Dashiell Touches the Eggs

Xanadu Weyr - Hatching Sands
The large circular "stage" is surrounded on one half by a towering wall, thin slit windows high overhead letting in some light without truly endangering the objects on the sands, though plenty of lights are spaced at human-level all the way around. The other half is ringed by the dark blue seats of the observation level, rising upwards towards the back wall. 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.

Dashiell steps out onto the sands cautiously, having been rounded up by the Candidate-nanny-of-the-moment. His small group eeks out onto the sands, with Dash looking a little disgruntled, for having been about to stuff his face with food. However, he bows low as he ever does, with the light flourish toward Kilaueth, and approaches the eggs. This time, it's previously unvisited eggs he seeks, settling down after a moment of indecision, beside the Far side of the World egg. "Hi." he murmurs as his palm decends. "Don't worry if you hear snarling and grumbling. That's just my stomach. Believe me, I think when you crack up and out of there, you'll be in a world of sympathy."

« In Dashiell's Mind: Scratchings of Pencil Lead and Groans of Waterlogged Wood wash in and out like the sea, the pencil pausing almost at once upon your greeting. Scents of surgical scrub layered over with salt of the sea tickle your nose in concern. There's a tinkling of glass and the flitting of dim lights, like candles, before it offers you something. The scents of warm bread and cheese waft into the two two, a strange concoction. Would this do? It does well for it, as it is. »

Dashiell's stomach makes a rather /loud/ growling noise at the immitation of food scenes. It's quite embarassing to the redhead, and he sheepishly peers around, just to check if anyone heard other than his own ears (which broadcast the noise on FM to his brain) and he leans in closer to the ovoid. "Whereas I appreciate the sentiment, I have a feeling if you carry on with that kind of malarky, I'm going to start drooling on your shell." he confides, strokes along the curve of the egg with his palm, and offers further enlightenment. "For your records.. I'm Dash. Seems like you're on a long voyage inside there.. see anything interesting lately?" - He imagines something he found lurking under the washboard tub earlier: A crab that looked at him with suspicion, and skuttled away before he could react. "We've got quite a few oddities around here at the moment."
« In Dashiell's Mind: Scratchings of Pencil Lead and Groans of Waterlogged Wood record something as the scent is withdrawn. It apologises most profusely with the gentle sound of water deep in the base of your mind. So you cannot be satisfied mentally alone? Only physically? Scratchings resume quickly and then pause again, recording this too. Dash. That's a good name. It writes that down aswell as the lights flicker in thought. Within the groans of wood is satisfaction that thanks to visitors like yourself it has seen so much. Papers ruffle and a little and at the image of the crab it takes great interest. What sort of oddities? Oh… The lights flicker again. It should not pry so. Though the curiosity progresses in the turnings of pages in a book. »

Dashiell grins silently, as if a smile is a noisy affair to start with, and with his gaze going distant in the contours of the egg, and the patterns that dot it's shell, he searches his thoughts. An image of a punchdrunk miniature dragon.. in truth a firelizard, but his mind's eye sees the creature as a dragon in miniature, latching onto a bit of meat four times the size of his own head, and dangling from Dash's fingers. Then, there's washing things endlessly, day in day out, with a brief interlude of two people streaking past, absolutely buck naked, and squealing at the top of their lungs follows, with a 'blink blink' of mental hiccuping at the sight. "Lots of things to see, when you're out and about. It's interesting what you can find in the most mundane things, mind-traveller." he murmurs. "You're a polite one.."

« In Dashiell's Mind: Scratchings of Pencil Lead and Groans of Waterlogged Wood flurry away with pure delight. It's paticularly interested in the little dragon and the image can be seen as it's sketched as if watching a magical drawing pad. A paticularly loud wooden groan of excitement at all these new things emits. Then sudden feelings of calculateing logic to the streakers. What could their purpose be? It had already established taht its visitors needed these shreds of fabric to survive. Pages flip like mad as if it cannot record things fast enough, pausing now and then to dwell with curioisty. It listens to you, signified by the pausing of the pencil before the exotic scents of many herbs and spices breathe forward in agreement. As for it's politeness it ads the humblest of thank yous as there's a click of a downed pencil. »

Dashiell's eyes flicker closed, nodding his head redundantly to the thinker within the shell. "You're welcome." he offers in a murmur. The speech, he's coming to realise, is unnecessary to communicate with the eggs, but like all humans, Dash clings to the necessaries to be able to rationalize what he's doing. /He/ after all, is not a telepath. "They do it for attention. Attention, or the lack thereof, is something humans crave." he explains dutifully. "Sometimes, it's by bright, flambouyant clothing.." images of gather dresses and foppish outfits, and for some reason, hats with silly feathers in them, sticks out in his mind as offerings. "Sometimes, it's by their voice, or their skill." An image of Danewt and his sister float out, distorted by recollection, and he grins. "Sometimes it's by deed, or reaching forth. Showing off, if you like, as to what you can do with yourself.. probably some kind of headologist mind-healer type would tell me it's all a big mating ritual." That causes him to puzzle it perplexedly. "Bright colours, outrageous behaviour.. yah." Of course, unbidden comes the tribal oooking, aaaking, and hopping up and down of a bunch of humans, recalled from getting to see one of the landing history files.

« In Dashiell's Mind: Scratchings of Pencil Lead and Groans of Waterlogged Wood go about. Yes. Yes. It made much sense indeed. There's rustling of papers and the sound of books being opened and filed through. Images of avian, feline, runner, dragon, herdbeast, all having something to do with gaining attention. Mating ritual. The sound and image of the word being clearly written out flickers across your mind. It sketches pictures of the hats. It lacks color so instead it writes it. How it would love colored writing tools. A few colors, green, blue, yellow, brown and red, dance across your mind but there's a clunk of wood as those thoughts are shoved into some drawer, put away for now. It reviews the notes, more rustlings of papers, absent wonderings of your own endeavors in this department whispering as the pages turn. It will not full acknowledge them after all. That'd be rude. »

Dashiell barks a laugh unbidden. "You want to know about /my/ escapades on the mating rituals department?" he asks, then almost slaps himself in the forehead for voicing it aloud, peering around to check that he wasn't overly noisy with that little outburst. No overt signs of disapproval meet him, and he breaths a sigh of relief, tapping an index finger on the egg's shell. "Well, they've not been wholely successful, and one was distincly aided by another female." he replies… showing images of a brownhaired girl, and a blond egging him on in a dare, to kiss the first one. "Women are odd creatures, I'll have you know. If you're a male, you'll find that out for yourself…" .oO(Am I too fat? Am I too thin? You should be a fashion consultant. Oh, isn't he just so cute? No! I won't ask him to court me! What, you think he can't figure out? If -you- don't know what -you- did wrong, I sure as heck am not going to tell you!) a vivid, mental dialogue, in a faux woman's voice. "Trust me.. it's almost like a game of strategy." With a fond little pat of his hand to the shell, he rises. "But I've given you plenty to think about… I should visit one of your siblings."

« In Dashiell's Mind: Scratchings of Pencil Lead and Groans of Waterlogged Wood creak with startled curiousity. Fickle creatures, it seems, yes. It anticipates that in writing, unsure if it shall be the one providing such banter or getting the earful. It writes these phrases, as well, to pour over later and analyze. Curiousity pins now on why one would assist the other? There's the sound of big bell. Clang clang. Clang clang. The pencil pauses and attention is directed away momentarily. It reurns to you with a waft of chill wind and drops of rain, the water in the base of your mind deepening. It apologizes most profusely but it must take its leave. Papers rustle quickly and pencils can be heard put into drawers along with various other clicking and clanking objects. These sounds, having the stead rocking in and out now seem to fade each time they come in. The bell still tolls on, but it too is fading. At least only the bell… then nothing. »

Dashiell nods to the egg, catches that he is infact, nodding to an egg, and sighs to himself. "Batten down the hatches, my little friend." he murmurs, rises, and heads to the next egg of choice. A hmmming and a haahing, and an inadvertant rubbing of his hungry stomach later, and he steps over toward the First star to the right egg. Looking left, looking right, he crouches, buffs a little sand off the surface with his forearm, then takes the egg by both sides of its apex. Perhaps the 'starry' eggs have given him somewhat of a shocking ride in, before? Ohyes. Floating in space can sometimes give you vertigo to start out with. "Hello there… are you awake?" whispered.

« In Dashiell's Mind: Tinklings Of Tiny Gold Bells loop in, a bright ball of light gleaming so brilliantly at the joy of itself. It loops in tiny cartwheels, shimmering and jingling with gay laughter. Oh how wonderful to be me! It seem to declare in every flicker and chime. There's a pause. It wheels about to you and tinkles marrily. Of course it is, oh silly one! How could you not know? There's a spray of glitter upon you, dazzling and twinkling like stars within your mind. Isn't that just wonderful? A little tune pipes in the back of your mind. It soars around you, and it's own glitter jingling and piping merrily. »

Dashiell's face pulls into one of those sheepish, astounded kind of snow-dazed expressions, all blinking and gawmless grins. One must admit, the assault of glitter, sunshine and gleeful mischief is enough to have any poor chap reeling in his boots initially. It appears that clasping the apex of the egg didn't help any… "Well, you never know, you could have been pretending to sleep, to lull me into a false sense of security, little bit." Uh-oh… nicknaming eggs. "What are you up to in there? Zipping around like a glow-fly in the dewdrops?"

« In Dashiell's Mind: Tinklings Of Tiny Gold Bells chime merrily at such talk. You speak fanicifully. More so than other visitors! What joy! It shimmers a moment. What a wonderful idea! The little glowing light about it tinges green atonce at the thought. To pretend to sleep. Perhaps it shall try that next time? Whisps of shimmering gold spin about you gleefully. Why playing of course! Suddenly a landscape blasts out from the shimmering whisps, a jungle, brilliant green with various bejeweled tropical flowers and fruit. Where is the little shimmer-star of a mind? Boo! It pops out from behind a leaf before you and spins about. The bells tout low and ominous, though a glimmer of joy hides behind them to show it is only pretend. Something, in this little one's imagination, draws near. »

Dashiell grins, his eyes flickering unseeing over the surface of the casing surrounding this mind, taking in features whilst his mind plays host to this sprite of sprites. "I /see/.." he doesn't but there we go. "Playing hide and go seek in a vista of foliage and imagination, are you? Well, /tag/ you're it…" he chuckles brightly, feeling like a total fool, and starts to play his finger over the shell, zigzagging it this way and that, loop the loops and spirals done without mind to what his hands are up to. His thoughts though, turn tail and run, dodging through memories of his own forests, along roads seldom travelled, hopping streams, past a thousand different sights of Pern, to hide ontop of the red butte. By the by, little bit, that takes a long time to climb, if you don't have wings.

« In Dashiell's Mind: Tinklings Of Tiny Gold Bells are off in persuit. Each image you come up with it given a toss of glitter over it and the colors become more vivid and bright. A tune, that befitting of a chase scene, plays When it reaches this place, red butte, it is labled it spins about. Where did you go? It's gonna find you alright! Zoom, tinkle, here and there, back and forth, in and out of crevices, a trail of golden glitter left behind to follow back. It is more or less looking into your mind. If there are places where there are holes your imagination is expected to fill them with -something-. Indeed shimmering golden spark chimes, like a giggle, with glee as it slides down a tunnel in the rock that was put there simply for not knowing what what actually there. And surprises of surprises! You are found! It jingles with glee and pride Oh the cleverness of me! It declares spraying you with ambery sparkles before speeding off into it's jungle, zooming here and there before pausing and diving behind a tree. Jingles of merry laughter can be heard, though the happy little light is concealed. »

Dashiell shakes his head slowly from side to side. It's easy for this egg to entirely daze the onlooker, if the person's not careful, that's for sure! Still unaware of the zippedydoodad of his fingers playing over the shell, Dash fills each hole with toys and trinkets, momentos of journeys, from hairbeads to handicrafts, from jack in the boxes to saggy, stuffing-sad teddies. "Got me." he murmurs once he's once again been found, he laughs lightly. "You're a playful little thing." And let us not say, at any point, that they don't believe in fairies. The sound of one hand clapping as the other tries to keep contact with the surface is a little /too/ hard to achieve, and a tad too existential. "Do you dream of adventures, locked away in there, little bit?" he asks.

« In Dashiell's Mind: Tinklings Of Tiny Gold Bells speed forth from its hiding spot curiously, game so easily replaced with something new. It shimmers a moment, undertones of sad blue lurking into it's rays. Indeed it does. There is only so much in it's little tropical island paradise that it has created for itself. It pipes a sad little tune of longing. To touch and feel. More than just thoughts? How wonderful it must be. To live would be a great adventure. Suddenly it changes to purple then little tinges of pink. It will not think sad thoughts! You cannot make it! »

"Oh sad thoughts bring rain…" Dash automatically tells it. "…and rain is fun in its own way.. makes you very wet, and bedraggled, and then, if there's company around, there's usually hugging and huddling for warmth. But sad is as sad does.. if you /stay/ sad? That's a bad thing. But you have to be sad sometimes, to appreciate what happy is, right? If you're happy /all/ the time, how will you ever know the joy of it?" Wow. Blinking at himself at his own bit of enlightenment, he stares at his hands on the egg, stilling the squiggly lines. "To touch…" And here he closes his eyes, and shuffles his shoulders beneath his jerkin, letting the fabric move around there, leather and lining on his skin roughened and smooth in the right places. "… and to taste." ooooooh darnit! Grumbly stomach again. And what does he do? Imagine eating a sweet and juicy strawberry, all sprinkled with sweetener, and going down like bliss. "Living is a great adventure, yes, but it's not all sparkles."

« In Dashiell's Mind: Tinklings Of Tiny Gold Bells jingles huffily, still angry for the sad thoughts, but it reguards these thoughts and feelings about rain curiously and a bit covetously. Soon the anger at the sad thoughts are forgotten and it shimmers curiously at the idea of strawberries and fabric. It has never felt or tasted those. It can only imagine. There's a tinkling as it carefully lifts these sensations from you. Then a joyus chiming at each of them! These are not sparkling and as beautiful as it and teh world it has created, but they are different! Different! And that is always wonderful! »

Dashiell grins at the eggshell. "I highly doubt /anything/ could be as sparkling and beautiful as you are." And thusly, this egg is a /female/ quite firmly in Dash's mind. If the other egg wasn't busy, he'd sneak over there and inform it of it's nearby sibling, and it's distinctly feminine twinkle. Testing a theory, Dash brings other things to mind, to offer: A bright boll orchid, high dew-encrusted mountain flowers in the seven spires of High Reaches. You get the drift.. lots of pretty things, glittery things and sparkly things. Here and there, a brooch encrusted with gems that he saw on the collar of a handsome noble at a gather, there a set of opal earrings on the lord's escort.

« In Dashiell's Mind: Tinklings Of Tiny Gold Bells examine each of these with increasing joy! Gay laughter returns, sensations like feathers dancing about among the glitter that composes this mind. It adds dew drops and jems and flowers to it's own repetoire, hiding them in the various places of its jungle hideaway. All that and more lies beyond this place? Chiming merrily it cannot wait to escape it's jungle and see the world beyond! Even with the decadance and fanciful adventures, the jungle island is so dull to the subtleties of the outside world! »

Dashiell smiles at the eggshell, 'tickling' it at the top, as his hand slowly withdraws. He gave it a bunch of things to play with, and tinker over, some treasures to put into little hiding places, and a thimbleful of fun. "I don't think it's going to be long before you -are- free, little bit. Then, you'll be all over everything like a rash. I think I'm also betting five fingers to a fist, that you're a girl."

« In Dashiell's Mind: Tinklings Of Tiny Gold Bells twitter curiously at this 'girl' thing but are so occupied by the many images and nifty things to play with. It will be tided over, no doubt, till it hatches. It chimes happily and thankfully, though not -too- thankfully or you might think you're better than it of course. With taht the little ball of light zooms off into the jungle which dematerializes, leaving your mind in the dark but for a trail of sparkling gold gliter that winks at you. »

Dashiell winks a fairwell to the egg, and rises, taking a step away from the ovoid's immediate proximity, and stares at the few other candidates littering the sands with abandon. As noone seems to be 'pestering' his original visitee, he takes one last look around, to guage the Gold's temperament as best he can, and then trails over to crouch by the Far side egg once more. Bringing his face very close to it's surface, he cocks his head, as if listening to the inside, laying his cheek lightly against the side, hand cupped to 'hear' - "Pssst.. crisis over?"

« In Dashiell's Mind: Scratchings of Pencil Lead and Groans of Waterlogged Wood wash in and out once more with an added frosty cold. The pencil has resumed though it's with a shake hand. There's an added feeling of warm cozy blankets and those same herbs are now a steamy liquid that rocks with the rest of the sensations. The water at the base of your mind has doubled though the squeak of a pump can be heard fantly a ways off. The pencil is laid down and warm greetings are given forth in the laborous groans of the wood. Yes. It's over. There's the sound of moving fabric and the blankety warmth increases, becoming more direct to you as if a blanket has been proffered. No sense in catching the chill. »

Dashiell smiles at the egg. "Actually.." he whispers to it. "It's pretty warm out here… but thankyou for the offer." absently, he pushes sand up against the base of the egg with his foot, shuffling more cosy warmness around the egg itself, as if it's /actually/ cold. "Stormy waters, I guess…" Then with a peek over his shoulder at the second to the right egg, he looks back to the surface beneath his fingers and brings his mouth close to continue whispering. "I think your closest neighbour is a female. I just thought I'd share. She.." he's labelling 'her' already, "..is quite the sparkle magnet. She's a tropical delight, and no mistake. Not really my cup of tea, but she'll be fun for someone."

« In Dashiell's Mind: Scratchings of Pencil Lead and Groans of Waterlogged Wood commence at once with interest, recording this. It gently takes the image from your mind, if it may? To sketch the egg and sparkles of the mindvoice. Facinating. Are they all this… brilliant? Brighter than anything it's imagines or has been given. There's some more clinking and the opening of drawers as images of suns, moons, water hit by light all file out asif trying to logically place the origin of such brilliance. »

Dashiell is still smiling. "I think it's actually an internal light source." he informs the occupant. "Like a lantern, or a glow. Do you have glows in there?" Well of course it doesn't, but it might have lifted such knowledge from another's visitation. He does happily permit the experience of the recent visit to the egg's neighbour to be lifted without protest, coloured by his imagination and recollections of course. "Thoroughly facinated with pretty things, she's rather like.. ohh.. " he tries to find a suitable lifeform to compare. Dog? No. Flitterby? hardly. Boving, ovine, porcine.. none of those are right… Aaah! A glittery feline, facinated with a shiny object! That works. "I have to go now though.. I just wanted to share that little bit." With one last pat to the egg's surface, he piles some more sand around it, to keep it warm, and rises before Kilaueth can growl at him again. "Sleep well… see you soon, I suspect."

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