Xanadu Weyr - Observation Level
Dark blue seats form a semi-circle around the sands below, the lowest row separated from the multicolored red and white sands by merely a railing. The seats climb upwards, each row a bit higher than the previous, and they are broken up into sections by three sets of staircases. Between the first and second section, a glass wall descends to separate the observers from the heat of the sands. Air is kept in motion through a set of fans, and so these seats are quieter and cooler than the rest… though the noise and heat of the sands is still present.

Lights are evenly spaced along the outer wall, lighting the seats and the sands easily, though they tend to be dimmed unless a major event is taking place. A large balcony overhead connects to the glass wall. Vents for cooling run along the bottom of it, and the ledge provides a place for observers of the draconic kind to watch without obstructing the view for others.

The sand below is variegated in hue, individual grains of red and white that have a pinkish hue when seen from across the circle of the hatching grounds but - up close over that railing - are clearly two varieties mingled.

It's a nice, normal day in Xanadu. This is to say that no things of a STRANGE NATURE has YET TO OCCUR, but that also means this was simply bound to happen. The first clue should be that the observation level is eerily empty. The second is that the sands has only eggs. Three. Just three. And this us out of the ordinary because typically whomever comes near the hatching arena gets their brain DEAFENED by EXTREMELY LOUD clutchparents. So, the first person to come into the observation level is walking into a trap. A trap that snaps shut with the WHOOMP landing MUCH TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT, helm-patterned bronze head descending like a sword to the neck, but stopping just short where meat-breath can coalesce as off-key trumpets BLARE from NOWHERE (but, you know, inside the mind) and heroic theme music (also painfully off-key) sets the sudden backdrop of smoke, and fire and the clash of weapons for the sire to demand, « HALT! WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT IS YOUR PURPOSE HERE, APPETIZINGLY ODOROUS ONE? YOUR EYESS APPEAR… » wait for it « … SHIFTY! » He's laugh, but this isn't a moment for laughter. Those are his eggs and every single completely overzealous overprotective instinct is honed in on poor, unsuspecting…. whoever this is.

Woe be to Shiloh, the unsuspecting fool! It is not really his fault though. He just didn't know better; did not read the signs for what they were! To find the sands empty of all but the little clutch fails to sound the alarm — it's simply lucky right? To be able to see the eggs without dam or sire in the way. To find the observation level empty is just coincidence; other people are probably busy! Poor boy; na├»ve in the assumption that dragons are safe. That dragons are kind. That dragons do not eat people even if they might eat his favorite creatures on Pern. Which is probably why, whether he spotted the lurking bronze or not, he thought nothing of continuing his wanderings. Straight into a TRAP! How quickly his assumptions are revealed for the falsehoods that they are! Or, well. At least less accurate than anticipated. Because //true that Glorioth does not actually eat him. Nor bite him. BUT STILL! Nothing can yet be confirmed about the psychological damage that one might endure by having such a glorious menacing creature descending upon them with accusations and demands and off-key songs. Poor Shiloh. He's not quite as graceful as he might like, having landing on his rump in his hast to spin-and-backup at the descent of Glorioth. And now to stare wide-eyed and sputter-y up at said dragon because… "Did you just… talk to me!?" And lest it be mistaken, that is not awe in his tone but pure shock and probably a good deal of fear. NEVER MIND THAT HE DID NOT ANSWER THE QUESTION!

Listen, Glorioth would never eat a human that didn't look like a herdbeast. Unless Shiloh feels the need to method act to understand the herd mentality, it's probably GONNA BE ALRIGHT. This does not, however, mean that it's not going to be PRETTY HEART STOPPING in the moment. Not with those eyes whirling fast blue with slashes of angry red-orange. A smarter dragon would realize that just because poor Shiloh happened to be the next person to come to see the eggs, this did not necessarily mean Shiloh deserved to be caught in the trap; unfortunately for Shiloh, this is his most MAGNIFICIENTLY MAGNIFICENT, most GLORIOUSLY GLORIABLE Glorioth. In short? He's screwed. The breath blows hot out of the dragon's maw, allowed to gape to show off ALL THOSE POINTY TEETH. « DOUBTLESS YOU HAVE BEEN STUNNED TO STUPIDITY- » takes one to know one, you know, « -BY THE RADIANCE OF MY VALOR, AND DESPITE YOUR EXCEPTIONALLY SHIFTY EYES, I CANNOT FAULT YOU FOR THAT. » And yet. « JUST WHAT DO YOU INTEND, FOE-VILLAIN? YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD SNEAK INTO THIS PLACE OF SANDY SANCTUARY- » by the way, he didn't talk to Shiloh, he shouted at Shiloh; this dragon's mindvoice is CHRONICALLY too loud, too HEROICALLY BOLD, too cringey probably, but back to the point, « -AND WHAT? STEAL MY EGGS? » As strong and tall as the Beastcrafter is, carrying off one of the still fairly soft eggs is UNLIKELY AT BEST, at least not without accomplices, but it hasn't occurred to Glorioth to look for those. Yet.

Stinky dragon breath is sure to be noted later. Right now, Shiloh is way more concerned about those sharp, pointy teeth! And the SUPER SHOUTY VOICE in his head. Can one lose their hearing if the shouting is within the mind? There's probably some part of Shiloh that has gone deaf as a result. Either that, or it is his sanity that is at state (BUT NO WORRIES; He will probably make a full recovery after a good stiff drink or ten, and a long, long nap). RIGHT NOW, THOUGH? He is a wee bit preoccupied with the glorious Glori and all his many teeth. And his claws. But *mostly* the teeth. IT SHOULD BE NOTED that despite said teeth, Shiloh makes no move to get up. Because running would be the wrong answer, right? And somewhere in there, despite the preoccupation with the teeth (SO BIG! SO POINTY!) he manages to catch the queries. Not that it helps him much, as there is still too much pause between the question and the answer. "I wasn't sneaking!" Probably also the wrong answer. "And I was just going to look at the eggs!" And really, some small part at the back of Shiloh's head is probably wondering 'is this really my life? Am I really arguing with a dragon right now?' but. Well. First, he has to argue with the dragon.

Ahahahahaha hahahaha hahahaahah hahahahhaah hahahahaha. Oh, Shiloh, sweet Summer child. As if there were a right answer here. « SO YOU'RE A SCOUT! AH HA! » That's all he heard. That Shiloh stays sitting just means Glorioth can press his face (WITH ALL THOSE CHOMPY TEETH) that much closer. It's nice when the prey just waits to be mooshed, right? Less work. "GLORIOTH!" is loud in a whole different way than the dragon, and it's from the out of breath, shirtless rider with the wet hair still dripping down his back. So much for bathtime~ Fortunately, using the weyrling pool is much closer than the actual hot springs within the Weyr and at least he has shorts on even if it was probably painful to sprint all this way in his sandals. The man is already up the stairs and bearing down on the bronze whose head comes up enough to greet, « AH! MY F'YRLESS FRIEND, SEE THE FOE-VILLAIN I HAVE TRAPPED? HE THOUGHT HE COULD DIVERT ME WITH HIS DELICIOUS SMELLS, BUT I AM TOO SMART FOR THAT. » But sadly, basically nothing else. "Glorioth, I've got this. You go check the eggs. Inasyth will be back any moment and you'll want to be able to tell her the tale, but she won't listen until she's sure the eggs are alright." Diversion, distraction, and maybe outright lies, but you know what? It works. The bronze draws himself up, considering his unfortunate lifemate. « AHAHAAHAHAHA HAAHAHHAAH, RIGHT YOU ARE. ONWAAAAAaaaaaAAAAAaaaaRD!! » and with that the tiny enormous bronze turns to go CHARGING across the sands. (Very safe for eggs, obviously.) And F'yr is left panting lightly and staring after him with an unreadable expression before he looks to the young man. This is where the apology goes: … Nothing comes. Then, "You alright?"

Oh, what light through yonder window… actually, that's not a light but rather Inasyth's illustriously shiny hide winging on back from a scrub and a very thorough oiling! If Shiloh thought Glorioth was massively humongous, well… the young gold's got almost an additional 10 meters on her mate and she's JUST AS ENTHUSIASTIC about wedging her head all up into what is probably the newcomer's personal business although she sits so politely while doing so, front paws crossed and everything even as F'yr is trying to shoo off the bronze. « GLORIOTH! YOU DIDN'T TELL ME WE HAD VISITORS!!! HOW EXCITING!!! Now tell me… which one is your favorite? » And yes, that's probably a trick question and All Of Them might be the correct answer. No Rhodelia in sight however.

LISTEN. Shiloh wouldn't care if F'yr showed up wearing a sundress and a sombrero, he's just glad he showed up. ADMITTEDLY, showing up shirtless and dripping could also convince him this is a dream but no. Shiloh has never MET F'yr. And also, he's way too scared to be dreaming right now (or, TO BE HONEST, noticing the state of undress that his rescuer might be in. SOME THINGS JUST AREN'T AS IMPORTANT AS SHARP, POINTY TEETH!) "I promise you, I only smell delicious! I would taste terrible!" This, of course, for the dragon because SHARP POINTY TEETH AND THREATS OF EATING (at least implied, what with the delicious comment. Even if Shiloh KNOWS that dragons don't actually eat people. Sometimes facts are less important than impending death.) And then he just goes SILENT (because what else can he say?! ) and possibly a little confused (even if there's REALLY NO TIME FOR THAT) and then just sort of freaking out all over again because now there are TWO dragons (which is, clearly, far more deadly than the one that could have swallowed him whole without assistance?) all up in his business. Poor Shiloh. He really didn't read the fine print when they offered him Xanadu, did he? "I…" cue blank-space where mind should be. At least until Glorioth leaves. Inasyth might be interrogating him as well, but at least she doesn't sound as intent on eliminating him. "I haven't had a chance to look yet…" Nope. Wrong answer. But at least he follows it up with a (admittedly somewhat hesitant), "Ma'am." And then F'yr. Oh. F'yr. Perhaps a safe haven from the dragons because at least HE doesn't have sharp, pointy teeth aimed in his direction. "Uh… Been better…" He's just gonna stay on the ground for now, kay?

Accepted brain-canon touts that F'yr looks JUST LIKE some of the men on Rhodelia's trashy Harper romances, so even never having met F'yr, this COULD be a dream, Shiloh, depending on one's closet (or not so closet) hobbies. Even if one had such proclivities, no one could blame Shiloh for having OTHER PRIORITIES right now. Hear that scoff? That's Glorioth's VERY PERSONABLE response to his SUPPOSED mate (listen, he doesn't remember anymore and ANYONE could have told F'yr to tell him that that was the case, SO HOW CAN HE KNOW?) choice of word, 'visitor.' At least he's sure these are his eggs and he's now effectively blocking the view, so even if Shiloh wanted to quickly formulate a RIGHT ANSWER for Inasyth, he has nothing to work with but memory. A deep breath later and the look F'yr casts down at Shiloh is one of sympathy. "New here, I take it." It's very obvious to one who has endured the trial of fire weirdness that is his entire experience here and F'yr, rather than immediately moving to help them up is crouching to get down to Shiloh's level. "I'm F'yr. This is Inasyth," he gestures to the gold, "and that's Glorioth." Only F'yrce lifemates like F'yr can manage to not have any touch of regret in his expression when the bronze is considered as the sum of all his behavior. "Why don't you tell me your name so we can all be friends here." It's not really a question but a LIFELINE. « DO NOT MAKE FRIENDS WITH THE ENEMY. » F'yr will just ignore that.

INASYTH WILL MAKE FRIENDS WITH WHO SHE WANTS! Clearly Glorioth is not the boss of her and the gold mentally pffftts some champagne bubbles his way while not even taking those massive eyes off the poor, unfortunate newbie and his newly appointed F'yr-iffic tour guide. She wiggles her full body a bit in excitement as Shiloh reveals he hasn't had a chance to look yet and that doesn't seem to bother her any. « F'yr! F'yr! F'yr!!! Take him to THE VIEWING SECTION!!! » She may be yelling loud enough that anything sentient and probably a few things not like the chairs can surely hear her, but at least it's seems to be the happy yelling filled with floods of champagne bubbles. There's a section of the observation level normally reserved for those with fancy-schmancy knots that has been absolutely bedecked with banners of every shape and size. There's even some heat resistant snacks available as well. Inasyth is clearly the hostest with the mostest as she joins the charge back to her eggs, giving Glorioth a friendly nudge in the shoulder with her snout. « It's time to turn them anyways! Can't let them cook unevenly! That'd be a disaster. » No half hardened babies on her watch!

Is happy yelling better than death-threat yelling? Probably. But Shiloh is still gonna stare somewhat wide-eyed at that massive gold even if she's being (dare he hope) nice to him. New? "Yes," comes in answer to F'yr's question, with a hasty and somewhat uncertain, "Uh… sir," because let's not tempt the beast back with accidental insults. When Inasyth leaves, it's almost too good to be true, really, and there's definitely a moment of shifty-eyed 'is that it? Is it really over?' look from the guy on the ground. But say what you will, at least Shiloh seems to recover quickly, already looking a little less pale and a little more sane when F'yr joins him on the ground. Admittedly, it's a comfy place to be, even if the chairs would probably be better. "Shiloh," comes with a dart of those eyes toward the dragons (even if he can't see them from the ground). "They're uh… they're…" Cue epic pause and throat clearing as Shiloh seeks a word that won't offend someone with pointy teeth "…interesting." The dragons. He means the dragons. And maybe the eggs too, if he remembers those.

A small gesture waves away the manners. "Just F'yr." It's more F'ihr than fear, but gosh, close enough under the circumstances, probably. He offers a hand toward the younger man, with every intent to not only clasp, but to use it to help leaver him up off the ground and help him find his balance. "Glad to be friends, Shiloh." BECAUSE THEY'RE FRIENDS NOW, SEE? If possibly only for the benefit of those with those pointy teeth over there. The one, particularly, that is GRUMBLE-SHOUTING, « TURN THEM ALL YOU LIKE, BUT THE TRAITOROUS FRIEND FOE-VILLAIN, » Is that progress? « SEES NOTHING. » Watch him fan his wings out and give Inasyth a STUBBORN BLARE of off-key trumpets, THAT EVERYONE HEARS; no one escapes this noise (unless they really want to for Reasons). "I need to walk you over to the viewing party place," he the bronzerider gestures, "Or she," he gestures to the gold, "will— well, I'm not sure, but it won't be good for anyone. Do you mind?" He'll release the other man's hand either now or before, as seems to suit, but he will make gesture toward the decorated, snackified fancy area. "You don't have to stay long," promises, promises, "but it would really help." He doesn't say whom it will help, but at least with him here, Shiloh seems to be escaping Glorioth's IMMMEDIATELY PRESENT attentions. "The Xanadu dragons tend to be-" he clears his throat and chooses the diplomatic, "Something else. Mine is… quite heroic." The lift of those brows that he gives Shiloh tests the water of SILENT BRO-LANGUAGE. It says: 'roll with it, bro.'

Glorioth can flap away all he likes, Inasyth is on to his games and she has moves of her own, like using her massively plump hindquarters to oh-so-rudely push the flapping bronze out of her way while she digs some new and improved hallows for the eggs that she's about to move. At least for now Inasyth keeps any of her own thoughts to the inside of her head, while physically she hums very loudly (and more on pitch than a certain someone's theme song).

"Friends…" SAYS THE STRANGER WITH THE SCARY DRAGON! There might be a squinty-eyed look shot at the shirtless blond. But, you know? Friend is way better than 'dragon snack', so Shiloh will take it. Even if he looks somewhat dubious about the whole thing, self-preservation is definitely gonna win out over semantics. He'll also take that hand if just to get off the floor, flailing only a little before finding his balance. There's a rather unintelligent "Uh…" that holds all of the reservation for the suggestion of going anywhere other than out the door, coupled with a rather obvious flash of his eyes toward the exit, even if it is sure to look like exactly what it is; the consideration of whether he can make an escape. Any attempt at being dignified has already gone out the window, so Shiloh will just settle for 'alive' and 'on his feet' and try to fix these lasting first impressions later. It's fiiiiiiiine. And maybe it's the threat of death possibility of offending Inasyth that has him hesitantly deciding, "… sure?" on that offer of viewing things. "I mean no. I don't mind." He minds. He TOTALLY MINDS. But he'll do it anyway. And really, there is nothing nice that Shiloh can say about Xanadu's dragons (at least the two he has met; though really, Inasyth has so far been lovely) and so he will just say nothing at all. TO THE VIEWING SECTION! Here's hoping those snacks contain alcohol…

And just for the record, those snacks DEFINITELY contain alcohol.

Glorioth will be shifted, of course, but now WILLINGLY. Fortunately, also not enough that he feels his attention is better elsewhere, like back on F'yr and his new friend. "Thank you. I truly appreciate it," is very genuine and there's an implication that he understands the other man's sacrifice of immediate escape for the delayed gratification of possibly being liquored up when he RUNS FOR THE HILLS. He'll do as he was bidden, and escorts the visitor. "Help yourself if you've any stomach for it," he directs attention to Inasyth's hostess table, but the big bronzerider would probably understand if that was a hard no. F'yr accompanies the younger man for moral support, not blocking the exit even as he settles into a seat for himself after collecting a glass of something alcoholic; he wasn't much of a drinker before the sands, but look at him now~ Well, maybe don't. He seems to have forgotten his bare-chested state, even if he does move to push rapidly drying nearly shoulder-length locks out of his face. He's going to need to have that cut now that he spends so much time perspiring on the hatching sands. "A belated welcome to Xanadu, Shiloh." A gesture goes in the direction of his knot. "What's your specialty?"

Shiloh is trying very hard not to look like a prisoner being led to his execution. He is… marginally successful. But the grim expression says it all, really. He's doing the thing but he does not have to like it. But maybe the presence of alcohol gives some measure of relief because — he will be ashamed to admit later — the poor boy makes a beeline for the booze. At least he's got enough manners to go for a glass and not claim a whole bottle? Still, there's a heart (maybe a few hearty) swallow(s) before he claims a chair and pretends to look relax. It fails. Epically. And please forgive him Inasyth, but while his eyes are on the sands, they are definitely not on the eggs. He'll apologize later. It's the welcome that has him remembering he's not alone, and another swallow of wine comes before he tears his gaze from the demon dragon and puts it on the 'rider once again. "Uh. Yeah. Thank you." Only he doesn't really sound so grateful for that welcome. Probably something about pointy teeth. But at least he's not being rude about it. Just a little… off kilter. Enough that it takes him a beat or two before he seems to internalize the question. (I PROMISE HE IS NOT NORMALLY SO SPACY!). "Runners. I train runners." And another swallow of wine. But maybe it fortifies him, because he can actually manage to ask a question in return. "Not all dragons are like… that. Right?"

"No." F'yr can say this honestly and maybe it's reassuring. "Inasyth and Glorioth are brother and sister and they get some of their traits from their parents, as near as I can tell." Faranth help these very special eggs. "So I can't say they're all not like that, but I haven't run across one like Glorioth. Or Inasyth. They're all as unique as we are, really." He takes a long drink and then glances over at the Beastcrafter. "They're not really any scarier than runners. They won't hurt you," PHYSICALLY, "unless you're threatening what they hold dear," that may cover too uncomfortable a span when it comes to things inside this particular place. "They just don't eat grains and redfruit." There's a little amusement there, but he tempers it out of respect to the experience Shiloh has just endured. "A lot of them do talk to people," so perhaps Glorioth passed that particular tidbit along. "Shocked me out of my head when it happened to me the first time, I can tell you. The golds, particularly… some of the others." He shrugs. "But they don't think like us, or some of them don't." That's a little perplexing, even to F'yr, but he lets it go. Lower, "I think you can go now, if you like. They're busy." See? He can help with a safe retreat.

For all the wine drinking (and he's definitely drinking a lot of wine right now), Shiloh is also listening. Know thy enemy. Or perhaps just curiosity, now that the impending DOOM seems to have faded. While it would be a lie to say that he is relaxed, he's at least not looking so wide-eyed and prey-like. Mulling over what information he's given might result in a long pause but in the end, Shiloh decides, "They are very intelligent, sentient beings. It would make sense that they would be just as unique." As runners? As people? As both, maybe. And while he might not be able to say 'no hard feelings' for Glorioth out there, he can at least allow that, "I can't fault him for being protective." NOT THAT HE FORGIVES HIM OR ANYTHING. The talking to people part definitely has Shiloh knocking back the rest of that wine like it's something a bit harder, but he's wise enough to put the glass down rather than refill it. And for all his sitting and conversing, there's no hesitation in him when he shoots to his feet at the offer of freedom. Sweet, sweet freedom. "Yes. I… Yes." Running. He's definitely going to make a run for it. A start. A stop. A shot of dark eyes toward the sands just to be sure. And then an earnest, "Thank you. Really." For, you know, stopping the bronze from smooshing him. And then he is totes GONE.

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