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.
YOU'VE GOT TO BE USED TO IT BY NOW, RIGHT? Leirith calls, Assistant Weyrlingmasters come, and candidates are shuffled to the sands like lambs to the slaughter. Today is no different. Ila'den is there again, the Assistant Weyrlingmaster, for once, SANS HIS JACKET (SOMEBODY CALL THE PRESSES) and escorting Xanadu's Weyrleader with a palm pressed flat against R'hyn's lower back. Don't worry, he's still in a long-sleeved tunic, even if the sleeves have been rolled up to his elbows in an effort to make the stifling heat of the sands somewhat more tolerable. YOU KNOW WHO'S NOT HERE TODAY YOU GUYS? Risali. She's not here. She's CURIOUSLY ABSENT despite the fact that Leirith LOOMS, MASSIVE AND EAGER. « HELLO, BADASSES. AND YOU. AND YOU. AND EVEN YOU. » BadumBAdumBADumBADUM. And through all of that inner-monologue noise, Ila'den turns to regard the candidates for maybe too long a moment, a length of time in which that singular grey drags with almost predacious intent and lips pull at one corner to bare a hint of canines. "You already know the rules," comes in that low, rasping burr. Bow. Don't do anything TERRIBLE NEAR THE EGGS, but most important of all: DON'T. GET. EATEN. "Go." And yes, that jerk of his chin indicates those eggs, waiting to be touched.
Lyubomir is no stranger to this huevo rodeo; even without Ila'den's curt directive, the handy-doot knows very well what should and should not be occurring. There is the requisite assembly of a pair of bows - well-practiced, natch - and the neutral-visaged young man makes his way toward the eggs without further ado. While there is a side-long glance to make sure no others are immediately near him (and, yes, maybe to keep an eye on that really really suspicious egg), he moves right along to one stealthy eggo. Is it an egg? NO. It is ninja.
< Lyubomir touches egg 14 - Obviously, This Egg Is a Ninja >
< Shiloh touches egg 3 - HONEY BADGER DON'T GIVE A EGG >
IS GETTING EATEN A LEGIT CONCERN?! Shiloh's gonna need to review his notes. He's been told by SEVERAL PEOPLE that dragons don't eat people, Ila! Don't destroy his fragile sanity! And yet. How sane can he really be? He's back. On the sands. Where not great but also not-that-terrible things happen. And he's eyeing the eggs with the same sort of 'maybe this was a mistake' look that he's had probably since Risali Leirith gave him that white knot. Sigh. But, when in Rome Xanadu… So on to the eggs he goes, squinting all suspicious-like toward one in particular before he reaches out to put fingertips to shell and hope for the best. At least it's a nice, inviting-looking egg?
Lyubomir sniffs once at something, then goes still - save for a slight furrowing of his brow and pull to his mouth. He adjusts his contact, shifting to just the fingertips on the shell as if that might modify the vibe he's getting. The results are inconclusive but he's also obnoxiously stubborn. The tip of his tongue snakes out to wet his lips, a move that's followed by a faintly shuddery exhale and a shake of his head. His fingertips remain, but his expression is steely - and steeled.
< Averil touches egg 13 - One Flesh, One Egg >
Averil is late! He's late. He's late for a very important date? He has a good reason, though! Being assigned to work in the infirmary? Wonderful! Fantastic! AWESOME! Until you find out you faint at the sight of blood. That? Not so awesome, at all. Still, he's here, a lot out breath, but walking by the time he hits the sands and bows to Dame And Sire. Polite is important, even when you are a little bit green. It's after that formality that he tosses a smile and a finger-waggling wave toward Shiloh, double checking with the weyrlingmaster staff, in the case, the VERY SCARY ONE EYED GIANT before slipping out to find himself an egg. Fortunately, there are a lot of them and with very little thought, Avi settles at One Flesh, One Egg and gently rests his hand on the shell.
Lyubomir seems to be breathing in fits and starts - breath held while he touches the egg, only to release after some long moments. His fingers peel away for a moment, digits flexing and cracking in the process. His expression betrays very little, save for a distinct hardening at the edges. Steel it is, then. Properly tempered and forged. His jaw works a tiny bit at something or another, as if prying some pesky bit of gristle free - and then he touches again, tension cording through him in anticipation.
That first brush of fingers to shell and Shiloh stiffens. Is it a trap? He's touched enough of these eggs to be wary of them. But soon enough, if somewhat slowly done, there's a leaking of that tension; a melting of that strain. A relaxing into this particular egg that does not seem to want more from him that he is already giving. Is it any surprise that he stays, then? Is it any surprise that his hand goes flat and palm finds shell, and he presses into it with a sort of weight that says he's not ready to leave it? Probably not.
Mind you, the sight of the egg that he's chosen to touch makes Avi turn just a little bit greener then he was in the infirmary and for a moment, JUST A MOMENT, his shoulders hitch in a dry heave that could be potentially dangerous— If he had not just found himself in the most impossibly dull place on Pern? There's a flicker of confusion on his face at that, his brows drawing down as he struggles to take it all in. (And fails. He fails /utterly/.) Of course, then there are questions, way more questions then he is comfortable with (Particularly since they are uncomfortable questions) and he's frowning, his head giving a little shake before something has him sighing and brushing his fingers over the shell in an apologetic gesture. It's fine. Everything is fine.
Lyubomir remains as if forged of steel, his expression and bearing inscrutable save for the subtle tells that speak of tension tied directly into tendons. In the end, though, he lets out that last, held breath, and sucks his teeth. There may or may not be a grunt. And that's all. That's it. He dusts his hands off on his trousers and moves on, his stride hitching just a bit when he hears some sounds of trouble in Avi's direction. It passes and he's on to apply his palm to the Outright Authority Egg.
< Lyubomir leaves egg 14 - Obviously, This Egg Is a Ninja >
< Lyubomir touches egg 9 - Outright Authority Egg >
A sigh; an exhale. So far, this is not a trap, and Shiloh feels safe enough to take a breath. To lean in just that little bit more. Amusement once again, though it's not the first egg to spark it, it is the first egg to get a laugh; something warm and quiet and more breath than sound. What he sees, what he's shown, it may draw interest but no real action. Shiloh is as content to let the egg be an egg, as the egg seems to be content to let Shiloh be Shiloh.
Lyubomir tilts his head slightly at something or another, though he's far more relaxed here than with that other egg. It's a puzzle, see. A game. Kind of. A combination of stubbornness and curiosity might well prove to be the lubricant needed to ease him into whatever this egg feels like. Never mind that he's staring at it or that there's a ghost of a smile caught at the corners of his mouth. It's nothing. Really. Certainty is a slight dip of the chin, surreptitious; a promise for discretion meant only for- what? An egg.
Conflicting emotions abound on Averil's face. There is sympathy, most assuredly, a little bit of distress and just enough wariness to add a hint of spice and added flavor. Still, he hasn't moved, although it is clear from his expression that he's not quite ready to withdraw entirely. Of course, as has been the case with a few of the other eggs, things abruptly go sideways. Sideways enough that he looks both startled and a little thrown off as he is so abruptly 'shown the door'. "Well that was rude," is muttered under his breath. Frowning he starts to step away, resolved to try another before shaking his head and firmly turning back to rest his hands upon the shell. You, Sirrah, are not winning so easily.
Lyubomir tilts his head to a side, just slightly; it's a particular angle that's well-suited to studying things and solving problems. Both hands go on the shell now, fingers splayed at angles that are precisely calculated for- well, something. Don't ask him. It just makes sense. His breathing is slow and regular, his eyes gone completely shut, and the entirety of him still relaxed in the strange way of someone that probably shouldn't be on these sands with Leirith (and Ila'den) naught but an egg's throw away. His hands linger, persistent.
< Shiloh leaves egg 3 - HONEY BADGER DON'T GIVE A EGG >
"Oh for goodness sake," The words spill past Averil's lips without a thought and are promptly followed with a sigh as he settles in with the events taking place around him. Really, though? He gets it. He completely understands being confused and scared and angry and clingy all at the same time. He gets it. Eventually, there is a look of relief that passes over his features, the egg given a reassuring pat as he leans in to whisper against the shell. "It gets way better." Because it does and it is just important to him that whoever is in there knows that. There might even be a "There, there," offered in soothing tones before he carefully withdraws his hand. Really, he's /way/ more then his fair share of days exactly like that egg is having.
< Shiloh touches egg 4 - Egg on the Edge of Tomorrow >
Another breath. Deeper. Slower. A coming home even if this isn't really home. But while Shiloh might not have found a trap, there is still conflict in his expression. Sure, it is not the warning of unpleasant emotions that other eggs might have inspired, but there is still a hint of something not quite right in the duck and flinch. In the moment of unexpected embarrassment however mild it might be. The feelings are happy, sure. And even if Shiloh might not agree with what this egg might think, with what this egg might see, he still lingers far longer with it than he has with any of the others. But, all good things must end and, with a final breath, he lets his hand fall away with a final brush of fingers to leave the egg alone. But he does not go far. Perhaps hoping that those in the vicinity will be like-minded, he reaches out to put his hand to a near companion, pressing into Egg on the Edge of Tomorrow.
< Averil leaves egg 13 - One Flesh, One Egg >
Lyubomir's fingers briefly stroke and caress, but only briefly; there's a distinct sense that he seems to be doing something that is unrelated to egg fondling. Just a few seconds and no more; he snaps out of the daze, satisfied, and gives an oh-so-gentle tap to the shell in lieu of a salute that the egg certainly will not see. He disengages after that, stepping back and away to assess the eggs that yet remain untouched and those that are being touched. Eventually, he'll move to choose another.
< Lyubomir leaves egg 9 - Outright Authority Egg >
< Lyubomir touches egg 11 - Broken Halo Egg >
< Averil touches egg 8 - An Altogether Unexpected Egg >
Stepping back, Averil scrubs his hands over his face, taking a moment to breath before even considering touching another egg. And for a moment, just a moment, he considers going back just to make sure the egg he'd just left is really going to be okay. He doesn't though. Cause that would be silly. It would be silly? Wouldn't it? Still, there is a long look leveled on One Flesh, One Egg egg before he squares his shoulders and steps over to rest a hand against the shell of An Altogether Unexpected Egg.
Lyubomir is intrigued, for there is no other way to describe the expression that etches its way onto his face. He also remains achingly still for quite a time until, eventually, a breath catches and he reaches to rub at something on his arm and- oh. There's the flinch and grimace, his eyes opening for a moment before he reorients himself. He wets his lips and chews just a little on the inside of a cheek before he chances another touch to the shell, fingertips of one hand only - this time.
For a long moment, Avi remains tense, expecting the calm and peace of what he is being shown to be suddenly twisted into something utterly horrible. Something though, has him relaxing visibly, a breath exhaled as he dips his chin in what looks suspiciously like a nod. In the end, the being in the egg has his undivided attention, the curious furrow of his brow something he doesn't even consider trying to conceal. He's watching you right back, Egg.
It didn't bite him, at least. And Shiloh's not afraid of it (but was he afraid of any of the eggs? Maybe), but he's not leaning in either. He'll just stay right here, hand to shell. On the periphery — the edge — and let that egg do its egg-things. A twitch of a frown. The loft of a brow. The skeptical look of one who questions but won't actually voice those queries. The door might be shut, but he's not ready to let go. So, if he can just nudge it open again… well. A foot in the door is the first step on the ladder, right?
Lyubomir jerks a little at something, though the movement is small. Fingers temporarily lose contact, then return with a measure of reluctance. The reluctance is warranted, gauging from the tension that rises in him again. His breathing slows, his jaw tenses, and his nostrils flare before he pulls his hand away to wipe it on his pants. He's gone a bit pale around the edges, but he'll live; he just needs a moment before he tries one last time to make sense of this egg.
Averil takes a long time to think about what the egg is proposing, his shoulders rising in a faint shrug that, while probably unnoticable to most, makes it clear that he just doesn't know. He's thinking about it, though, even if he doesn't want to think about it /to/ closely. Still, it is comfortable and warm and right now, he really doesn't want to think to hard about the future. If, of course, that is okay. If not? Well, he's sorry for that, but it still remains true.
Lyubomir grunts once and, abruptly, pulls his hand away from the egg. He shakes it a little, as if it's gone numb, then issues a quick salute to the riders on duty - and a fresh round of bows for the dragons, because that seems right - before he takes his leave. He steps away and goes on a brief search for water and stability before he eventually departs the sands to fully regain his bearings. "Headache," is the only explanation given - or needed, really.
< Lyubomir leaves egg 11 - Broken Halo Egg >
Well, that's just great. At least, through it all, Shiloh retains some sense of self. Enough to know that reality is not what he's seeing, hearing, feeling, right now. (which might beg the question; if reality is not what he's seeing, hearing and feeling… what the heck is reality in the first place?). But he stays. Because he's here. Because it's expected. Because there are questions and maybe he has answers; or there are expectations and he's going to break them. So sure. Let this wasteland be a home. Let these scoundrels be a band of brothers- a family. And even if he ducks his head against invisible winds (That he can't feel but definitely does feel), he'll stick it out just a little bit longer.
Macarons. That is what Averil offers to the questing mind. Pink Macarons with a lovely sweet jam in the center. Why? Because THAT is what he thinks of when he thinks of tea. And, really, they are lovely, who wouldn't enjoy one. It is the fact that this particular egg immediately makes him think of Ru'ien that inspires a smile, a pleased little twitch of lip that has him hovering just on the edge of laughing out loud. Still, it's winding down and he has no desire to overstay his welcome, a fact that has him stepping back, his fingers lingering on the shell in a caress before falling away. But, that was two, and he knows from experience that the THIRD EGG ALWAYS BITES. So. Rather then risk touching another, he ends on a high note, stepping back toward the weyrlingmaster team with a little waggle of his fingers toward the ONE-EYED GIANT.
< Averil leaves egg 8 - An Altogether Unexpected Egg >
< Shiloh leaves egg 4 - Egg on the Edge of Tomorrow >
Shiloh blinks. A lot. He squints against lights that are too bright, even if the caverns hasn't changed. He shifts his weight and tips his head and tries to find and focus on things that are just not there (But they are! In his head. Does that make them not real? Yes. No? Maybe.) But while he might be frowning again, at least it's not a worried frown. It's not a fearful frown. It's not even really a thoughtful frown. It's just a frown. One that stays even as his gaze refocuses and the world comes to rights again, and he finds himself back in the real-reality once more. A squint at the egg, a shake of his head, and he walks away. And further away. And even further away. Because Avi is right — The third egg always bites (so Shiloh is gonna stop at two).
Do you really want to get the attention of giants, Avi? DON'T THEY EAT PEOPLE? (See Shiloh, maybe the concern wasn't actually the dragons.) Regardless, that grey eye follows Averil's trek, aware of every movement as brows come up for the waggle of fingers in his direction. But his hand does come up, a wave that carries little more motion than the lift of his fingers before his chin tilts and his gaze drops back to his weyrmate. Whatever is said, Ila'den is suddenly moving with a rasped, "Time's up." And there he goes, collecting candidates to shoo them back off the sands again.