chest and shale-tipped paws. Ain't got no need for that fancy pants vanity: he's plain and straightforward, this one, his sharply-muscled body made for speed and built to last. Amber smoke rises in billowing expanse of wide 'sails, golden mead filtering light through morning fog in startling display of bright greyed-copper, the last artifact of ancient history displayed in sardonic nod to all that which he is /not/. Display of disrepair in hide's mottled color argues silent against the striking flash of bright wings: speed is not the only thing that claims wild slant of multifaceted gaze. A mystery wrapped in an enigma dipped in battery acid: sure, he'll watch the kids… was that order 'medium rare'?

Zaphan moves his hand unconsciously off of Nerahda's and up to greet the dragonet before him, a handshake? Really, do people handshake dragons? Anyway, the boy's face seems lost in the swirling eyes of the green and he slowly nods, "Er… yeah… I guess…" Then another long pause as he continues to gather up his thoughts, "Y-yes, Erolinyath… yes." And now the boy looks up and around, "Wh-what now?"

Rysta gives her fellow Candidates, including scaredy-cat Zaphan, a grin and a hoot of congratulations as they Impress. She rocks back on her heels, the leather soles digging into the black sand and sinking her down just a bit. But the Impressions aren't quite as interesting to her as the sudden … shiny … on the sands. "Hey!" she exclaims to the cavern in general. "They managed to throw at least /one/ shiny!" Because that's all that counts.

D'ren's smile grows even wider when he sees Zaphan Impress, the bronzerider clenching his hands into fists to keep himself from doing a joyful jump/fist-pump into the air. Sweet. Zaphan stays here and does /not/ go back to the Hold. That makes D'ren happy. At the impression of his daughter to one of his favorite people, Aikuonath tilts his head up and warbles joyfully towards the sky. D'ren walks forward to fetch Zaphan and Erolinyath himself, grinning at the pair. "Welcome to Weyrlinghood," he says as he nears. "Head on over to Tilla, she'll get you two started."

On passing by Eth'n, R'yst slows and gives the Weyrleader a long look. Are you getting DRUNK? He looks back and forth between the Big Boys and Girls around the man. Are you guys LETTING him get drunk? He turns around, taking in a slow breath as another one bites the dust. Oh, right. Clapping. He does that. Slow-motion. Yay. You poor bastards.

There is the briefest moment in the ongoing war of tugging and pulling where Selezin stops to congratulate Zaphan, flashing a grin before there is a burst of brone that whips his gaze around and has him watching with, perhaps a set of quirked brows.

"Zaphan!" Arienne calls with a congratulatory wave and smile. There's something special about that pairing, a good fit. She then focuses back on the dragons before her. A flash of bronze catches her eye and she grins. Now what male would get that 'old-school' beaut? But back to the ones within her territory, she begins inching back towards Nerahda, Zaphan and D'ren. "This is so real…" she whispers towards the other girl, as the two men discuss Zaphan's immediate future.

Stealing The Who From Cindy Lou Bronze Dragonet frees himself from his prison and shakes his head, spraying egg goo everywhere. The first few steps are slow and ponderous, until he kicks at a stray bit of shell. Stupid shell. Finally, he gives those White Robes a look. Shoulders roll and tail flicks more goo their way. Fine, let's get this over with.

Sleep is for the Weak! Egg rolls, pale blues brought into prominent view like encroaching daylight. With all the precarious irritation of the sleep deprived, stress marks begin at the apex of the ovoid, cracks appearing in that lethargic faade. The cranky explosion fast approaches.

Braigdyn stands there, returning to his survey of the sands, though at least there's no more grunting. And he's definitely not about to grunt at poor Kaishori, a glance sent over his shoulder to check if she's alright perhaps. The big man even gives a headshake, "Chaotic." Oh yes, one-word commentary. So very eloquent, Braigdyn. Eyes track the hatchlings, and the remaining egges, though the stuffness in his shoulders seems to be easing away. Just a tad.

Nerahda continues to sway softly by herself, her semi-circle now more of a demi-circle. She inches towards Arienne. "And much more…." Pants-filling scary? "…than a firelizard hatching." She states the obviously, obviously. "Zaphan impressed green." She points out. "I told him he would."

Za'an nods his head toward D'ren, still a little dazed and confused. But the bronzerider's voice does catch him and he glances toward him, "Th-thanks… Over here… Erolinyath." The boy aids the green as they wobble over to Tilla, who gets a still confused and quiet, "Hi."

Haunting Dance of Spirits Blue Dragonet is driven by an instinctual need and the knowledge that the one he seeks is /here/. Emergence from the shadows of the chaos of the hatching yields a glimpse of winter's bone-chilling wind in the rustling of wings and lash of tail. Something chilling and malevolent lingers in the eyes that whirl upon the offering of Candidates. The briefest hint of a glittering secret is seen when his wings move, but then he is falling to shadow once more. Searching. Seeking. As impartial to the ones he moves around as the very wind itself. In the midst of his sneaking, if a wind were to blow up Braigdyn's robe as the blue passes him by, then so be it.

Sleep is for the Weak! Egg rocks ever so slightly in the sand. It starts as a crack, that branches into striations and stress lines through the shell itself, bisecting through the coming dawn. A sliver of eggshell falls away, revealing for a single instant a glittering and glowing eye peering from the darkness to the world without. The inner eyelid blinks once as a hush comes upon the egg before it shatters in a single, forceful move that sprays Candidates and dragonets alike in gooey debris. Still standing in the evidence of his manly prowess over sleep's deprivation is Evergreen's Mighty Reach Brown Dragnet.

Evergreen's Mighty Reach Brown Dragonet

Gutted from the earth, gnarled talons sprout from the thick base of russet limbs tapering to narrow joints in arachnid splay. Belying the tangled growth of legs, the hearty woodlands of stalwart frame hunkers low to the ground, burnt umber lurking beneath the rugged expanse of mottled redwood, inking in crevices etched in shadow. A felled mass, broad chest swells into the stocky breadth of shoulders, swallowing the density of squat neck, his robust build abruptly ended at the rounded stump of tail. Massive head continues in brawn, not beauty: lower jaw boxes in his face, jutting with its savage under bite of crooked fangs, while upturned snout fronts blunt muzzle, his beady eyes lost under mountainous peaks of heavy brow. His unseemly forbearers, mahogany wings aspire to heights unknown in the slender length of branches, short width of fragile membrane, and spars snowcapped in icy winter's chill.

D'ren makes sure Za'an and his green are safe within Tilla's sphere of calmness and MEAT, and he goes back to his spot on the edge of the sands, smiling encouragingly towards his little sister.

Stealing The Who From Cindy Lou Bronze Dragonet dismisses one kid after another as he stalks along the group of spectators. Stupid newbs, all of 'em. He flares his wings at the big fellow over there, and deposits one last bit of goo-covered shell on another's foot before nearing… well, now. This one ain't half bad. The burly bronze puffs out his chest and tosses his head before staring at… that one.

"Ooh la la," Yeah, that's Rysta, catcalling to Braigdyn. "Think you have an admirer. Maybe a few, even, up there in the stands!" Hey, who /doesn't/ like looking at the formerly mustachioed Candidate's goods? But oh, does the sultry Candidate's attention have to go to the newly hatched brown. "Oh /man/!" she says, a little too loudly. "If /that/ isn't the ugliest baby dragon I've /ever/ seen. I'm gonna be sorry for the sad sack'a flesh that bonds to /him/!" Is she drunk? Maybe on adrenaline.

Braigdyn is so preoccupied with watching everything else, he's totally NOT watching his robe. And there's a sudden, momentary ..breeze? AUGH. He's just going to have to HOPE Kaishori wasn't looking his way just then, though now everyone nows just what the big man keeps under his robe. Hint: it's not a lip-ferret.

Having retreated for a moment behind Braigdyn again, when Kaishori shifts again to peek it might be there's a bit of a sqeak as she happens to come a little to close to a passing blue. Hazel eyes widen and she'll step back to give him enough space to pass, or maybe it's just a step back in surprise because you /know/ Kai got a glimpse of whatever was under the big man's robe. "Ngggh."

Evergreen's Mighty Reach Brown Dragonet inverts his precious little feet, anchored to the spot of victory. Sleep conquered, his powerful maw unhinges as if yawning, rotating once in menacier, beautifuldisplay of deadly glittering teeth. Overbite turned bumper, low-carriage begins to motor towards the encircling Candidates, confidence steering him past youths awkwardness and into sturdy gait. Wings, a juxtaposition of cuteness to muscle-bound frame, flick in the direction of the ladies. Can your man do THIS? Alas, he continues onward, beady eyes carefully scrutinizing with all the judgment of a general drafting men into battle.

Tilla is drinking from her wineskin when one of the weyrling dragons starts eating her hair. She does a spit take. "NO STOP IT, that is not foo-"! But then hello, it is a Za'an. She beams at him, "Hi there, I'm Tilla, and I will be one of your Assistant Weyrlingmasters. What's your name?" She pushes a large bowl of meat towards him, then lifts it and thuds it on the ground. "Such a lovely green you have there. But then again, I'm biased." She indicates the green ribbon threading through her knot. "You'll want to have her eat, but slowly and make sure she chews the food. And then, oiling! But lets get her all full up first." And then over at X'vik and his awesome brown, "Hi, I'm Tilla, one of your Assistant Weyrlingmasters!" And THUD with another meat bowl, lather rinse repeat with the explanations.

Seiven turns slightly to eye Rysta. "Shuddup." He hisses. "I mean, do you have to insult the babies in front of their /mother/, no less?" Wh has many teeth with which to rend the impertinent. "Seriously." The prowling brown is eyed with slightly bug eyed attention. What /is/ that creature doing.

Arienne catches the smile from D'ren, takes in a breath, then whispers back to Nerahda, "Definitely. Such a pretty name, too." As the next brown bursts forth, she gets a nice "ooooh" face, and looks about. "They're all so pretty…" she adds to the commentary, afraid to actually go out further again. The right one will come to her, right?

A gust of movement that settles to still gentleness; feet fluidly double back the way they came from. What is this? Dark wings shift, allowing the brief hint of a hidden sparkle to be seen before he settles. It is the calm before the storm; stirred by the tempest of a broken world, the Haunting Dance of Spirits Blue Dragonet finally takes a step. Another. In a rush of grace, he has chosen. The one who sought him before. Rearing back, his wings unfold to reveal their eerie and haunting play of dancing light as that chilling cry echoes once, twice, then falls silent as the wind blows strong to the ginger-haired Candidate: Kaishori. Hiding is not permitted!

Kaishori may or may not have been looing, but someone else was, someone with young innocent eyes, that are innocnet no longer. Nerahda's eyes go big and round and she giggles a little nervously. It might be getting all a little too much for the youngest candidate. "It's pretty ugly actually." She has no idea what the conversation is about, but she always has an opinion.

Haunting Dance of Spirits Blue Dragonet turns his jewel faceted eyes toward Kaishori, and steps forward.

Rhaeyn is just — back here, drinking, laughing, and about to fall off the wall to the Sands below. Eth'n better not move. He's her ANCHOR. With an eye on that /brown/… "Is it just me or have some of these been some u…" Eyes shift to Linny quickfire, then back over to Gids, "Ah," and her voice is carefully pitched, "Aesthetically challenged?"

Lendai has moved her drunken butt over by Rhaeyn and Eth'n and whoever the heck else might be there. "Some hatching, right?" This may or may not be said with a certain amount of slurring. Perhaps. Her own bottle of wine is like half gone or more. And look! She takes another swing. GLUG GLUG GLUG! Look weyrlings. SHE'S SUCH A GOOD ROLE MODEL.

Braigdyn is busy grabbing at the bottom hem of his robe, tugging the thing downward with an utterly BLANK face. Nevermind the red rising on his cheeks and down his neck, all the way to his ears. It's the heat. Really. Thus he totally misses the blue going past, that is, until there's an almost hesitant backard glance over his shoulder. Because he's still hoping Kaishori didn't see THAT. Oh! And to the girl, the man offers, despite the horrbily embarrassed look he'd begun to let slip, a broad and naked smile. And his lip dosn't even twitch.

G'deon passes the bottle right along the little group. Oh look! There's Lendai. "Well, you know, it's not what's on the outside… and all that stuff."

Oh, Linny takes a deep breath in and out, facial expression turning into pure steel as she look straight ahead. That jaw sets in place, and there's no doubt about it— she is /not/ happy with all of the criticisms the dragonets have been facing, eyes unfocusing so that she can rely on Kaelidyth to help stabilize her so that she doesn't cut a bitch. Perhaps celebrating after the hatching will turn into Linny getting drunk in her weyr all by herself like the good little alcoholic that she is.

Rysta gives Seiven a broad grin. "All in good fun, boy." But she does shut up. At least until Kaishori Impresses, at which point she lets out another one of her ear-splitting whoops of congratulations. "Coulda seen /that/ comin' girl!" But her attention goes to the pre-gaming Riders back behind the mound of eggs. "Man, would love a draught of that," she mutters to herself.

R'yst is sort of facepalming. And standing there with a strained and JOYLESS grin on his face, fists on hips, jaw tight. If any candidate stumble stowards him, he's catching their shoulder and GENTLY shoves them right back into the sands again. "Dragons are that way, thank you." Maybe he's just trying to keep them away from the alcohol. Though he'd SORELY love some.

Evergreen's Mighty Reach Brown Dragonet shuffles through the wreckage of broken shell strewn across the sands, nostrils flaring to scent the air, discerning the mighty from among the weak. Unbroken stride speaks of a chivalrous perseverance, as vast and noble as the evergreen which endures against the cruel lash of northern winds in a color never flagging. He lumbers onward, abandoning those behind him in an effortless change of scenery, searching for the one capable of handling all his manly glory. Now, which one of them can macho up to the challenge?

Seiven eyerolls. "Not when you're pissing. Off. The. Riders." Or so he assumes; he can't see them from his convenient hiding place behind the Massive form of Braigdyn. "Sides, one of 'em might want /you/, then where would you be? Stuck with it." He grins cheekily at her, then turns to grin happily at the Impressees. "Good lookin' out, kids." The youngest one there, and calling others kids.

Eth'n's eyes might widen at the latest brown and all those… teeth. And little wings. "Your assumptions would be…" his voice trails off, lowered for Rhaeyn's and G'deon's ears alone. Though another look is castwards towards the newly hatched. "You've got the way of it, Gid. And they're healthy. Point!" See that toothy smile? That's totally a smile tossed at the dragonhealer. "You know what will make it better?" he queries, providing a good ANCHOR for his Weyrwoman, "More alcohol." That bottle is taken right back up with a hairy eyeball glance to R'yst. Does R'yst /really/ want more shit jobs?

Stealing The Who From Cindy Lou Bronze Dragonet has made his choice. The bronze dragonet hunkers down in front of Selezin, looming, waiting, challenging. Think the kid has what it takes to ride the wind and leave these other fools in the dust? Come on, man, step up.

Arienne grins back towards Kaishori, with a cheer at her and the gal's new lifemate. The number of dragonets on the sands are decreased from earlier, giving her only a handful she needs to keep her mind and eyes on now. She's becoming a bit more increasingly nervous as the little dragonets continue their matches. She steals a look back towards D'ren, a weak smile on her face.

Stealing The Who From Cindy Lou Bronze Dragonet turns his jewel faceted eyes toward Selezin, and steps forward.

Caught off guard, the ginger-girl is sent tumbling to the sands in a wide-eyed stare at the rearing blue. Faranth knows how long she'll be caught like that before eyes narrow some and in a gust of wind that rushes from her own lungs, "Avirth" is announced.

D'ren walks forward to meet Kaishori, smiling at her as he stops a short and respectful distance away. "Hello. Congratulations, Weyrling. Let's get you and your lifemate over to Tilla so he can eat." As for the talk about the clutch not being that good looking…he's oblivious, high on Aikuonath's joy and his duties. The bronze is warbling and proud, all 'LOOK WHAT I MADE' over the dragonets. BEAM. Boh-yah, I'm such a stud.

"Don't lose your nerve at the last minute, girl!" Rysta calls to the ginger whom R'yst had to shove back to the sands. Her lips split into a grin as Impression takes place and she says, though there's little chance of the newly minted bluerider hearing, "'cause stuff like /that/ can happen!" Just goes to show and all. Congratulations are passed along to everyone, indiscriminately.

Nerahda is surrounded by a flurry of Impressions. "Congratulations. Well done. Nice looking beast." Are trotted out absently, as her swaying becomes more focused upon her looking around for any more eggs. Just one more. C'mon. The brown is watched carefully. Her expression desperately hopefully. She can be macho if needed.

Composure recovered, or what of it he can manage to salvage with that still-red face, Braigdyn straightens. All the tension has flowed back into his shoulders, muscles on his neck standing out as he works his jaw back and forth. Composure. He /has it/. There mgiht even be a rough bit of throat-clearing, though the nearest hatchlings are sure being watched - or maybe just Seiven and Kaishori, lips defnitely twitching now, as he tries to keep them from jerking upward on each side. No madly grinning, naked-lip-man, thankfully.

Evergreens Mighty Reach Brown Dragonet hauls the bulk of himself along with robust ease, weight and might carried light across the black sands, great head swivels in rocky majesty. He looks at one Candidate, then back to himself, then /back/ to the Candidate, then BACK to himself. Sadly, this Candidate is not meant for him, but perhaps if he just looks a little further he could /find/ the right one for himself. Look down, look /up/! THERE. Like a beacon in the night, the majesty of what surely must be residual PHANTOM mustache calls to manly sensibility. Because he is all over that. And powers towards it with relentless certainty.

Evergreen's Mighty Reach Brown Dragonet turns his jewel faceted eyes toward Braigdyn, and steps forward.

Feel the /burn/, D'ren. Linny /glares/ over at him before sending Aikuonath the brunt of that glaring, for all of his OMG-GLEE-ness. Can't they /see/ how /miserable/ she is? If she's not having a good time, /no/ one gets to have a good time. Linny: The Original Party Pooper.

An assistant weyrlingmaster, an older man with shaggy brown hair makes his way over to Kaishori and her new blue, and then Selezin and his new bronze. "Follow me," he says in a booming voice, although not without a smile, indicating that they should follow him over to where Tilla is standing, right next to the meaty meat goodness tables! He takes a few steps over to Braigdyn and his brown and tells them the same thing.

"Congrats," Arienne smiles back at the two as they Impress and continue on to their next locale. She's getting really nervous now, foot to foot, foot to foot, and looking out into the sands at the shards that litter the dark grains. Breathe in, breathe out. In, out.

Braigdyn - no, B'ayn - is totally.. STARING. But not at what he had been staring at. He looks down. Looks up. And then back.. at a dragon. A great beast fit for a Manly Man. And now he DOES grin, the espression expanding over his face like the slow rise of a mountain, crevices forming at the corners of his eyes. "Anything is possible," he grunts out, sounding like agreement, and then there is a long, drawn-in snoorrtt of breath, because MANLY MEN do not shed tears. "Hroskuth." Yep. And then he's turning to find some manly meat. Aherm.

D'ren is going to shrivel up and die right there from Linny's glare. Or not. He's got dragonets to tend to, making sure everyone who impresses is greeted, congratulated, and gently led in the direction of Tilla and her tables o' meat. Aikuonath looks down at Linny and snorts, and if dragons could roll their eyes, he would. Lighten up, babe.

Eggshells and dragongoo — the flurry of Impressions slows, then… there are no more. Rhaeyn does, finally, hop down from her perch, a steadying arm against Eth to make sure she doesn't break her neck. She presses a kiss to her weyrleader's cheek, watching Braigdyn and his brown with a slight smile of rememberance on her face. The last pair. Her smile slips, expression turning somber, as the balance of the candidates are taken in. She clears her voice, stepping up with a hand raised to gather attention. "I'm sorry, but — your lifemate wasn't out here this time." The weyrwoman gestures at the assistant headwoman ready to walk them back in. "Take a bath, get soused, enjoy the feast. You've all earned it." She's not good on pep talks, but booze — she can do free booze.

Rysta smirks a bit at the Weyrwoman's announcement. "No kiddin'," she says under her breath, more amusement than disappointment on her face, though there's a little of that, too. The former Candidate gives a gracious bow to the clutchparents, then heads off the sands to find herself a little consolation. Her way.

G'deon gives the bottle one last pull before also making his way down to the sands to join D'ren. "Barracks?" he asks his new boss.

Eth'n gives Rhaeyn a surreptitious squeeze to her shoulder for the last part. There is, too, a somber look to the Weyrleader's features as remembrances of his own walk of the sands that first time. The dragonets and newly Impressed turn his attention, though the mention of a feast and free booze is enough to get him moving.

Nerahda does manage to pull herself together for a moment to give Braigdyn a convincing "Congratulations! He's lovely." And so very manly. And then, it's all over. Nothing but shells and goo left. "They'll be there next time." She states, reassuring herself, Arienne, and possibly Seiven. And then she's off, a quick bow given to all those very important people and dragons. The Weyrwoman did just tell her to go drink.

Tilla makes sure all the newly impressed are either eating or oiling, and then takes a few steps over to join G'deon and D'ren. "That is exactly what I was going to ask!" She grins, and salutes.

R'yst wants none of any of this. Swatting against the front of his jacket as if he had something /spattered/ on him, as people begin to trickle away, he slips into file with the rest of the WORKING CLASS, leaving the drunkards at the top of the tower to choke on their alcohol.

Arienne now turns towards Aikuonath and Kaelidyth, a bit defeated as even the curl of a smile does manage to crack on her lips. She bows to each of them, not without resentment, but in pride for their offspring and her friends she's made. "Next time," she agrees, turning back towards Nerahda and starts shuffling off the hot Sands.

D'ren glances over to G'deon and nods, "Yup, before they get drowsy," he says, grinning still. He looks at Linny, waves happily (glare shield activated!) and walks over to the new Weyrlings. "Weyrlings!" he calls, voice pitched high enough to hear but not loud enough to startle. "We're going to take your first walk as dragonriders, from the sands to the weyrling barracks. Follow me but take it slow." He glances to his assistants. "Move around and help if any of them have trouble walking." Briefly, D'ren's eyes flick to Arienne, thoughtful, but then he's back to his duties for the moment. A small gold streak does wing after the former Candidate, though.

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