Xanadu Weyr - Hatching Sands
A domed ceiling stretches high above the sands, enough open air for a queen and her mate to be comfortable with their clutch. Thin slits of windows around the edges let in a little light, though more of the illumination comes from electric lamps diffused off the dome. The sands are ringed by the dark blue seats of the observation level, the first third exposed to the sweltering heat of the sands but those in the back glassed off for the comfort of those watching.
The circle itself is filled with a mix of red and white sands, deep enough to cover the largest of dragon eggs with ease. To one side, a small door is visible, hidden away behind a platform meant to provide a place for the clutch parent's lifemates to stand during the on goings.
Well…. this has certainly been more exciting day than Rhodelia had originally planned. The sharding rooster didn't even get a chance to crow before Inasyth was announcing to the world as a whole and her lifemate and her current mate-mate in particular that EGGS WERE COMING TODAY. And unlike the last three days she was actually right this time even if it took until nearly noon before the first egg was laid, a good sized two toned blue egg. A few hours later it was joined by a very rotund yellow fellow. And right around dinner Insayth graced the Sands with a third egg, a tiny green egg crowned with a pink spot on top. With all that time in between laying each egg, the proud momma dragon has had plenty of time to get each egg properly seen to and given Glorioth a crash course on just what she expects him to do with each egg and now? For now, she's stretched out into a protective curl around the tiny trio and is snoozing away. Rhodelia hasn't managed to escape the heat all day, but she has had plenty of water but for the moment she's fled to the relative coolness of that raised platform, waterskin exchanged for a wine skin and her party hat has gone askew (but still on, if any-dragon asks).
On a good day, Glorioth is a little much. As the physical incarnations of the radiance of his valor and virility end up on the sands, he figuratively charges into what will prove to be an EXTENDED SERIES of days where the 'little' is just a whole lot more. RIP Xanadu. RIP Dragonhealers. RIP Candidates. RIP anyone the protective to an ACTUAL FAULT bronze doesn't immediately recognize. It's going to surely become routine that deliveries to the clutchparents' partners end up left in the foyer rather than brought onto the sands themselves. For all that Inasyth and Glorioth's clutch number only 3 eggs and none with a telltale metallic sheen, the bronze COULD NOT BE MORE PROUD, PLEASED OR PROTECTIVE. He behaves as if there are, in fact, A HUNDRED GOLD EGGS that he is STUDLY SIRE to. And the three? Well, clearly they're HONOR CONCENTRATED. ALL HIS AWESOME PASSED ON, SPLIT ONLY THREE WAYS. Will any FUTURE EGGS (Faranth save everyone), EVER COMPARE TO THE FATED FORMIDABILITY OF THESE THREE?! Only time will tell, and F'yr has plenty to keep him busy in the here and now. He has only left the sands to help head off helpful people from both the sands and the seating. (Oh shells, will Glorioth even respect the sanctity of the seating area? It'll be an uphill process, to be sure. Ina might have to mentally sit on him to tolerate it and even then, he will not tolerate it with anything even close to resembling grace - a lot of snorting, pacing, SHOUTING about shifty-eyed foe-villains and so on. Obviously, he's a doting daddy.) F'yr's just returning with a tray of frozen alcohol. Yep. It's that time of the day, for sure. He mounts up onto the platform and heads for Rhody, one hand steadying the tray. There's not /only/ alcohol, but also sustaining snacks for those people in need of a little comfort food, if butterfly bellies can handle it. As he comes abreast of Rhody to steady the tray so she can take what she likes, the drinks already melting at an alarming rate, of course, he glances toward the sleeping gold and the striding heroic hero on sentinel rounds. "We're sure she's done, then? Not just resting?" Glorioth probably was strong-armed (between F'yr and Ina and Rhody all) into letting the dragonhealers in to look (BUT HE SAW YOU, SHIFTY-EYED TRAINEE) everything and everyone over.
How big will the headaches be with how many praises Inasyth and Glorioth will undoubtably heap on their newly laid offspring and whoever else is forced to be present? Enough that Rhody is pre-emptively medicating with that booze but she'll happily discard the wineskin and make grabby hands for the frozen drinks F'yr brings. Food will be eaten later as she's got PRIORITIES. And those priorities include taking a massive gulp of the strawberry frozen-melty drink before giving the bronze rider a shrug. "Anything's possible, but it is also likely. They say that happens sometimes. With first clutches." And just sometimes in general, but being first is supposedly something that means it's not a worry for now, at least to the dragonhealers.
With Rhody's priorities safely tended to, F'yr is moving to put that tray somewhere the food can be gotten to when that gets highest on the list. He probably takes his drink because it's melting and not because he's seen the wisdom of his cellmate sandsmate's movements. "Three," he says after his long first sip, staring at the eggs, the dragons, his lips pressed together with all the implied things, even if they've been told not to worry. He slips only the smallest sidelong look of apology to the goldrider as if it were somehow his fault. "How do people do this?" It's possibly rhetorical. It's possible that it's really 'how are we going to do this?' and maybe, just maybe, it's the finally voiced question he hasn't come up to answers with even though this happens all the time and people do it. F'yr has never done it, and that's… a thing.
Rhodelia pats that bench right next to her, a clear invitation for F'yr to sit himself on down once he's got his food and drink stuff all situated. "Three," She confirms with a nod, a deep breath as she looks out at the tiny clutch and the contentedly snoring gold. "It's not like this is Threadfall times, right? There are some golds that never really lay more than 5 or 6 eggs in a clutch now…" Her voice trails off as she shakes her head, before giving a bit of a laugh at the last question. "It's not like we really had to do much, right? Just keep 'em company and make sure the dragonhealers get in to check unmolested. And candidates get to do their touches…"
The bronzerider settles on the bench beside the goldrider and then sighs. His eyes might briefly go to the entrance, like a condemned man scoping the escape routes, but that's nothing to do with Rhody, only the bronze already driving him more crazy than usual. He sets his drink down beside him and then tugs up the hem of his tucked in shirt until he's pulling it off and letting the fabric sit across his knees. Listen, everyone has to make sacrifices when hanging out on the hatching sands. F'yr's shirt is just one of them. He picks up his drink again and sips before saying more. "You make that sound much easier than I expect it's going to be." He's still watching his dragon and he probably doesn't even realize he's shaking his head slightly. WHO THOUGHT THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA? Not F'yr, but then he was never asked before now, either. "We'll get through it." He manages, looking for Rhody's free hand with his, or her knee failing the first. "Get them through it." Same same, only different.
And at least half the Weyr would probably thank F'yr for his shirt-sacrifices if they had actually been allowed into the galleries to gawk, but seems like Rhody and F'yr at least have a little bit of privacy thanks to Glorioth's over-vigilant efforts combined with the late hour itself. Rhodelia stretches out until she's reaching to lay her head over on his shoulder while her hand finds its way into his. "There's no other choice. We're here now. The eggs are here now. And those sevens will fly by and eventually they'll be dragons and we can go back to normal." Or as normal as anything about their life and this Weyr ever seem to be.
"Oh, yes. Fly by." F'yr's deadpan in steeped in the deepest of his very dry humor. But he flashes a smile down at Rhody after that, even if she doesn't look up to see it. "Is there even a normal anymore?" He wonders aloud; it might be a fair question given all the upheaval of an explosion and finding some new normal in life in the administrative hallways afterward. His drink is gulped but only so he can set it down and sweep up the slick, cool sweat on the glass to rub it over his face. "But… there are some silver linings," WHAT ARE YOU IMPLYING ABOUT GLORIOTH'S AMAZING EGGS, F'YR? Inquiring bronze minds are LOOKING AT YOU while you look entirely innocent and finish out, "I think we can really use 'it got lost en route' to explain a lot of the things that mysteriously don't get finished or turned back up back at the office. Or they can." It's all a game of blames, isn't it? And for all that, some might well be amazed at how hard all these people seem to work, while embroidering their dedication with deceit and dallying.
It would be hard for Rhodelia to see that smile seeing as she's got her eyes closed as she sips on her mostly melted drink. She waves off the question of normal. "It's all a matter of getting used to it." And crazy flurry of activity post-explosion is new normal. Now add in clutching craziness too. She does crack an eye to smirk up at the mention of all those excuses. "I'm sure Nessa will be more than happy to help burn a few things as well if paperwork starts to stack up on either of our desk piles. A sort of belated spring cleaning. You gonna really be okay with that? Not really getting out and doing things for a while?" If there's hold visits scheduled for the diplomacy wing, it probably won't be these two on the roster for that.
But of course, why wait to address hard topics? F'yr did bring up babies right after he lost his virginity. If it feels like an impending echo of that, it sort of is, except the babies came first this time (dragon babies). "It'll be a little like a throw back to weyrlinghood, I imagine." Except things were arguably less complicated then. "I… I expect the people who want to see me will come here if this is where I am." There are heavy implications there. "Unless I ask them not to." Even then, he might not be able to guarantee, really. "Is that…" He rubs his forehead. "This is really more your space than mine," what with being clutchmom's lifemate. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable with…" Yep, he has no idea what he's doing or saying here. He, unwisely, lets that hang.
Rhodelia gives an easy shrug as she takes another sip and sits up, no more leaning. "I mean… not exactly like Weyrlinghood. No pooping dragons to muck up after. And I don't think Ila'den is going to be giving us orders. Plus, this." She wiggles what little is left of her current definitely not weyrling-approved beverage. The smile fades as F'yr jumps straight into that topic and Rhody quickly drains the rest of her glass. "I can't like… you're not mine and I wouldn't have any right not to ask you to see people. Especially not people you care for deeply." There's a bit of a sigh. "Just like, no public displays of affection in front of me and we should all be okay?" She'll try to force that smile back, but obviously it's an effort and not true. "Besides, Inasyth can always use visitors too." That part at least isn't a lie at all.
"You might be underestimating Ila." F'yr observes as he plucks back up his drink, the one whose very presence makes her second salient point inarguable. Maybe that will make his predictions of the assistant weyrlingmaster more bearable. Alcohol can be said to be a numbing agent, no? Probably works on cactus barbs. He follows up by draining his glass and then shifting to set it aside before he sighs. "I'm his. It doesn't really feel like I have enough of myself left after that claim to belong to any one other person. Pieces of myself is all I have after that." Even that… that gets complicated quickly, and not something he seems keen to jump on into. "But I'm not with as many people as people like to assume." SOME RUMORS, in fact, have had him turning a cold shoulder on more than one person - a thing that surely could have been witnessed from time to time in the course of his duties at the office and elsewhere. "I think as long as no one's proddy around me, that's easy enough." It's not like F'yr is all that big, generally, into PDA, unless one counts the constant barrage of over-personalized interactions at the office, but that's sort of different, really. After a breath, he squeezes her hand. "You'll tell me if something's not… not okay?" It's such a weird thing to approach and he so clearly has no idea what he's doing. STILL. No one panic.
"Have I?" Rhodelia raises an eyebrow to F'yr. She ain't SCARED, although that might change up as soon as she sees the one-eyed weyrlingmaster. It's easy to be brave a few drinks in and a safe distance away after all. As the bronzerider sighs, Rhody reaches over to give his hand a squeeze in an offer of moral support. "F'yr… I can barely commit to what I want to have for dinner. And I've seen probably as close as anybody beside you how all consuming Glorioth is…" She's been there since the bronze was shelled after all and lived in the same barracks and then tent with him. "I'm not going to ask questions. And you don't have to tell me anything if you don't want. That's part of the deal. And I'll… I'll try." She gives a bit of a shrug. It's the best she can do. "But for tonight, I just don't wanna think about anything except for maybe if the rumors of a room around here with a cot for clutch parents isn't just a rumor?"
F'yr is many things, but one thing he is not is any kind of person to step between Rhodelia and Ila'den. He'll bring the popcorn, though. That eyebrow is let to pass with a brief lift of hand to make a peaceable surrendering gesture. Rhody can believe what Rhody likes. The rest gets much less surrender than assent; there's even a hand-squeeze. "I know." That she's seen. That she's not going to ask questions. "Okay." That she'll try. That's the best either of them can really do, right? At least he's not talking about babies again. "Let's go hunt it down." That room with the cot. Maybe there will even be two. If not, F'yr can sleep on the floor; anything to reduce the bloody awful heat. (Maybe the room will have air conditioning, wouldn't that be a treat?) He's sliding onto his feet and slipping free of her hand just to go retrieve the food and wine so they can take it with them rather than leave it to spoil. "Are you feeling bold enough to lead the charge?" ONWAAAAAaaaaaaAAAArd!! (Someone had to say it.)