A Single Touch

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.

Never let it be said that Xermiltoth isn't a troll. Candidates have likely only just reported to their morning shifts or chores when the call comes to report to the sands, weyrlingmasters luring their charges (willing or otherwise) to the sands. Is Leirith here? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe that lump in the corner is her, or maybe it's just a suspiciously Leirith-colored tent the dragonhealers have set up, but Xermiltoth's blackened bulk blocks any attempts to find out more. « THEY ARE TAKING THEIR TIME, AREN'T THEY, » earns an eyeroll and an insistence on having patience from his rider. C'con delivers his usual Weyrlingmaster shpiel, trying hard not to look as bored as he feels as candidates are UNLEASHED - er, released - to continue their perusal of eggs on the sands.

Did she even have time to look at her chore for the day? PROBABLY NOT. Ligeia's among the latest - er- earliest? - gaggle of candidates being ushered to the sands. She's nattering away with a former nanny and a former cook that should probably stay 'former' if truth be told. Conversation quiets once C'con starts the Recitation of Sands Etiquette and Behavior and the trio disperses. For Ligeia? Her course veers briefly toward the Lazing in the Sun Egg, but only long enough for her to crouch next to it, to scuff up the sand some, and to drop something in the teeny-tiny wallow she makes. Sand covers whatever it is and then it's promptly off to the Light as Air Egg to acquaint herself with the last of the eggs on her list.

< Ligeia touches egg 4 - Light as Air Egg >

Her head tilts a little at something or another, a measure of contemplation marking her visage. Still, whatever it is, it's worthy of persistence - and Ligeia sticks with it, her hands shifting on the shell, marking out some segment or another that looks particularly interesting. But, in the end, she's not really looking at the egg, now is she? No, her eyes slip shut and allow her to focus, listening hard to whatever this one has to say - and preparing to follow it wherever it aims to lead.

Don't think Xermiltoth didn't notice that, Ligeia! Mum's the word, of course (if one can consider the equivalent of a mental firework mum, in all its golden splendor) - the bronze doesn't make to move to stop her from accessing the sands around that first egg, nor from touching the second, but she's certainly earned the warmth of his regard and an audible rumble of what might be approval. Or amusement. Definitely one of those.

Emotions scrawl themselves across her face in quick succession - a ghost of surprise starts, bleeding into resolve and righteousness and certainty. But then there's a flash of panic at something or another and contact is briefly broken (which is totally due to the egg and not at all due to the fallout of Xermiltoth's explosion there; totally the egg's fault) and Ligeia shakes her head slightly as if to clear it. She does briefly look at the bronze (who she totally bowed to earlier, pls to forgive her typist for being a forgetful git) but then it's time to get her head in the game again - and, this time, she'll be prepared.

Xermiltoth - luckily not one for formalities whether Ligeia bowed or not - is content with the acknowledgment of that glance. Rumble quieted by the passage of time and the soothing of his rider's rough hands across headknobs, the bronze settles in to watch not just her, but those dubiously-employed others as they go about their perusal of his progeny.

"You're sweet," is Ligeia's determination in the end, a final stroke of palm over shell marking the moment when one mind peels away from the other. "Thank you." But there's no intention of lingering, not with the former nanny champing at the bit to get her hands on the same egg; she's not one to quibble and, once done, she steps back, her hazel regard sweeping across all of the eggs, her fellow candidates, and to the bronze and that SUSPICIOUS SHAPE back there. "Thank you," is for them, though who knows if her words will carry so far. The smile should. So, too, should the tipped salute. The former cook is also making his rounds, but is quickly shushed when he starts talking a little too loudly about his scrambled egg breakfast (not mentioned: all the shells left in those eggs that he scrambled. He'd claim he likes it like that.)

What can we say, Ligeia - some people have no taste! That's the look Xermiltoth cants the dark-haired candidate's way, chin moving just a touch off the ground to emphasize his draconic rolling of eyes. « And you, » is return thanks borne upon a golden platter that bursts and scatters into a thousand short-lived fireflies of thought. Whether Ligeia lingers or not is purely up to her - Xermiltoth is here for the long haul either way, for better or for worse, those that linger unimportant enough to him that he looks like he might just take a nap to pass the time.

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