Gold Ilyscaeth and Bronze Xermiltoth's Eggs Hatch!

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.

Public Announcement from Citayla: The dragons are humming, and as the evening heads into too dang late at the stormy Xanadu Weyr, Ilyscaeth and Xermiltoth can be heard far and wide. Their eggs are hatching! To join us, cheer on our incredible candidates, +go xaw, ha, ol and enjoy!

The autumn downpour might be cooling some things up, but definitely not the sands as things are really starting to heat up! Some of the candidates might look more like drowned felines as the stagger out to meet their fate, but one by one the white robed figures make their respectful bows to dam and sire before turning to find their own places.

Ila'den precedes the gaggle of incoming candidates, pausing just long enough to shrug Rhodelia from his shoulder and onto her feet on the sands, hand coming down on the top of her head to push her into a bow that he follows. Then the assistant weyrlingmaster lets her go, leaving it up to the other assistants to do their job. What? HE TOOK THE DAY OFF. So yes he is going to go loiter by Cita and R'hyn and that CUTE BABY.

<Galleries> The pouring rain is no deterrence to a loud, loving family like Evangeline's. Onyxia is the first to arrive in the galleries, and she strips off multiple layers of clothing until she's in a sports bra, placing an article on as many chairs as she can near the front. Yes. They are that family. Arriving in twos and three's, the oldest being Senkyou at 80 turns old. The old brownrider gets the closest seat, while everyone else fills in around her. Last to arrive is Zalyu, a young black-haired, crooked nosed boy of about 13 turns; the boy is greeted with love from Senkyou, who says, "It's about time you brought Kal to see me, come cheer on your sister." Zalyu receives a smack from his aged mother, the elderly brownrider leaning in and saying. "She's quite the girl Zal, prolly cus she didn't see much of yu." All in jest, there's still sparkle to the old gal. In the end, about 12 people make up the group, and they are boisterous. This occasion is treated as a reason to gather, a reason to celebrate one of there own. "Evi, you got THIS," Oddisa yells out once the candidates arrive on the sands. (I am on the sands, so this is for flavor. <3)

Stefyr has come to the sands as he is. That he's here at all is some small miracle since he arrived breathless in the barracks in barely enough time to hop-skip-jump into his robe and catch the tail end of the departing line. His brain probably caught up about the time that the group was bowing to the dam and sire. A careful watcher could mark that moment when his face drained of color and his movements became too mechanical and too clumsy. He half-staggers to a position in the semicircle where his back is to the entrance the candidates arrived through. He's not running, but maybe he's thinking hard about what he could have been doing back home on the farm if he hadn't made every choice that led him to this place, at this time, waiting for time and hatchlings to determine his fate.

It's not quite chilly out — summer's still clinging, but the rain that breaks through occasionally isn't a particularly pleasant rain. Right now? There's a heaviness in the air, rumbles of thunder in the distance as a storm picks up from the light rain. Aren't you glad that you're inside! Inside of the hatching grounds, Ilyscaeth and Xermiltoth are loud, as ever, and practically beaming pride and joy straight into space. The eggs are starting to shiver, and with every little twitch one or the other croons encouragement. Citayla and R'hyn stand between the two of them not far from LOITERING ILA, though the former, at least, seems a little bit lost in thought, arms wrapped around a brightly-blanketed bundle. Whatever her train of thought is, though, the eggs wait for no man. Even now, one or two make twitchy hops of anticipation, fueling whispers from sands and stands alike.

Ajral has wet hair, and it's down and stringy, and this is not at all her usual Sands look. Dripping and stringy-haired, that is. The wide-eyed half-excitement half-exhaustion, that is, because somehow tiredness and hot sands tend to go together … but so does the adrenaline rush of THERE ARE LIZARD BEASTS HATCHING EVERYWHERE. Even when they haven't started yet. But because the usually collected Healer is also definitely one of the drowned felines, she's not got the usual swift-speedy updo and the shoulders of her robes are damp from hair drip. She wouldn't DARE squeeze the wet out on the sands, though.

Katailea makes her way into cavern that houses the sands among the rest of the candidates. The young woman dips to perform a small curtsy-bow to the golden dame watching over her clutch (as well as the sire and their riders) as she's reminded with a nudge from the girl behind her. Formalities covered, she's following the group to find her place in the ring of white-robed candidates around the rocking eggs. "Good luck?" is passed on to those nearby, though the statement holds as much question as anything.

Rhodelia was just taking a nap and suddenly… the sands. Don't ask her how it happened, she probably couldn't tell you if you tried anyways as she blinks about as lost as a watch wher at dawn. Hair definitely ruffled, either from the bow-assistance from their friendly neighborhood weyrlingmaster or the pre-hatching nap, but she gives another bow just in case she had forgot as she rubs at her eyes and drifts over towards the closest familiar face. "Safety in numbers, guys."

Keruthien's emotions are usually quite in check, or at least buried under layers of amusement and devil-may care attitude! Some of that is tempered now, though he's flashing reassuring smiles to his fellow Candidates are they're ushered out onto the sands. Who cares about the weather? Or wet hair? Or impending doom eggs ahead, now showing obvious signs of life! Whoo, boy. Breathe! He's at least remembered that much, along with the respectful bowing and quickly shuffling off to find his place among the crowds. Is he looking for familiar faces? Very possible.

Khavro follows someone, anyone, he's not really paying attention to that much, once there's bowing and the candidates disperse across the sands. He glances warily, once, toward the onlookers scanning like he might somehow rcognize someone, but his priority quickly returns to the twitchy eggs.

N'kon has no baby - she's with Ricki. Probably crying. He has a camera though. Someone (probably Risali) has apparently talked the bluerider into once more picking up his craft for this momentous occasion. The flashes from his picture taking mingle with the faint flickers of lightning arching high in the sky overboard as he captures the entrance of each and every Candidate, moving safely along the perimeter of the Sands to line up his shots with care. Smile!

Samuven comes out with the rest of the candidates, his hair still wet from a bath and with no hope of drying anytime soon, even with the heat of the Sands. He bows quickly, and seeks out Katailea and whoever she is standing with, showing solidarity with his friends, both old and new, "Just breathe." Which might be a little easier said than done with the heat radiating from their feet…

Haloed in Light Egg shivers, once, then is still. Did it move at all? Was that a trick of the light, meant to distract you from its more energetic siblings for a moment? Maybe so.

Evangeline was prepared for this, she was, she did drills! The moment comes and it is raining, the confusion finds her emerging onto the sands in her pleated robe. The whole outfit is way too well tailored to be called a robe, it might be closer to a dress with pleats that nearly touch the ground. Don't worry, she's not running anywhere anyways. Soaking wet, and whining softly. A place is found, hands are clasped onto her skirt and the dragon eggs have her full attention. Heart don't fail her now, courage don't desert her don't look back now that she's here. People always say life is full of choices, no one mentions fear. Fear, and an excitement that can be seen in the small bounces she makes every few seconds. Finding her place in the corner of the semi-circle, body refusing to stay still as nerves demand a bounce every few seconds.

Kissed by the Wild Egg hasn't moved. An almost preternatural stillness becomes it — where the others rattle and snap, it sits unmoved, unmoving. Biding its time. It can wait.

<Galleries> M'ti is there in the stands wearing full leathers, the eighteen turn old greenrider leaning against a support pillar via his shoulder with his arms crossed over his chest and hazel eyes lowered to the sands. As the candidates come out, his gaze seems to lock onto someone in particular, tracking them. However, given his expression is flat and edged in firmness, what he's thinking in that moment is difficult to surmise.

Ghiyil doesn't scream, when that egg rocks. He makes a very manly little wail, thank you, and maybe scuttles a little bit behind one of the bigger candidates. Being the tiniest of the bunch makes that pretty easy, at least. "It looked at me funny!" The boy whispers, peeking around his meat shield at the eggs. Still there? Yep. Still there.

Ajral isn't a hand-holder, but she's near all those familiar faces that she's keeping close enough to count on being concerned about where they might be. "There are more of us than there are of them," she echoes Rhodelia, confidently, but then has to add, "Even though they're big and have talons and sharp teeth and don't entirely know how to walk."

The Smoke That Rose Egg is getting increasingly desperate to remove that egg-sweater. It's a pretty package, sure, but one that the dragonet inside needs to be free of! That must be why it's added some pretty extreme bounces and jerks to the routine, still shimmying away. At last, a loud noise heralds a split right down the middle: then it rests, a moment.

Keruthien lets out a long exhale, only slightly shaky with pent up nerves and excitement. There's a quick glance back over his shoulder, but from his position, the galleries are just a blur of faces and there's too much going on ahead — so that's where he looks nice. "Well," he says to no one in particular. "This is it. No choice but to stick to it!" No running, anyone! Or do, he'll pitch bets on how far you get.

Favor the Dark Egg jerks, scrambles, furiously shaking back and forth for what seems like a long stretch. It settles eventually, but not before it tips sideways, rolling close to another of its rocking siblings.

Katailea sends a glance down the line of candidates, before the girl pries her gaze away from that which is closest to send another up towards the observation deck. Then back to the eggs as they begin to maybe, definitely move.

Stefyr could have been home counting avian eggs, but the tall young man's eyes are riveted on eggs of a more impressive variety. The hatching of an egg cannot be foreign to the former farmer, but he can't look away from The Smoke That Rose Egg as it starts to move. It's proof of life, proof of a promise being fulfilled. It's one thing to hear about eggs being laid, another to touch them, and a whole separate matter to see them move. His eyes go wide, wider, widest as his gaze flicks to Favor the Dark Egg, drawn by yet more movement

Rhodelia gives a nod as Ajral shares her wisedom. The all to familiar candidate hot foot shuffle seems to be waking up the sleepyhead a bit as she eyes the eggs. "But they don't know how to walk. And we should probably know how to run." Probably. She makes no promises. She does snicker slightly at Keruthien's comment. "I bet someone could clamber over into the galleries if they were really motivated…"

<Galleries> N'on bounces his way into the stands with a spring in his step. A cheerful wave is sent off toward the elderly matriarch of one particular Candidate's family. But that is a /family/ gathering, so he steers clear of the rows they have staked out, and instead stakes himself out on a spot where he can get a clear view of the sands. A broad grin lights up his face… He always has been overly excited about hatchings. Apparently, this one is no exception.

Khavro is very good at running, don't tempt him. But that seems to be the furtherest thing from his mind right now. He's already here, and there's something almost hypnotizing about watching the eggs that holds his attention in a way they never quite have before now.

Evangeline can hear Ajral, she can. "They are born with teeth?" She stammers over to the older healer woman. Somehow she missed that memo. Instead of shuffling from side to side as is traditional, Evangeline moves from her heels to her toes. Up, down, up, down. The wiggles from Haloed by the light egg catch her eye and then Favor the dark, she takes a step back and shakes her head. "With teeth she says.. WITH TEETH." Bad time to rethink this whole plan Evi dear.

Kissed by the Wild Egg isn't easy to contain: the evidence would be easily visible, were anybody brave enough to be close to it. Tiny, tiny spider-webs of cracked shell radiate from the top. It still hasn't moved, to the naked eye, but bit by bit the shell gives way to the will of whatever works its way out.

Keruthien gives a sharp look towards Favour the Dark egg as well, then over to Stefyr and visibly swallows. Did he just pale a little bit? MAYBE. He gets it, bro! He gets it. Licking at his lips, he'll work his jaw a bit and likely is steeling his resolve. No sense getting spooked now, over trivial things! There's a bit of laughter from him, as he overhears a snippet from Rhodelia. It comes out a little too strangled though. "Are you trying to make the jitters worse?" he teases. Kind of.

<Galleries> Z'tan arrives in the galleries with an older family member as well - one whom he looks strikingly similar to, and goes to sit just close enough to the large family gathering as if to feel like he fits in, leaving Zel on his own - the younger of the two related bronze riders sliding into a seat even as his eyes settle on the sands - and the eggs - and the candidates.

Samuven sways slightly on his feet, not as though he's about to fall down, but as if the ground itself is moving under him. Or maybe he feels like it should be? His eyes flick from one shivering, jumping egg to another, gray eyes intent for the first sign of colorful dragon hide.

Favor the Dark Egg isn't done! A deeply unsettling noise seems only to be happening when it is moving: when it twitches back and forth, squirming, there's a sound like thousands of tiny feet skittering on the sands. Maybe that's just the cracks forming all over it. We're going to go with that.

Ajral can't help but giggle a little at Keruthien's observation, and a tiny bit more when Rhodelia mentions the escape path, but she's got to look a little guilty when Evangeline is reminded of the whole teeth part. "Oh," she says weakly, "yes, and sometimes they use them but it's … I'm sure it's going to be fine." EVERYONE IS AT LEAST HALF ASLEEP HERE. Ajral keeps aggressively blinking, as if to force her eyes to remain either moistened or just open, as she looks from moving egg to moving egg. Yes, they're hatching now.

Haloed in Light Egg finally gives way to its draconic occupant without fanfare. The top third of the egg comes up in one piece on her head, but the green formerly imprisoned doesn't take long to move. She manages to tip the egg sideways and not fall on her face, miraculously. Dark hide even darker, egg-wet, the ridiculously rangy greenling makes a zig-zagging line to a girl with dark hair and narrowed brown eyes. "Huh." Is all the girl says for a long beat, hand going to brush little shards of eggshell off of her green's striped cheek. "Piezra? I guess. Let's get you fed, Wyrcaelith." Maybe the quietest of the class, true to form, all but whispers as a Weyrlingmaster appears to whisk them away to the barracks.

Something From the Depths Green Hatchling
Swamp ooze coagulates loosely down the loose hide of this green, dapples between green and brown in an unsettling pattern all over her large, rangy form. The more earthy tones take over the entire ventral length of her, a nearly black miasma that curls delicately up from the depths of her pot-belly and slightly too-long neck. The miasma touches over a strong, aquiline face that matches her dam's — deft lines of shadowed forest and muddy kelp make for a strange, intricate pattern reaching up towards jagged 'ridges. The most vibrant shade on this boggy mess of a hide, somewhere between chartreuse and sickly yellow, runs a hazy path on the lee side of these markings, winds wispy and playful over eye-ridges and the sharp lines of her cheeks and overlarge nares. The same bright haze dapples in sketchy lines down from large and jaggedly misshapen 'ridges on her neck and tail, a hazy set of stripes that twists and bends more than they really need to.

With a triumphant cry the Something From the Depths Green Hatchling has found its lifemate at last. After a few moments the Weyrlingmaster leads the new pair off the sands.

Stefyr could have been back on the farm, tending to autumn plants nudging out of dark soil to prove their vitality. It can't really be called bursting even if it cracks a crust of dirt to emerge, so slow is their creep of green tendrils. As Haloed in Light bursts and shards fall to the white and russet too hot sand below, the young man forgets to breathe. The world might slow for a moment in his mind and then catch up to itself as his wide, wide, widest eyes take in with wonder the birth of the first hatchling on the sands. AT LEAST HE DOESN'T CRY, but man, he looks embarrassingly close to it when his hand sweep up to meet over his nose and gaping mouth as he suddenly gasps in a new breath.

Rhodelia winks towards the smith. "Jitters are helpful. Gotta stay on your toes!" Ignore the fact that she was literally dragged out here moments ago. She's awake enough now as she flaunted the ability to get on her tip toes. Too busy tiptoeing and she nearly misses the first dragon out of the shell, blinking at the whirlwind impression. "That was faster than usual, right?" Someone might be able to give reassurance, right?

Ilyscaeth's humming amps up as she takes in her first-hatched, eyes locked onto the egg-wet green and her new lifemate. Whatever joy she's sharing with her rider is, blessedly, kept to herself, save for the fact that she's all but bouncing in place, crooning joyfully.

< Galleries > Perhaps it's the eagerness in motion that draws M'ti's attention away from the sands, detected out of the corner of his eye, attention darting towards N'on who he seems to recognize. Nothing is said, it's just a moment or three of observation and appraisal as if time had a way of getting away from oneself and then he returns his attention to the hatching grounds in time to see a green emerge from her shell.

Katailea lets out a breath. "Don't remind me," could be for any number of the comments made by Ajral, Rhodelia or Keruthien. Her gaze finds its way back to the eggs a second later just in time to see the first hatchling spill out of her shell and find her lifemate. "You're the one who's been here before," is commented back to Rhodelia's question of the speed of things.

Balance of the Divine Egg is…shivering? Vibrating? Is that a noise, that it's making, over the din of the sands and the stands? It sounds like a low rumble, but that would be weird. It's probably not purring. Right?

Khavro's wide-eyed gaze is on the first egg to give way to the hatchling inside and he, perhaps unconsciously, steps back. Just one step. It's a small step. Haha, he's fine, guys. Really.

Evangeline starts to practice her breathing, taking one deep breath and then blowing out for six seconds. One hand leaves the skirt and she uses her fingers to count, 1,2,3,4,5 and a nod of her head for six. As she recieves reassurance she nods at Ajral, whining quietly. What has she done. Then the green breaks shell, the bouncing stops as the little one finds her lifemate. There's something special about a changed mind, the magical moment a first for the sheltered weaver girl. "Oh wow.. No one. No one told me it was like this." No more moving, the enchantment of the moment has her frozen in the moment. "Wow.." It's unclear whether she's actually still with the rest of the group, her whole body that was nothing but wiggles is now still as a statue.

Keruthien isn't even aware of how still he's gone, not even shuffling his feet when the first egg hatches and a green goes off to make her choice. There's another long exhale, a look of relief passing fleetingly over his expression. Faranth and there's nine more to go! Should he be sweating this much already!? There's a scoff sent to Ajral and Rhodelia both. "I guess so? Or we're gonna be too wound up to do anything but freeze." You get what he's saying? Prime targets! There's a quick wink to Katailea. Sorry? Not sorry.

Kissed by the Wild Egg doesn't explode or break in half dramatically. One minute, there's an egg that looks more or less intact, and the next it's…gone? Tiny fragments of shell glitter like diamonds on the sands, but the dragonet that belongs to it is betrayed only by the bits of diamond-shell clinging stubbornly to the long lines of her wings. She's not hiding, she's stalking already, eyes scanning the candidates without any sign of hatching-haze.

Bombastic Cut-throat Fantastic Green Hatchling
A brilliant study in contrast, this dangerous little green is in turns subtle and danger-loud: dark and bright and not much in-between. Her every line screams DANGER, from powerful shoulders and haunces to the low set of her tapering wings. Inky cyan comprises the bulk of her tiny figure, fades only slightly around her belly into sooty teal just a shade brighter in the shadow of her lanky limbs. Soft impressions a shade or two darker than the tenebrous cyan form loose rosettes mostly visible on powerful shoulders and abdomen, fading down haunches and tail. The indistinct mottles might not make much of a difference in this green's hide, were it not for the ghostly celadon that settles in their centers. The eerie smudges of brighter green are even more indistinct than the rosettes, an unsettling haze hinting at brighter things to come. Similarly, pitchy, uneven stripes slash jaggedly down long neck and whiplike tail, only made obvious by the electric haze that loosely clings to their leewards edges. The inky stripes shadow an already-dark head even further, trail down long muzzle in increasingly intricate patterns of light and dark. The shadows can't quite hide the strange notch in her upper jaw near her electric-limned nares, or the way that her teeth protrude just a little here and there. With those long wings held against her sides, this green is a shadow with only the slightest pinpricks of light — but when those wings open up? That's the real show, the warning flashing radioactive bright: neon green, etched through with jagged stripes of the same celadon that ghosts around her sharp-pointy little body. Here, it's anything but ghostly, bold slashes of color that add a positively alarming signal: DANGER, just in case you missed it, before.

Ghiyil isn't done hiding, but he does take a moment to watch the first dragonet hatch. Looking just as star-struck as can be, the boy takes his hand off of whatever part of the candidate he'd grabbed, leans out to take a closer look at the rocking eggs. "Doesn't don't look so mean as Coyu said they were gonna be." The boy mutters, glancing at the taller candidates all around him for confirmation. He's not making that up, right?

Ajral blinked and it hatched into a green. Ajral blinked again and that green Impressed. "See, and it's so fast," she points out, "it's way too fast to even worry about the whole teeth thing?" Ajral! Helpful! "Oh, up to two greens, now — see, I am absolutely awake enough to be paying attention." Keruthien, Rhodelia and Evangeline all believe her, right?

Favor the Dark Egg is still making unsettling clicking noises right up until the moment that it EXPLODES. With a noise like rending rocks, or an experiment gone terribly awry, the shell splinters off into hundreds of pieces in every direction. Did you expect anything less of this egg? No, no, the green who emerges from the wreckage does so with style. A lady has to make an entrance, after all. Free of even the tiniest piece of shell, the little green takes a beat to eye her surroundings, neck arched delicately. Well.

Stefyr could have been home, cleaning stalls in the barn, a dirty but orderly task that follows a familiar pattern of setting things to their best condition, but instead he's here. On the Xanadu Hatching Sands. With chaos everywhere. There's no attempt to order this chaos, only yo track it. His blue eyes flick from Favor the Dark Egg to the Bombastic Cut-throat Fantastic Green Hatchling and on to Balance of the Devine Egg. His eyes hold on that egg. That egg that cannot be purring. RIGHT?

The Masquerade Never Ends Green Hatchling
This green is massive: a titanic beast eye-catching for size alone, beyond the elegant simplicity of her hide. Pale, mossy green comprises the bulk of her, settles over almost every inch of well-proportioned hide. It covers large, strong-boned legs, smooth-muscled keel set in a barrel chest, moves on down the sweep of her long tail: nary a single variation is visible from afar. There's predatory look to her aquiline face, rounded eyes intent beneath slanting, slightly pronounced eyeridges, a distraction from the variation in tone therein. A smoky haze of sage brushes a faint disc 'round her head and the ridges that start between her eyes and rise in a sharp crest between headknobs, ends in a taper beneath her jaws, a scant shade paler than the rest of her. The rest of her 'ridges are quite normal, and the same misty green as the vast majority of her hide. Delicate sagebrush appears once more along the broad 'sails of long, broad wings, a nearly indistinct change between mossy spars. Even more indistinct, gossamer touches of palest mint brush along the trailing edges of her wings, thin lines invisible save for on the inner aspect of her 'sails.

Samuven blinks as the first hatchling escapes her shell prison and quickly finds her lifemate. He shakes his head in wonder, "I ain't ne'er been t' a hatching b'fore. Dunno if tha' was fast 'r not." And then there's another green and his eyes follow the wobbly little girl.

Rhodelia has indeed been here a handful of times before, but that doesn't keep her from questioning her memories and sanity each time. Even still, she's covering her mouth and a giant yawn as she shifts back. And even as she finishes her yawn, she's nudging someone next to her. "Three greens." She sees you, Masquerade.

Light of the Mother Moon Egg comes to life with a great HEAVE and a mightier HOVE. Midnight blue topples sideways, twisting just slightly on heated sands before going still.

Katailea rolls her eyes at Keruthien. It's good natured really, but there's only so much time to spend in discussion as more of those eggs reveal what's hidden inside. She for one hasn't had time to notice the heat beneath her feet just yet, or at least to pay it any attention as green eyes try to track everything that's going on in front of them.

Balance of the Divine Egg hasn't stopped making its weird rumbling sound, but it is moving, now, at least. Tiny little shifts, back and forth, back and forth. It's not comfortable, can't find the comfortable spot, but it's going to get there. Or it's going to spinnerweb cracks all over it, one. Probably the second.

Khavro isn't prepared for the eggs to continue to break so quickly, even though that's kind of the point of the whole thing, isn't it? He stops moving, standing firm and frozen in place instead, green eyes moving from dangerous green to massive green.

Egg of the Eternal Dance sways, followed by the sound of a tap from inside the shell.

Ajral corrects, duitifully, "Yes. Three greens and a slew of moving eggs." However many of them there are; she's lost track. Hair is pushed with a dainty, manicured fingertip back behind her ear before she's reminded that it's wet, and pulls a face.

Stefyr could be darning his work-worn-out socks back at the farm. But he's here. Where his eyes bounce, and bounce, and bounce as eggs that were once so still become animate with their need to leave the egg. His eyes briefly flick toward his fellow candidates and blue eyes briefly to try to meet Keruthien's gaze for just a moment, some silent bro-ly communication launched that probably goes something like: Sh-hhh-eeelllllllls.

Keruthien would say more and perhaps he's distracted by the heat eating away at the thick soles of his sandals — or he's definitely distracted by the hatching of two more eggs. Especially that notorious one! There's another harsher exhaled breath this time. Maybe it was supposed to be laughter? But it comes out wrong. "How many greens is that now? Look at the size of the one!" He'll catch Stefyr's look and send the same unspoken communication. BRO, don't worry! They've all got this!

Ajral and Rhodelia both just said three, Keruthien, PAY ATTENTION.

The Masquerade Never Ends Green Hatchling doesn't waste any time. She's got places to be. With nary a glance back at her dam and sire, the green makes a beeline for the candidates, and — stumbles, long claws caught on eggshell. This seems to flummox the hatchling, who stares in wide-eyed indignation at the offending shell for a full half-minute before she continues, as if it never happened. You saw nothing, candidate in the first row, examined with narrowed eyes and aggressively mantled wings. RIGHT?

Evangeline watches kissed by the wild egg shatter and the striped hatchling appear on the sands. "Oh wow, is she striped" Another step backwards, whatever that thing is she is having none of it. All the activity all at once and for a moment her head goes to the exit. Looking for an exit while also trying to keep out of the way is a challenge and her stillness is broken by the second green entering the sands. One nervous bounce, Evi still a spectator in her own little space, in her own world. "What do we do if they come near us again?" GUlp, her hands go looking for pockets. NOTHING she didn't have time to put in pockets. No notes to read. Nothing.

Bombastic Cut-throat Fantastic Green Hatchling Bombastic Cut-throat Fantastic Green Hatchling doesn't need any time. She doesn't need a moment to think, to consider. She's waiting — still as anything, ignoring the concerned croon of her dam. A minute twitch of her tail is the only sign that she's noticed the attention. There's tension in every line of her barely restrained energy, not quite entirely held back. Toes shift, learn movement, memorize the way the sand feels. Wings fan in tiny flicks, but that's it for movement. She won't be moved until she's ready.

Pevrayna, off to the side a pace or two away from the rest of the hoard, favors the group nearest her with a narrow-eyed look. "You shouldn't talk so loud. Coy's an idiot, but he's right. I saw somebody lose a finger once. Startled a baby dragon." RUDE, PEV. The young woman is whispering all the same, though, glancing back pointedly at the wandering dragonets. She's old enough to know better, but who's counting, here.

Rhodelia isn't even sure how many dragons there are now as she stares about at the mass of cracking and wiggling eggs, slowly backing up a step or two. Khavro might not be the only one having second thoughts. Or seventeenth. "It'll be over quick." That's comforting, right?

Stefyr could have been milking bovines back on the farm, but instead he's here, shuffling his feet to ease the heat soaking through his boots whose soles simply aren't u[ to the task of full protection. His gaze jumps from Light of the Mother Moon Egg to The Masquerade Never Ends Green Hatchling— wait, when did that one get here? His eyes jump again to find the one he knew about, and his brow puckers as he watches that previously unnoticed green stumble.

Light of the Mother Moon Egg cracks, giant fissures ruining the cradle of whatever dragonette tries to escape from its confines. There's another mighty heave, and one rolling press of whatever's inside that shell sets one side to bulging… then caving inward. SO CLOSE. But so far.

< Galleries > Mildly, Matty's brows lift as a third green hatches, cause that was a lot of green right off the bat. His expression smooths back out again though not long after, apparently back to tracking whomever he'd come to see.

Ajral is attempting to keep with that boldness that she's cultivated — it's not even entirely faked — and not being bothered by these greens inspecting her. Even if the idea of riding green somewhat frightens her the way the other colors might not, and she's sure those baby dragons know it and aren't looking for her. But they do have to look! "Hold still and don't touch them unless they touch you," is her advice for Evangeline. And then a, "Yes," for Rhody, met with satisfaction. Bring the end. "Especially if they're all speedy little greens."

CRRRRgghgghlRRUUUUHH. Was that Cita's stomach, or was that thunder? Loud enough to be heard all the way into the sands? Well, buckle in, visitors — this one might need to pass before you can head out! Not that you'd want to leave, with all of these sweet baby dragons on the sands.

Samuven covers a yawn of his own, wiping water from his face and folding his arms over his chest as he watches now two greens wandering the sands. "They're going quick…" And all greens, so far! He can't seem to decide which one to watch as he looks back and forth between them. His voice is low and could easily be missed in the hubub, "Are they all gonna be green?" He chuckles nerviously.

Keruthien definitely knows how to count, thank you very much! No, seriously. Can anyone fault him? It's a wonder there's even words forming right now. He'll swallow thickly again, suddenly finding his mouth too dry and the sands too hot. Talk about sensory overload! He'll wipe at his brow with the back of his hand, casting Rhodelia a hopeful look. "That's all we can hope for, eh?" What to do? There's only a shrug to Evangeline, but in this chaos? Who knows if the gesture was caught.

Katailea ready to move should she need to, or just on edge with nerves as candidates are things really start happening out there on the sands - eggs hatching, dragonettes stumbling and what have you. "Just remember to breath," and everything will be okay. Right? The comment to herself or those beside her is anyone's guess though she does jump just a bit with the suddeness of that clap of thunder.

Khavro only now seems to remember that he's not the only person on the sands, and it's probably comforting. He glances at Rhodelia and tries to offer something like a smile, but maybe it comes out more like a grimace, before he's staring at the nearest hatchling again

Egg of the Eternal Dance rocks with a series of sharp raps from inside, and egg goo begins to seep from the fractured line along its shell.

The Beast That Calls the Egg shivers on the sands, a vibration as though whatever being trapped within the confines of its ovoid form cannot be contained for much longer.

The Masquerade Never Ends Green Hatchling thought so. Flicking gooey wings, the pale little dragon continues her march. There's somebody…somebody here, one of these in the blur of faces that crowd around her, or in one case, scuttle rear-over-teakettle out of her way. Not that she deigns to notice them, head swiveling, caught. That! It's here, it's…where. Wings jutting forward, eyes scanning the sweating group of young humans, the green makes a noise like whistling, frustrated. Where!

Balance of the Divine Egg seems to sigh, stopping its shifting, circling. Fine. It can't get comfortable, so it'll just hatch. Just like that, the shell shakes away in a hundred tiny bits. The large, spindly green that sits in the wreckage makes a face at all the mess. Gosh. How dare. With all the prickliness of an offended feline, she marches away from the egg, and straight to the line of candidates. One by one — a poke here, a headbutt there — she examines her choices, but was there really ever any choice? Solcady, among the eldest and probably least easy to get along with among the candidates, favors the green with the same kind of searching look she's offered. "Well." The young woman huffs, lifts chin just slightly as a Weyrlingmaster approaches to lead them off. "That sounds fine, Agadhith. I don't think they're going to starve you, though."

Rhodelia shrugs for Samuven's question. "I haven't seen a clutch that was all green, but stranger things have happened?" It is Xanadu after all. Home to the ridiculous. For now though, Rhody will answer Khavro's smile-grimace with an elbow-nudge of solidarity. "If I run, you run, okay?"

Joy of the Good Green Hatchling
Pleasantly perfect, if by perfect you mean 'middle of the road in every metric', this green doesn't need to stand out to live her best life. Clearly. She's a handsome ombre of shamrock, starting stygian on the sweep of well-formed wings meant for swift flight. Pine takes over along the delicate lower aspect of her 'sails, fades to hemlock by the time the curve of her long back comes into the picture. A slightly more yellow-olive shade accents graceful shoulders and haunches, loops down lazily into the vibrant emerald that comprises the curve of her ventral length. From the sweep of her delicate lower jaw, down well-proportioned neck and long belly, down to the very tip of her tail-fork does the very-green shade run, only overtaken when it starts down into shapely limbs. Here, grey tinged laurel brushes on down to the dappled lichen of her toes. The overall effect stays roughly within the same green: from dark along her dorsal side, to paler, below, a lovely fading effect for a lovely little green.

With a triumphant cry the Joy of the Good Green Hatchling has found its lifemate at last. After a few moments the Weyrlingmaster leads the new pair off the sands.

Light of the Mother Moon Egg doesn't so much burst as fall apart, a crumbling of elegant shell that leaves evidence of its existence on the snout-wings-tail of a newly hatched dragon. A shimmy-shake of that body, and bits of egg are shed. Now it's time for the fun part. Somebody came here to paaaaarty!

Poetry in Motion Gold Hatchling
There's something soft about this golden creature, something in her ample curves and simple face, a gentleness carried forth in her every feature - even in the strength of her stride, prim despite lacking in grace. There's little doubt of that spirit which her color shows, of a mother's steadfast admiration and easy humor; it's visible in a sunlit hide that shifts and glows, gentle brushings of ochre doing little to distill the rumor that perhaps she's more avian than dragon at all. Tawny paws are more suited to ground-pounding than launching a flight, and though wide wings are sure to never let her fall, to say her feather-print bulk belongs in the skies would be putting it… perhaps not-quite-right. At least she makes up for the dearth with her shimmering hide, sweet cinnamon dapples borne 'round her neck in pride.

Ajral is not judging you, Ruthien. Never. Promise. But she does stare upward and pull an even bigger sour face. "Are. You. Kidding me right now weather." Did a gold just hatch? Sorry, busy GIVING THUNDER THE STINK EYE right now and entirely unable to react to that!

Stefyr could have been walking the fences, narrowly avoiding herdbeast pies with his worn out boots, instead of here in those new-to-him boots procured from Weyr stores, which (sit down, hold on) still aren't doing the job where heat is concerned. There's more of a heat-dispersing dance from those big feet, his weight swaying from side to side. As he moves, he glances toward Rhodelia before the movement of the new green finding her lifemate draws his attention away. Then, of course, there's the obligatory jaw drop at the sight of a gold so small by comparison to every other gold he's ever seen. "Shells."

The Beast That Calls the Egg comes to life, splintering shell spiderwebbing outward and up, framing the red orbs of its shell in a way that lends depths to shadows that were not there only moments before. Perhaps, as it lies still again, it is watching you…

Khavro turns his head to actually look at Rhodelia when she nudges him, like the contact has helped to ground him for the better. "Right. Thanks. I'll run if you run."

Egg of the Eternal Dance cracks apart as a draconic headbutt against that fracture-line breaks its wall asunder.

Samuven covers shifting his feet by moving a little closer to the other candidates. But then there's that gold! His eyes widen a little and he drops his hands to his sides, "Four greens and a gold. All girls!"

Stand Up and Fight Green Hatchling
The contours of muscle and sinew are prominent beneath a hide of polished malachite, a bright green that draws the eye to this hunter of the skies. Her muzzle comes to a narrow point, well-suited to a precision strike, and fine tracework markings in paler celadon accent the contour of her cheekbones and outline the bases of her backswept knobs. She's lean in her overall build, favoring agility over strength, and her shape is well-balanced between a graceful neck and a tapered whip of her tail. Her wings have a pointed shape to their outline, suited to nimble flight, as the sails extend back from the spars they gradually become marbled with an increasingly olive shade, a shift from her dominant hues that leaves the trailing edges tinged with just a trace of brown.

Ilyscaeth has noticed the theme, here, and she likes it. All of her little green babies get approving rumbles, eyes flashing between joyful shades so fast that it's a muddled mess. She tracks all of her babies with the ferocious protectiveness of a mother, though, wings mantling a little over Cita's reclining figure.

Evangeline exhales sharply and sets her face, determined to stay still but it forces her to ball up her hands into fists. "Is she ok? She isn't moving." COncern for the little green hatchling who is sitting so still. The other green hatches and then a gold and she shakes her head so hard her braids hit her face, NOPE. "Why did I do this." Is said under her breath, small whimpers catching in her throat. "Stefyr, do you see her?" Her voice is weak, and it might not reach the man but there's an attempt. "Can, is leaving an option?" Her feet aren't moving but she wants to run. Ilyscaeth is watched for a long moment and another step back. There's now a gap between her and the girl next to her.

Bombastic Cut-throat Fantastic Green Hatchling Bombastic Cut-throat Fantastic Green Hatchling doesn't move until she does. With grace not exactly fitting of her newly-hatched status, the little green sinks nearly down to her belly and slinks along the edge of the sands. She doesn't pause. She's got a destination in mind, does the green. The distance between her and her target is only a minor problem. Something to cross with slow intent, slow enough that even the fumble of her brand-new feet on the sands is concealable. White-robed figures flicker on one side, meaningless but she doesn't even need to look at them, to know her destination, just move one foot after the other.

Keruthien winces a little for that whistling cry from the larger of the greens hatched. He could be pulling faces at a lot of things, right now! The overwhelming din of noise in general, for one! More eggs rock and hatch and he has to give his head a quick shake as if to rattle his already frayed senses back into order. "Jays, that wasn't… expected?" So much for coherency. He's totally going to reach out for someone's hand right now!

Ajral can't help but grin over at Samuven at that proclamation; once she's processed the gold (instead of the weather) and moved on from the thin terror. "I think you're right," she says. "All girls, every last one. Maybe one bronze for balance — are they usually?" That's redirected, that one was to Keruthien. "I can't remember ever seeing a gold hatch out of an egg that looked gold. Heard about it, sure, but seeing …"

The Masquerade Never Ends Green Hatchling is so close. She's crouched, now, red-whirring eyes slowly taking in one face, another. Not you. Not you. Not — ow! A sandaled foot too close to one of her drooping wings sends the little green tumbling, and before she can retaliate against the unfortunate candidate who accidentally tripped her, epiphany. Standing in front of her, auburn hair messy in the humidity of the sands, her own. Just like that. Ignore the strangled, surprised noise that sneaks out before she can help it, as The Masquerade Never Ends Green Hatchling surges forward to try her hardest to look her lifemate in the eyes. If she has to stomp on a foot to manage it, what's that to anybody but him?

< Galleries > Ah, a gold, at least that's what the tilt of M'ti's head seems to say. Admittedly with the arrival of yet another green those eyebrows shoot upwards despite himself. Was this whole clutch going to be female? Woe to Xanadu nearing graduation time. That was going to be interesting for sure, not that it shows on Matty's face as brushes some hair back behind his ear and returns to watching one particular clustering of candidates between checks on where the hatchlings were wandering.

Fool Moon Egg does a shimmy. Does a shake. Wiggle-wiggles this way, that, like a maraca. Anybody out there ready to PARTY? Yes? No? Of course you are, you're here for a hatching! SHAKE-SHAKE. Conga line, anybody?

With a triumphant cry it seems that the The Masquerade Never Ends Green Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

Rhodelia flinches at the thunder above, but the murmur of attention focused on the latest hatching has her eyes widening at that golden hide. "I guess that's one you don't have to run from?" Glass half full! "But that is a lot of girl dragons."

Poetry in Motion Gold Hatchling would like to welcome you her Grand Hatchening! So many guests all here to see her, oh my! What a fun time this will be! Come come, you all look so bored, so stiff! That won't do. Where's the wine, where's the bubbly? Point her at it and she'll bring it right to you! Bubbly for you, and bubbly for you, and bubbly for you! What, there isn't any? WHY NOT? Who's throwing this lousy shindig? That golden head tilts newborn eyes up and onto her dam — a sniff, a trill-tweep-cheep, and then she SPURRRRNS YOUUUUUUUUUUU. SPUUUUUUUUUUUURN, ILYSCAETH, SPUUUUR — welp. There she goes. Following her own hubris too close to that rise of sand and rolling right on down the side of it.

Katailea unconsciously shifts as the heat works it's way though her thin sandals. "Because you said yes," she replies to Evangeline's likely rhetorical question of why as another of the eggs cracks bringing the ot only another hatchling into view but a gold non the less. No, leaving is not an option at this point.

Ilyscaeth doesn't seem to notice any discomfort in the candidates. She's busy making sappy, proud little noises at all her perfect babies. Look at you! Yes, you, you're perfect, you're doing so good! Considering that she's staring hard at a candidate, maybe she actually is paying attention to them, come to think of it. THEY'RE HERS TOO, OKAY.

Khavro only jumps a little bit. Barely even noticeable. He does glance at the gold briefly, but so long as her talons stay far enough away, he must figure he doesn't have to pay much attention to her. Priorities. "A lot of girls."

Stand Up and Fight Green Hatchling plants her feet in the sands and rises from her eggshards. She lifts her head up high, trumpeting a challenge to the world no less fierce for the hatchling-squeakiness of her voice.

Stefyr could have been back at the farm, trimming goat hooves with varying degrees of success and painful lessons in failure. Instead, he's here, on the hatching sands, where the price of failure is markedly higher. He scans the action on the sands so tenuously "contained" by that semicircle of white robed figures. His eyes briefly linger on the faces of Katailea and Khavro, before he's watching that gold hatchling, brows dipping down, perhaps a little perplexed.

The Beast That Calls the Egg shatters, sending a mess of egg-goo flinging indiscriminately out, nailing one or FIVE candidates with the glory of its birthing. First comes a snout, bursting through just under those red-eyed dots, and then the rest of an egg-wet hatchling, clumsy in those first steps of freedom.

Prize Winning Produce Egg shivers under the fervent strain of life, sides heaving in boiling ripples that send the egg swaying this way with near violence before it goes still again.

More Than Just a Fable Bronze Hatchling
Behold, for the time of heroes is nigh! Here is one such champion now, a creature composed of valorous posture and teeming energy, for whom the word 'no' has little meaning, and 'stop,' even less. Unbridled valiance vibrates through corded musculature, lengthens his stride to something both gallant and bold, lofts his wings high and proud against his back, and still that infinite, untamed potential crackles at his every edge. Coloration does not so much temper as it does embolden him, brassy hide buffed to brilliance, his inner flame, his burning righteousness shining through cracks in his armature in scalding arcs. White-hot candescence beams from behind breastplate and greaves in sunny rays, shimmers along the glorified lines of pauldrons, sizzles the very skin beneath the helmeted arc of heavy headknobs before cascading back to turn wingtops into dazzling, dashing capery. Deep bronze surges up all four paws, twisting to form elegant chainmail braids beneath his wings before clanging down the length of his spine in one long, bladed point, as though a mighty sword were borne upon his back.

Evangeline 's slowly been backing away from this mess, very slowly. Don't be suspicious. The gold hatchling is watched, and a small giggle escapes but the other green loose is slithering around and it prompts a second step backwards. She was going to try and get out of here. Side step left. Now one backwards. Yep. "Do you think maybe I can use the bathroom?" she says out to Ajral, bouncing several times. "I just. This isn't for me.. This is a lot." Not everyone can just be brave ok.

Bombastic Cut-throat Fantastic Green Hatchling Bombastic Cut-throat Fantastic Green Hatchling finds her target easily enough. After all, it's hardly a difficult game, finding one face in a neat group of them, all lined up and easy to run through. She doesn't. The temptation is there, red flaring to life as she snarls low in her throat at one who stands in her way — but they melt away, leap to the side to avoid her, leaving her girl standing not so far in front of her. Graceful neck arching to fix whirring eyes on the murky green ones of her own, the green twitches her head once, an acknowledgment. A greeting. A universal gesture of let's get out of here. She got what she wants, and now, it's time to get down to business.

With a triumphant cry it seems that the Bombastic Cut-throat Fantastic Green Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

Keruthien might have felt someone's hand connect with his or perhaps his never quite lifted far enough, as the gesture stalls. He is blinking furiously next, brows furrowed deeply and mouth going slack as shock and panic start to bubble… but that ebbs as well. With it comes dawning realization and the hand that was casting about now haltingly moves forwards towards that green. "Kihatsuth! I…" Words? Lost. He sort of shakes himself out of the shock, stumbling more so into her, as well as alongside, as strength wavers. Whoo, what a rush! "Yes, of course. Right away…" Where? Yes. That way.

The Smoke That Rose Egg wiggles steadily, like somebody trying to get out of a sweater just a size or two too small. Surely, if it just keeps wiggling, it'll get that dratted sweater off. Just…give it a second.

Ajral's bravery is home-grown, that is to say it's a suit she wears tightly enough it feels like her own, but those times aren't always. It's just — at this point, this time is. Even if she does seem a little sad, knowing that to keep to her own goals, it's her last — but as soon as she's started to answer Evangeline's question, it seems she's … interrupted. Quite permamently. She's about to say something to the girl about how now she certainly can't, but — Keruthien also Impressed and so much like the gold at first, the bronze is missed so she can call over a, "Congratulations to you too!" before … well. This clutch has a problem: "Where are the blues?" Never mind that there also aren't any browns.

N'kon could ask the same question, Ajral. Blue is the best. Everyone with a lick of sense knows that.

Fool Moon Egg bounces, skips, goes skittering like it's been struck by a pool cue. CRACK, off of another egg it goes, sets to spinning in place like a top. The spinning seems to be helping little fractures form, round and round in a spiral pattern. Or…okay, maybe that's just that it's doing a spin and it looks spiral? Partying too hard, can't make sense of it. Come back later.

Rhodelia takes deep breaths, as if she doesn't take deep ones she might forget how the whole breathing thing works and that would PROBABLY be bad. She takes another few steps back as dragons seem to be coming over left and right. "Is that… Evangeline?" She's pretty sure that green just claimed the young weaver. "And Keruthien! Or uhhh…" He's probably changing his name, but Farnath help her if she can guess to what.

Prize Winning Produce Egg swivels where it lies, rolling in sand that rises to entrap it, keeping it still as vibrations send fractal fissures stretching, reaching, splintering along the length of brilliant shell.

Stefyr could've been shearing sheep, except it wasn't the season, but if those sheep had had to stand on these hatching sands and managed not to get tackled by a dragon that didn't have the faintest idea what it was really after with a woolly mouthful, he could've been shearing them here for they'd never have survived the heat with their coats intact. Stefyr himself is barely surviving, his Adam's apple bobbing in what might be nerves or more likely thirst from the way that sweat now trickles down the side of his face. His blue gaze touches on the new to the sands bronze, glancing from the hatchling to the big sire, eyes wide. They're definitely related, y'all.

Poetry in Motion Gold Hatchling IS JUST KIDDING! She's alright. That golden head peeks back up from beneath a blanket of hot-sticking-to-goop stuff, a shake of her whole self aiming to dislodge some and then she's back onto her feet witch a cheeeetwilltwillchee that sounds suspiciously like what a dragon might sound like if they could laugh. But they can't. So DON'T BE PREPOSTEROUS. That tiny-but-massive footing is regained, wobbly steps taken past Xermiltoth and Ilyscaeth both, each getting a chirrup of hello from their CLEARLY MOST FUN PROGENY as she does a jaunty little paw-cross, paw-cross, paw-cross move that might also be her dancing. You know, if dragons could dance. And if she didn't trip over her own limbs right back into the sand. WOOMPH. Oh, look. A shoe! Wufflechirrblecheep! Did you just scream a little, NAMELESS CANDIDATE? Well she loved it! Such a lovely falsetto, such talent!

DID THE LIGHTS JUST FLICKER. A particularly loud, distant snarl of thunder might be the culprit there. "Don't panic!" Is clearly the thing to say when nobody's panicking thank you, nameless person wearing an official-looking knot. "We have a generator." …right.

Katailea blinks, green eyes shifting toward the newly made pair at Keruthien's introduction of one of the greens. One hand reaches to catch Evangeline's hand as she steps back the other clenches a fistful of her robe. "It is." For here. "If I'm staying you are." So there Evi. But quickly enough its back to watching eggs and dragons, and well trying to keep it all straight.

More Than Just a Fable Bronze Hatchling HAS ARRIVED! And OH! Look there! An entire arena brimming to sing his praises and throw candidates at his feet! HUZZAH! That capable body snaps to attention, whirling eyes cast upon the line of white-robed hopefuls with an up-tilt of his chin, as if — already — this tiny bronze beast is poised in the confidence of his inevitable hero-ocity. VILLAINS! He knew he would be evil-doers doing EVIL outside of his shell. Very well. HE ACCEPTS YOUR CHALLENGE! CHAAARGE! … Maybe you should prepare to run.

< Galleries > Among the Impressions, M'ti rights himself a bit and stares down at the sands, the look on his face a rippling effect of emotion that existed but hadn't shown before it all disappears again just like that with a metaphorical snap of the fingers. Brows crease and then simply aren't as his eyes follow one of the newly made green pairings. It wasn't difficult to make out whom if they knew M'ti, but as soon as they're off the sands he's pushing off the pillar and making his way for the exit pointedly with his head down and his hair casting his expression into shadow.

Khavro swallows, trying to focus at least briefly on some of the new pairings as though it might give him some information about everything that he doesn't already have. "It happens so fast. I didn't expect it to be so fast."

Stand Up and Fight Green Hatchling is with her siblings! She is ready to take the battle to the candidates! She steps forth with only a little bit of wobble in her steps, regarding each with a keen-eyed gaze as she sifts through weaknesses for just the right strength.

The Smoke That Rose Egg fooled you good with that brief fake-out, yeah? You thought it was going to hatch but naw, baby, naw… It needs another chance to unravel, to spin a few more yarns and unwiiiiind. Is that a little toe-bean sticking out? Maybe? Couldn't be…

Ajral nods quickly, even if Rhodelia isn't looking at her: "I think so. Evangeline and whats-his-name," met with a smile, because yeah, it probably isn't staying Keruthien, but with a name that long there are so many possible options, "And I'd say everyone else gets greens too, but that is," a steady, slow motion of hand-arm outward, "obviously not the case." A gold and a bronze. But. No blues? The Smoke That Rose egg gets a curious little glance, too. "Wonder what that one's doing."

Evangeline was trying to escape, she really was. SHe just wanted a change of scenery, not to get killed. The green is coming closer and closer and she is back in the corner. Suddenly she stops, her hand going down to the neon striped green. Brown-green eyes go up to the stands, for a moment she is terrified, tears flowing down her face. All the work the universe had to do to get her here. Right now. Kneeling down she looks the green hatchling in the eyes and then steps back, pulling her robe edge up and bowing "Hello there, I am Evangeline. Though Evi works too, I guess. Um. You already knew that, though. We can fix my hair Neifeth. We can get food, we can. We can do a lot." Her hands go to the green head. Life changed. "Um. I .. I didn't really get this far." Subtly her shoulders go back, her head tilts up and she moves over to the side of the sands. Changed.

Rhodelia cautiously eyes those flickering lights as she eyes the nearest emergency exit. Any hatchlings between her and it? No? Gooood. "It always happens fast. But the plus side… somehow the headwoman's staff always gets the party set up even faster." It's like they have advance notice or something. She also glances at the slow moving egg that Ajral points out. "Maybe that will be a blue? Good things come to those who wait?"

Prize Winning Produce Egg comes apart — not so much an explosion as a concave collapse that surges outward again to birth an egg-wet hatchling. Snout and bulky shoulders come first, wings second, tail last until it's dripping the indignity of its origin at sire and dam both.

Stefyr could have been home, spreading manure on the crops. The big blond flicks his gaze around at Stand Up and Fight Green Hatchling and Prize Winning Produce Egg and finally to his fellow candidates, his brow dipping in unguarded concern, only to break into a smile and whoop loudly (EMBARRASSINGLY) when Keruthien and green find one another. He probably shouldn't look away from the hatchlings but he can't seem to help letting his eyes trail the pair a moment longer before he shakes his head and brings his eyes back to greens, SO MANY GREENS, and the two oddball siblings on the sands. Where were they all again? The thing about hatchlings that are no longer enshrined in their eggs is that they move.

The Greater Warrior Brown Hatchling
Oh Faranth, he comin'. This brown is a beast in the most classical sense, massive of paws, massive of chest, massive of wings, massive of — well, surely the picture he paints is clear. He is a damp loamy brown at base, the length of his hide leeched and faded with pale, frosted tones, like a pelt left to drag across snow-crusted ground. Pale whites, beiges and greys tick the stout bridge of his nose, brighten the baggy pouches beneath his eyes, before sweeping along his neck to form a fine ruff about his shoulders. There they are met with warmer copper tones, a soft aura of hope forming about twin hearts, hearts that beat to the tune of summer's song even in the winter's hardest hold. Hearty hickory ruffles compete with umber's more stalwart tones, darker depths draping over his wings and thick, heavy haunches before fading to a color so sepulchral it's almost black at the tips of his tail. Undersides are a matched pair - rounded stomach and wings both grow brighter as they fade back, leading siennas giving way to rich caramel, soft gingerbread and - as the color fades off the edges of wings, surrenders to dark haunches - bright tawny that speckles its way across the rest of belly and wings in cheerful mockery of the cold clusters of snow that gather on broad shoulders. Wide, flat paws seem to be geared more for walking than takeoffs and landings, each dipped in that same deep-dark brown of his tail, metallic rings of varying shades encircling each finger and toe hinting at a big of refinery that his otherwise round, rugged appearance might bely. There's something that his brown is hiding, something that sets him apart from the rest of his species, something encapsulated in clever eyes, gold claws, and slow, purposeful movements that puts him a step above the rest.

Poetry in Motion Gold Hatchling pops to her feet with infinitely more enthusiasm this time, because this time she has a goal, a purpose. Those unsteady feet are back under her again, carrying her along at a speed that might be a little alarming, and she's beaming confidence down on YOU, and YOU, and YOU! You're all looking goooood! So good. You even brushed your hair for this, didn't you? So shiny. She can tell. That chin tilts up as she moves along the line, a stumbling mess of limbs that never quite seems to steady out, so it's entirely possible that this stumble-trip-fall into a flaxen-haired candidate with seafoam eyes is an accident. Or maybe it was on purpose, because there's a definite nose-to-nose boop that happens on the landing there. YOU'RE FINE, RIGHT? You're probably fine. You've definitely been worse thought, RIGHT? Right. Better yet: ALRIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT.

With a triumphant cry it seems that the Poetry in Motion Gold Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

Samuven quickly counts the hatchlings, a small frown forming between his brows. That's a gold, five greens, and a bronze. Or is it six greens, now? They're so… And that train of thought is gone as Keruthien starts leading one of the greens off the sands and he calls congratulations to both Keru and then, "Evi! I knew you'd be fine." It's offered with a light laugh!

Fool Moon Egg doesn't stop spinning, quite. It rocks back and forth, though, an increasingly wild spiral that flakes off bits of shell as it goes. Before long, it can't keep this up, but it can split right in two, revealing a wild tangle of long limbs and a very dizzy blue dragonet. Woah. He takes a moment to get his bearings, but there's somebody stumbling towards him, and the second the dragonet meets her eyes, he's on his feet. It's a short scuttle, but the girl who catches him is sturdy enough, and she's laughing by the time he gets to her. "You're dizzy 'cause you spun 'round a hundred times, Tcyralth!" Loucialla — Louci, now — shakes her head as one of the Weyrlingmasters comes to escort her and her little dragon off of the sands.

Effervescent Abyss Blue Hatchling
Echoing his brighter, brinier sister in pattern, this long, lean blue starts deepest teal over the majority of his hide. Glittery speckles of ultramarine and briney cobalt brings brightness to an otherwise somewhat unsaturated expanse of hide, but doesn't quite brighten it out of the abyssal depths. It shadows overlong wings down almost to the trailing edge, shifts bright-dark down a topline similarly too-long, too-rangy. Even his legs, fading to near-black at the toes in an echo of the upper-side of his wings, are more awkwardly long than average. This blue might be easy to miss at night, if not for the mealy pattern of his lower half. Saturation amps up, pales the teal to nearly robin's egg in a deluge of bubbly dapples down sharp lower jaw, neck, belly, tail. It overtakes the final half of his tail, fades out a little to brighter cyan at the forked tip. The same brighter shade brushes down between sharp eye-ridges, angular nose, fades into the bubbly, vibrant shade of his lower jaw, softens the otherwise dangerous cast to this blue.

With a triumphant cry the Effervescent Abyss Blue Hatchling has found its lifemate at last. After a few moments the Weyrlingmaster leads the new pair off the sands.

Khavro glances up, then sideways at Rhodelia, and then at the blue who does impress. There's just too much going on for him to process everything, but there with the gold making her choice, he does back away again. Space! He needs space.

The Greater Warrior Brown Hatchling chirp-trills at Ilyscaeth, that head twisting as any curious puppy's might, those eyes taking in the visage of dam in all of her glory and — and then sire. Triiiilllll-up. Cheep. One foot comes forward, then the next, a stumbling, clumsy first attempt at new limbs that have him picking one from the sand and ducking his head as if he intends to look at it. Chirp-trup! Down that paw goes, followed by the next, and the next, and the next until — plop. He caves in a heap near his dam, tiny legs sprawled out at four points, wet-wings pressing full length to sands, tail-and-chin gathering bits of it on egg-goo that remains. Hello, Ily! Don't mind him. He just… he just needs to catch his breath. On your forepaw. Cheep.

Ajral sees the blue hatch, sees the blue Impress, lets out a, "Oh, it's about time." Maybe there's only one but at least there is one. As is thematic for Ajral so far on this wet, thundery night, it's only after a brief distraction that she parses the gold's selection. To someone who is riiiiiight next to her. It's not a grin; it's a slow, meandering smile that spreads across her face until it's bright fit to bursting. But it's not a grin.

Stand Up and Fight Green Hatchling has found what she wants, and she's here to take it! Her wings flare in her rush to meet that chosen candidate, their span shielding from the view of others that moment as her gaze meets eyes whose green will forever match her hide.

With a triumphant cry it seems that the Stand Up and Fight Green Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

Stefyr could have been picking up day-old (possibly explosive?) wherry carcasses, back on the farm, but he's here with shattering eggshells and flying goo. Where would he rather be? Maybe here (finally, for real), if the cheer he gives when Evangeline impresses to the green. If anything, at least the bits of flung yuck are more homogeneous in nature (possibly less smelly… Possibly).

The Greater Warrior Brown Hatchling truuuum-cheeps! at Xermiltoth, that head tilting from where it rests upon Ilyscaeth's paw as if whirling eyes and sound alone might capture the attention of the bronze. Chirp. Cheep. Chee! Finally his head rises, those clumsy legs pulled to support the bulk of his body from underneath, those egg-wet wings dragging as clumsy steps take him away from Ily (who gets a bunt of tiny head) so that he might make his way too-quick towards sire. WHUMP. Down he goes again, this time tucking his wings in against sides and tucking his legs under him so that he might embrace the reality of becoming a dragon-loaf. Chirp-trill. Cheep. A shimmy-shake runs the length of that body, as if a tiny bird fluffing feathers in contented comfort while he converses with Xermiltoth about… well, the candidates really. Probably. That's where his eyes are focused, after all, despite the fact that he's come to rest (once more) against harlequinned hide.

Ilyscaeth all but melts, making happy burbling noises at the hatchling brown. You're perfect! PERFECT. Do y'all see this baby?, the gold seems to ask, head flicking back and forth, one wing pointing. LOOK at him.

More Than Just a Fable Bronze Hatchling MEANT TO MISS ON PURPOSE! Though you are all slightly less dead than he was expecting. His shiny body kicks up sand as he comes to a graceless halt, haunches pressed into sand, tail flung wildly behind him before that, too, comes to a stop. There's a chirrup-cheep that escapes him, a tilt of that impressive head as whirling eyes reassess the VILLAINY BEFORE HIM. CHALLENGERS. AND HIS SISTERS BETRAY HIM. NO MATTER. This was but a hiccup! Prepare to meet destiny, white-robes!

Rhodelia is reeling, as unsteady on her feet as the not-so-little hatchling she finds at her feet, booping her nose on the way to a fall. Is she crying? There's definitely something being wiped away from her face with her sleeve as she helps to steady the gold up. "How do you even know how many sixteen is, Inasyth? Anyways, the meat is this way…" A way that Rhodelia always knew there was but never got to go through before. A first time for everything!

< Galleries > Nessalyn just points and laughs at Rhody. SUCKERRRRRR. (That?s probably affection.)

The Smoke That Rose Egg doesn't have to wait long. It needs only a beat before it's at it again, this time working halves of the shell in heaving wriggles. CRACK, and thump, and there she is! Wide wings shake of shell hemispheres, flare wide in a ta-daa! The little sea-green dragonet takes a moment to soak in the accolades for a job well done, then she's off like a shot. Or well, like an extremely sozzled wherry, since she hits Xermiltoth's paw after only a few strides. "Sezoruth!" The youngest in the class — a boy whose voice cracks when he shouts for the green, goes on shaky knobbly-knees towards her — calls, alarmed. This, apparently, is enough to redirect the little green. She meets him half-way, a wiggling ball of sparkling hide and joy. "Ri'tah? Really?" The boy laughs, but lets a Weyrlingmaster lead him off all the same.

Dazzle and Dare Green Hatchling
Energy barely contained, this tiny green is all curves — a blunt snout, permanently-round belly, oddly rounded wings — and movement. She's a small little thing, compact in form with a short neck and stumpy little tail, and vibrantly jade-to-sea all over. Cool sea-green sets a soft stage for sparkling jade, never quite the same shade from one inch of hide to the next. The short, sturdy curve of the underside of her neck shades from jade to near-aquamarine in the very middle, a line that stretches from blunt jaw to the fork of her tail. The jade that deepens the shade some sparkles upwards, a glittery path of bright sparks up her round belly and babyish face. The same cool, pale green freckles the upper sides of her short, round-ish wings, while the underside of the trailing edge gets the most-different green on her whole hide — pale green nearly malachite in intensity. The jagged, spotty band of color fades into the same celadon-jade ticked hide of the rest of her a third of the way down the broad sails, dazzling to the very last.

With a triumphant cry the Dazzle and Dare Green Hatchling has found its lifemate at last. After a few moments the Weyrlingmaster leads the new pair off the sands.

Ajral is rapidly running out of people to talk to about anything at all, at least people she knows — so for now it's Stefyr and Stefyr alone. Without a doubt, Stefyr will be the next to Impress and be stolen out from under her, "Is that brown stopping for a chat?" she asks, amused. Maybe it's to Stefyr and the air.

Stefyr could have been hauling hay bales, which might be a task that would leave him with fewer muscle knots than the tension than he'll have when the hatching is over. His shoulders roll and his head bobs side to side, trying to loosen the greatest culprits even as he watches the newest green find his lifemate in Ri'tah, trying to force some of the rigidity out of his frame. His eyes follow The Greater Warrior Brown Hatchling briefly but long enough to see Rhodelia impress, his unconscious smile cracking to wide, wide grin.

More Than Just a Fable Bronze Hatchling will never let you get away! Did you think that you might run from him? Did you think that you might ESCAPE with your pretty little 'IF I WAS ON A FARM RIGHT NOW' DREAMS? FOOL! Here comes a whole heck of a lot of too-quick hatchling, barrelling forward at breakneck speeds to deliver a healthy heaping dose of encouragement!! … Right into the ribs of one particularly (un)lucky blonde candidate. Oh, don't mind that crunching sound. Or the wheezing. He might have almost slain this one with his radiating valor, but at least he did it bravely!

With a triumphant cry it seems that the More Than Just a Fable Bronze Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

Katailea raises a hand to brush back a lock of hair from her face, holding it behind her ear for a moment before letting go. A nervous smile of either congratulations or encouragement as the case my be being sent to some of those nearest as impressions are made.

The Greater Warrior Brown Hatchling honks — yes honks, a sound giddy with newborn excitement as those eyes fix on something, on someone. Cheep, chirp. Chee-trill-chup! It takes a sliding press of his form against Xermiltoth to stand, a brush of cheek-maw-knob against his sire in clear affection as he gathers himself up and makes that perilous journey from lifegivers to lifemate. There is no need for this pudgy brown to walk the rows of white-robed selection, because he already found his. Here. That maw tucks underneath the arm and in against the side of one candidate with light brown hair. Here he is. Here is home.

With a triumphant cry it seems that the The Greater Warrior Brown Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

Khavro yelps when, well, nothing actually seems to happen to him. But he calms quickly, wide green eyes captured by a small green dragon. "We're together now?" isn't as anxious as it could be. He's pretty convinced. Everything's fine. "Let's hunt, Koth."

Ajral is a curse that forces people to Impress when she speaks to them! This is either a true talent, or a really big problem, depending on where she might take it — but she has her eyes widening and lips pressing firmly together when the bronze crashes straight INTO Stefyr. "Shells," she squeaks, "Are you okay?" SEE, SHE SHOULD BE WORKING INSTEAD OF STANDING.

Samuven calls congratulations to the other new pairs, wincing a little when Stefyr is clobbered. The sailor-candidate shifts again, and suddenly finds himself alone! Eep! He shifted so much that he shifted himself away from the others! Maybe there's time to shuffle back over to stand with everyone else? But what if he looks like he's trying to hide by going running back to the others? He shakes his head and squares his shoulders, determined not to look like a coward in front of the hatchlings or gathered crowd.

Stefyr could've swinging a scythe at tall stalks, IN SHIRTLESS GLORY, instead he's wearing a white potato sack which frankly does only a little to diminish his presence, broad shoulders carrying the fabric in a flow of white to below his knees. He's here, on the sands. Here, having trouble breathing. Wait— is air important? Yes, it is. But it's hard to get a breath now, and not just because there's this bronze hatchling all up on his chest, his aching, painful chest. He reaches arms up but doesn't seem to know just what to do to safely disengage this misguid-…. oh. Stefyr startles and goes completely still. This man may have been put through one of the most rigorous brain preparations possible due to sheer proximity with certain LARGE, VOCAL (hush, y'all, we're being polite) dragons in his day to day life at the Weyr, but nothing could ever have prepared him for this. His eyes fall on the hatchling and don't leave. "Glorioth?" is a weak question, possibly because are you kidding him now and he might just flick an accusing glance past this… this lifemate and to his lifemate's sire. His lifemate. He groans as he pushes the dragonet off, a little off, hopefully not too much off. "Let's… defeat the foe? I guess?" F'yr sounds entirely too unsure for someone who's just made a lifetime commitment to GLORY AND HONOR.

« Aw. » Ilyscaeth was so happy, watching her babies, but they're not her babies any more — she doesn't have any more to watch. Citayla evidently takes this as her cue, since she stands with some difficulty, hands the blanketed bundle off to one of her Weyrmates (CATCH!), and moves to stand in front of the pouting gold. "Thank you all." The healer addresses the group still standing in the wake of the chaotic hatching. She takes her time meeting every pair of eyes, smiling a rueful little smile as she links hands behind her back and straightens shoulders. Ilyscaeth takes this opportunity to remember that she still has babies, because these candidates are also hers, and paces out from behind the rider, making it a little difficult for Cita to manage her task. WHAT'S NEW. "Your lifemate wasn't here today. They might be here, soon," You know, LEIRITH. "Or later. Whether you stay with us, or head back home, or somewhere new entirely, you have been a joy to have. I know I'll never forget you, and Ilyscaeth says she won't…" It's a lie. But she'll try, okay, and anyways she's already issuing rough pats with her wing-thumb and affectionate head-bunts where she deems necessary, pacing among the crowd to comfort her other babies. Cita clears her throat, speaks up, thank you Ily. "But now? You deserve a nice bath and a good meal, if you're up for it. The cooks have been working all evening." The rider smiles, and then turns to the crowd filing out of the stands. "You're welcome to park in the caverns for the feast, and, ah," The lights flicker, promisingly. "Wait out the storm!" That out of the way, the goldrider wincingly makes her way off of the sands. Somebody get that lady an ice pack.

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