The following is a log of roleplay on Star Stones MOO, logged by D'ney.
All references to the world and characters of Pern™ based on Anne McCaffrey's fiction are copyright© 1967 by Anne McCaffrey, all rights reserved. The Dragonriders of Pern® is registered U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, by Anne McCaffrey and used here with permission.

The dragons have begun to sing! Everyone come and join us in the Igen
Galleries for a clutching! (@move me to #4844) Also, you can watch the
clutching via the Galleries' watch channel, IW-G (@addchan iwg as IW-G .. iwg
/on)
Entered by Eilish (#2579) at Tue Nov 6 18:06:16 2001 MST

[+][IW-G] Harry squeaks, leaning forward. "Ooh, look at /that/ one! Does
anyone else see it? There's a really pretty one, don't you think? Oh, yes.
Hey now, is that it, then?" Not that Harry could care less -- he's all for
sitting here and drooling over the ones that are already laid for until they
hatch.

[+][IW-G] "Kaeos, Kae-- is she done?" Feidena demands of her all-knowing older
sister as the queen seems to sleep. Kaeos snorts again, "Of course she is,
stupid--" Fei pouts, Kae continues "--she went to sleep, didn't she?"

[+][IW-G] Halis returns and sits next to a random person, "What did I miss?"
Quite a bit no doubt. Her gaze goes towards the eggs on the sand and muted
sounds can be heard comming from her mouth as she counts them.

[+][IW-G] From Hatching Sands, Siobhan whistles at G'min, her seagreen eyes
laughing. "Aye, the bronzers do do that Searching, don't they?" She grins,
remembering a certain tanner apprentice hijacked by bronze Sanath and his
rider. "And the candidates for golden eggs get special lessons from the
Weyrwoman, don't they?" She turns now to Gamma, grinning afresh.

[+][IW-G] Hollie eyes the Palm Tree egg, raising on eyebrow. "That one's not
too bad. But I prefer them other two... the glassy one and the watery one."
Blue-green eyes sweep the clutch, and she smiles. "It looks like that's it,
all done. Poor Spectreth, she must be shattered! I know I would be!"

[+][IW-G] From Hatching Sands, Gammashakes her head. "No, dear. I can't have
you off gallavanting with Threadfall to be looked after and the Tilleks going
wherrybrained on me." Wearied as if she herself had clutched all those eggs,
she rubs her brow and points up toward the dragon viewing ledge. "You send
your weyrsecond, Sh'lor, weyrleader." Shoulders back, eyes narrowed as she
peers at G'min to finalize that, the weyrwoman turns her back on the man and
walks back toward her dragon. Leaning against the tired gold, she smooths out
her hide gently. "Sleep, love. Sleep. You've a fine clutch here." She closes
her eyes and rolls her forehead on the gold. Another gold. Faranth help the
weyr.

[+][IW-G] From Hatching Sands, Eilish swipes sweat from her brow with the back
of one hand, and notes Spectreth's relaxation -- she must be done. Mentally,
she tries to assess a tally, but aloud, she mentions offhand, "I hope /some/
of the gold candidates have a sweet temperament this time. Too many think all
together too much of themselves-- no ffense," she hastily adds to Siobhan,
remembering her candidate days. "You were a fine candidate."

Galleries

Tier upon tier of polished cromcoal-dark granite rises high, each row-hollowed
length offering its own vantage of a view, right down to the wooden railing
between Sand and seat. Large, smooth-walled, and carven with innumerable
rough-hewn, the traceries of quartz reflect the ambient light; no pillers, no
impediments obstruct the line of vision to the Sands beyond, except, perhaps,
an erring head when the seats are full. The heat is relentless but more
subdued, given relief only by the breeze that creeps in through the dragon's
opening high overhead, and the fan of wings from the ledges that jut
half-moons high overhead.

Type 'help here' for info on how to view the sands.

Perched somewhere up high, you see Marc and Lust.
You see Cherrydrop here.
Romilly, Niamh, Cardixa, Koriah, May, Jennar, Genive, Hollie, T'paz, Harry,
and Halis are here.
From here you can go:
Sands                                       Stairs
Viewing Ledges

Hatching Sands

Black and gold, as striking as those of Igen's colors, intermingle to a
glitter of eye-wrenching brilliance, made all the more intense by the
undulations of heat that reflect from their expanse. Subtle dunes spread
their endless waves about the very immensity of this cavern, as wide in its
width as it is high; the inner walls are made of translucent obsidian,
thinner at the top so the light beats through in brownish-grey pools, and
sets it aglow in sometimes-amber brilliance. Hopes, dreams, fears: all
permeate the aura, and are echoed in the height of the ledges and galleries
alike that add reverberation to its span.

You see Mamma Gamma's SunTent, Twisted Driftwood Tool Egg, TribalNative
Shrunken Head Egg, Dingy Sunbathing SeaTurtle Egg, Hidden Freshwater Pool
Egg, Sturdily Iconic Saguaro Egg, Tropical Slivered Banana Egg, Mysteriously
Tantalizing Bottle Egg, Burned Abandoned Village Egg, Bloodstained Buried
Treasure Egg, and Lone Palm Tree Egg here.
Siobhan, Gamma, Eilish, and G'min are here.
The following dragons are here: Spectreth and Eratoth
From here you can go:
Galleries              Stands

From Hatching Sands, G'min thumbs his finger at Eratoth. "He won't even leave
the Weyr if Thread is due to fall. And you let me worry about Tillek. And
when I say me, Weyrwoman, I mean me as in as Weyrleader, I'll direct the
bronzes for places to Search."

Genive goes home.

From Hatching Sands, Oh yeah. A fine candidate who wandered out on the sands
pretty as you please and almost got eaten.

May seems very very thoughtful now, one hand rubbing at the oil on her
clothing, nibbling a little on her lip. She then stands and gives a
distracted goodbye to those gathered, smiling a little and then slipping out.

Jennar's eyebrows raise at the last egg, and a breath escapes as he watches
the egg, examining it in as much detail as he can take in from this vantage
point; he leans close to Koriah, and, as coolly as he can manage, points it
out to her, "Hey, Kori.. what do you think of that egg?" Light-brown eyes
drink it in, and he can't seem to look away from it.

From Hatching Sands, Well, Eilish attempts to remain polite and diplomatic.

Bab has arrived.

May shifts Bab to her wrist and gives him a good fling into the air, poor
little brownie flapflapfalpping with all his might to get those big feet air
born with his little topaz glittered wings.

May walks toward Hatching Grounds Entrance.

Koriah looks at the last egg and leans back, a satisfied breath escaping her.
"Now that was fun." she declares. She eyes that last egg at Jennar's request
and nods, "Fierce." she finally says, and looks over, raising an inquisitive
eyebrow, "Why do you ask?"

Cardixa bobs her head solemnly at Hollie, albeit a smile is lurking on her
features. "I think I'd sleep for a turn if I were Spectreth," the stablehand
muses, watching the queen settle aside her clutch. "Very nice eggs! I'm not
sure which is my favorite, though. I'll have to think.."

From Hatching Sands, Siobhan laughs outright at Eilish's comment, grinning
merrily. "I wasn't as sweet tempered as all that, as I recall," she notes,
with a hint of a glance towards the now-somnolent queen. "Didn't know what
to think, being Searched by Sanath just as I was measuring him for new
fighting straps and all. Good thing I'd developed some muscles before
candidacy, now there's a time to wear you out!" She winks, remembering.

L'et nudges Hollie, urging her to stand up as he does so. "Already?" Hollie
asks, looking up at him and sighing. "Ah, well. Cardixa, d'you need a ride
back to Crom? We're heading off into the caverns for a bit, and I need to go
see my mom before I leave. We can give you a ride back a bit later on, if
you'd like?"

Harry, on the other hand, can't seem to look away from any of the eggs --
which causes him some pain, understandably, since he's only got two eyes.
However, seeing as he makes the same sort of fuss over firelizard and wherry
eggs, it doesn't seem to be worth worrying about. "You think she's
tired...?" is mumbled blandly at a nearby conversation, not opposing them,
but only restating them.

"Momma looks tired," Feidena declares to Kaeos, proud of her observation.
Kaeos snorts (a new -- and not so lovely -- habit): "Of course she is. It's
hotter down there than even up here. So don't you bother her at /all/ when
she gets done, or I'll scold you!" Feidena pouts. What a mean sister, huh?

Niamh seems to have dozed off in her seat, despite -- or perhaps because of --
the heat, her chin nodding forward onto her chest. As some of those around
her begin to stand and leave, however, the movement and noise jolts her awake
again, causing her to glance around distractedly to recall her surroundings.
"Hm? S'that all?" She looks down at the Sands and spies the sleeping queen,
smiling faintly. "Ah, she fell asleep. Can't blame her." The harper
stretches, but doesn't seem ready to get up and leave herself just yet.

Cardixa rises from her seat, stretching luxuriously and beaming at both Hollie
and L'et. "That'd be great, if you don't mind? Don't wanna be a nuisance or
anything, you know.. I need to visit Yenna before I scoot out, too, so I'll
meet y'all in the bowl or something?"

Jennar shakes his head, lowering his eyes and giving a self-deprecating
chuckle, and a shrug, "I dunno, I guess... I really like it for some
reason.." He raises a grin to Kori, "No reason." He stands from his seat,
stretching his back and eyeing the sands one last time, "So I guess it's
over?" The nearly-sleeping Queen was probably a good indication.

From Hatching Sands, Eilish's laugh echoes Siobhan's, and she shakes her head.
"Oh, well, I was trying to be diplomatic about it. I have high hopes and
expectations for the candidates, and even though I'm just a mere wingsecond
these days, I intend to let them know it." She pauses and shakes her head. "I
believe I was more intimidating to them as Weyrsecond."

Halis doesn't get an answer and shrugs as she moves towards the ledges to get
a better view as the crowd thins out.

From Hatching Sands, Or weyrlingmaster, for that matter.

Hollie nods. "Sure thing. I'll send a 'lizard to you when we're ready to go.
Meet us in the living cavern. And no, it's not a problem, is it, L'et?" The
bluerider grumbles, then nods, and he turns Hollie around and starts to walk
her ou"t. Meet ya down

From Hatching Sands, She used to be all kinds of scary things, that greenrider.

Hollie walks toward Hatching Grounds Entrance.

From Hatching Sands, If only the walls could talk.

T'paz rises from his seat and approaches the two children from behind. He
pokes his head between theirs and says, "Yes, Kae, she's likely is going to
sleep now." He picks up both children in his arms, much to their surprise.
"No one will be bothering anyone, Fei. I'll make sure of that. You two
coming down to get a snack in a little bit?" he lifts both children into the
air, comfortably, and he twirls them once. Oh, the indignity for the 12 year
old. Too bad, he thinks to himself.

Kaeos and Feidena's mother used to be all sorts of scary things, and they
still love her unconditionally. What's scarier is that Feidena wants to be
/just like/ her momma. And she's going to Impress this clutch, without a
doubt. "Wheee!" laughs Feidena as they are lifted. "Aaaaaie!" squeaks Kaeos,
turning pink. But Fei is happy: "Yes! Snacks, T'paz, snacks!" She /loves/
T'paz.

Harry waves belatedly at Halis with the urgency of one who has the psychic
power to detect a leaving person (ie, everyone), "No, no, don't be leaving --
I don't know what happened either. But the eggs are so pretty. Don't you
think eggs are pretty? I do, definitely. Oh, yes, eggs." Harry likes eggs.
Could you tell?

Koriah laughs and nods, "I do believe it is." she answers and looks at the
clutch, "Fair size clutch, no?" She grins over at Jennar, her eyes atwinkle,
"Someone's interested in that egg?" Kori makes a speculative look at Jennar,
"Well, why not?"

From Hatching Sands, Gamma turns on the bronzer, slipping up to him to stare
straight into his face, all the ire of enduring her dragon's paiin clearly
tightened on her face. "/I/ am the weyrwoman of this weyr. Diplomacy is /my/
business, bronzerider. I don't care if you are related to the weyrwoman or
the lowest drudge." She switches her gaze from one eye to the other, coming
to her full height in all. With detailed enunciation she says in a voice
barely audible to anyone save those around her and he, "You will follow /my/
lead on diplomatic issues, or I'll have you up before the council. Got it?" A
sickly sweet smile curls over her face. "You /are/ replaceable."

Halis laughs as she hears the two kids talking to T'paz. Turning she spots
D'ney and waves while calling, "Ello there!" Whee, someone who probably
hasn't been scheeming with her sister and Kayre.

From Hatching Sands, Siobhan sucks in her breath as Gamma rounds on G'min,
stepping away to stand unobtrusively next to Eilish.

D'ney takes the tiers at something of a run, sidling between shoulders and
groups of holders both, a wingmate behind her. She surveys the eggs with
alacrity while letting a group of Cromites pass. "How many are there -- hey,
Halis!" is tossed over a pair of heads in front of them. Forward she goes,
squishing someone's toe on the way.

From Hatching Sands, Eilish winces slightly as siblings clash on the sands.
She hovers near Siobhan for a moment, then mumbles her pleasantries and
goodbyes to Gamma, G'min, and Saab. "I'm parched. I think I need something to
drink." Flush-faced, she makes her excuses and makes her escape.

From Hatching Sands, Chicken.

From Hatching Sands, No, just smart.

From Hatching Sands, Eilish tromps toward Hatching Grounds Entrance.

Cardixa begins the slow shuffle toward the exit of the galleries, inching
through the thinning crowd and scooting out to find Yenna.

Cardixa steps carefully toward Hatching Grounds Entrance.

(Nhaeth) Olexath sees: Nhaeth watches with as much (perhaps even more)
interest as his lifemate down below, sparks spinning madly in his mind's
vortex. << There are all types of /eggs/ down there. Aren't they great? >>
Suspicion trails like a lost canine, << You /are/ watching, aren't you? >>

(Nhaeth) [-] Olexath sleepily rumbles. << Watching? >> No, he hasn't been
paying attention.

Jennar has the grace to blush a little -- only a little pinkening about the
edges, "I dunno.. you hungry?" Patently trying to change the subject,
afraid of teasing -- though, it's a perfectly nice egg, no different from the
others, really. He works up the courage to look back up to Kori, with a
bright smile.

From Hatching Sands, Siobhan watches Eilish leave, and clears her throat.
"Well, seems like Spectreth's done for now," she notes, then begins moving
towards the exit to the Sands. "I really must go see what Sayurith's up
to..." Bowing to the queen and the weyrleaders, she makes good her escape.

From Hatching Sands, Siobhan strides purposefully toward Hatching Grounds
Entrance.

Romilly has disconnected.

Halis laughs at D'ney's rush to get down to see the eggs, "No need to rush.
They'll be there for a while." She's more interested in the interesting
crowd than in the eggs actually. None will match up to the grey one she
attached herself to last time 'round. Hearing loud words from the sands she
turns and peers ... oh goody, family squabble.

Koriah has a feline grin of mischief on her face, "Why, yes, I am." she
comments, but her eyes are sharp on Jennar's face. She lifts her chin in a
slightly defiant manner, "Shall we get something to eat?" Welcome to my
parlor, said the tunnelsnake to the vtol.

From Hatching Sands, G'min is clearly unimpressed. Or uncowed. Crazy? No,
just....used to it. "You told me already to worry about Tillek. Which is
what I meant. And as for your business or not..." He crosses his arms over
his chest. "You want to handle diplomacy, you go out and handle it. I'm
sure you can get someone else to take you." He's had a bad day. It shows.
"And haul me before the council. But first, you might want to find
something I've done wrong. Good luck."

(Nhaeth) Olexath sees: Nhaeth watches an ecstatic paint blob dribble across
his imaginary shelf of a brow. << No? Why not? Do you remember our eggs?
I have it all written down. >> Smugly, even.

Bab dozes off...

Jennar nods to Kori, a relieved expression (perhaps hastily) creeping up onto
his features, and he gestures towards the egress from the Galleries, before
heading that way himself.

Jennar strides in an easy yet brisk gait toward Hatching Grounds Entrance.

(Nhaeth) [-] Olexath slowly wakes up, the tennor of his voice a little ...
peppier. << I remember ... being away from ... things. >> Yeah, that's as
indepth as he gets.

Koriah looks over at T'paz, but sees he's busy with the kids. She grins and
waves, "See you, T'paz!" and moves towards the stairs leading out.

Koriah walks toward Hatching Grounds Entrance.

Niamh finally pulls herself to her feet and moves in the direction of the
stairs with the rest of the lot. Doesn't look like anything else is going to
happen here.

Marc goes ::between::

Niamh walks toward Hatching Grounds Entrance.

T'paz waves to Koriah as she leaves. He also turns to the children in his
arms and says. "And as for you two, how 'bout you each save me a dance when
the harpers start up, then. Eh?"

D'ney finally gets there. Near Halis and Harry's place, that is. "I wanted
to /see/," she tells the Sandstormer with more vehemence than is her wont.
"Nhaeth wanted to Between when he knew, but we had to finish sweeps first."
An empty stretch of stone is claimed between phrases.

Feidena beams adorably at T'paz "I'll save y'two!" She squeezes her small arms
around his neck. Kaeos, meanwhile, continues to blush, hoping none of her
friends are watching, but nods to T'paz. "I'll save you a dance, T'paz," she
agrees, voice low, eyes darting around nervously. But there seems to be a bit
of a smile in her eyes. All about image, these pre-teens.

Halis nods at D'ney's explination, "That's why I missed all but the very
beginning and the very end. Probably have to go out again just to make sure
we didn't miss anything." Then towards T'paz she winks and calls, "Going for
the younger set now?"

(Nhaeth) Olexath sees: Nhaeth fences with a paintbrush, jabbing the tip at
your declamation. << Away? >> More bemused than before: << Flights? There
will not be eggs whichever way you do it. >>

"Well," Harry says by way of consolation, "at least the eggs are still here."
No, as if they were really going to sprout legs and run away. "They're stuck
here. They're not like dragons, really. I mean, they are sort of, but not
really, because they're eggs. And I'm awful glad I don't have sweeps."
Because he got to watch, and you didn't. Neener.

From Hatching Sands, Gamma doesn't miss a beat. "Try disrespect, direlection
of duty, overstepping your authority and being a general nuissance to every
woman in this weyr for starters." She crosses her arms, breathing very
slowly, eyes narrowing and leans into his ear to whisper the next so that it
will be between he and her only. "You've had a bad day, weyrleader. Watch
/very/ carefully which words come out of your mouth next. Then, turn around,
bow to my dragon, and get your feet off my sands." She leans back out and
raises her chin, adding softly and pointedly. "And don't you /ever/ challenge
my authority in public again."

(Nhaeth) [-] Olexath gets confused, whisps of orange blossoms hinting across
the link. << What are you babbling about? >>

(Nhaeth) Olexath sees: Nhaeth was noting facts. He dodges your confusion,
though, drawing a swift blue veil over the link. << Nothing. >>

The bronzerider releases the children, who giggle a little bit, then scamper
off through the crowd, nodding to T'paz. He grins again, and starts to head
out himself, but stops, seeing Halis there. He smiles at her, and says.
"Younger set? Well, I guess so. I've been watching them for Eilish.
They're sweet." He moves on, out towards the stairs. "You coming? I'm
parched, here."

(Nhaeth) [-] Olexath never really wanted eggs anyhow. Soft orange turns spicy
at the drop of a hat. << If you say so. Silly dragon. >>

D'ney bends over to stamp into her boots. "The skies are clear. Weather's
fine. There's no need to fly out again." She straightens partially, enough
to crystallise a glare Harry-wards. "Watched the whole thing, did you?"

Halis nods at D'ney and then nods at T'paz, "Suppose that's the next place to
go." All this nodding is making her want to sit down somewhere. Whee.

T'paz walks toward Hatching Grounds Entrance.

Harry wriggles briefly -- crystallized glares aren't really the most pleasant
thing on Pern. "Well, not /really/. I mean, some of it. More than you-- I
mean, well, yes, more than you. Definitely more than you, but not all of it.
No, not at all." Hah hah, isn't he the wittiest now? And what better to
finish off his stutter than, "But the eggs are pretty, aren't they?"

(Nhaeth) Olexath sees: Nhaeth isn't silly. He's a smart dragon. The veil
dissolves into midnight specks. << I say so. And look, the heat's making
them move! >> The eggs do shift somewhat in the mirage he shows you,
anticipatory lives shimmering within.

Halis walks with the usual spring in her step toward Hatching Grounds Entrance.

From Hatching Sands, G'min grins slightly. "Then, dear sister..." His voice
drops to a whisper as well. "Don't question my competence in public." The
effort to swallow back anything further is visible on his face, as he bows
very slightly to Spectreth, then turns around, stalking from the sands.
Look. Out.

From Hatching Sands, Gamma has disconnected.

D'ney mutters at Harry, "Careful your butt doesn't get scorched." Tactful,
she is. Patting down trousers over broad boots causing a shifting of talons
on her shoulder as a tiny wedge-head peers quaintly at the humanfolk. "Stay,
boy. Do you think they look like our eggs, Halis?"

D'ney
Short, slightly gaunt around the edges, this adolescent bears Igen's glare in
the burnt brownness of her skin. Uncertain growth has worked away the
childish plumpness from the avid angles of nose and chin, further accenting
pinched features with their harsh planes and abrupt peaks. Below forehead's
darkness, a primal acidity informs her hazel eyes, restrained by stubborn
mahogany curls -- but flaring inevitably into the compact rebellion of a
muscled shape and habitually agile motion.
Smooth, almost shiny hide has been carefully molded into D'ney's leathers.
The light brown material is hemmed by betraying tufts of a deep wooden red,
the thick dyed lining shimmering with silkiness that betrays it as finely
washed and tended wherry. The front panel of the clothing covering her front
serves as the front half of the very high, warm collar. The leather and
lining then trail down at an attractive slant to be secured smartly at her
shoulder with bright metal pips. At the waist is a broad thick belt, also of
leather but this time wine red, with small rings working as both decoration
and as functional hooks around her waist. Long, thick sleeves disappear
under nearly oversized gloves, each with several bands for adjusting them
onto her wrists for a tighter or looser fit as desired. Flaring out slightly
from under the belt, the tan leather reaches down mid-thigh, thus revealing
identically dyed and cured trousers tucked into high, black boots.
Double cords of maize and jet intertwine in a single loop, complicated of late
by a long tail snaking out from the whole, joined with a brown sisal ribbon
to denote her rank as an Igen Weyr Wingrider, rider of Nhaeth.
She is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Rock

Harry is in more danger of scorching his nose than his butt, really, although
even he would admit that 'butt' has that certain ring that nose doesn't.
"Your eggs?" the lad wrinkles his brow in a flicker of misinterpretation.
"They're not your eggs. They're just eggs. If they're anyone's eggs,
they're the big gold dragon's eggs." Harry may live at a Weyr. He may like
eggs. But his capacity for names is infinitely small.

Harry
Blonde locks -- diluted gold -- fall gracefully around an eager face, curling
tightly beneath his cheekbones and cascading, held tight by a glaring fuschia
bow, to mid-back. Periwinkle eyes lie framed by long lashes in a
pale-skinned, almost effeminate face. Short, and even stocky, his face is
enough to to make him look feminine -- and the fuschia can't help much.
A wherhide vest, perhaps the most impractical article of clothing ever
commissioned, drapes over a long white tunic and brilliantly purple trousers,
tied together at the waist with a violet sash and an undeniable flair.
He looks to be in his late teens.
He is awake and looks alert.
Never stable, always changeable.

D'ney turns a rare blank gaze on Harry. An extremely tangential Harry, as it
happens. "What?" She shakes her head, and blinks. Sagely, mind you. "I
was talking to--oh, she left--just wasn't asking you, boy." Igen over
Telgar, therefore she goes the advantage of additional turns.

"...Wasn't talking to me?" Harry echoes vaguely. Well, /that/'s rather
offending. Especially since he's going to so much trouble to point out to
everyone that the eggs -- you know, those eggs, the ones on the sands? the
round ones? -- are pretty. "But I was talking to /you/." And that makes all
the difference.

"You were," D'ney states rhetorically, some of that wisdom leeched out of her
voice. "Oh. Yeah, whatever." The habitual squint between her brows grows,
easing the fine lines into each other. "I was thinking the eggs don't look
too different from the clutch we had, two turns back." She's intent upon
eyeing those eggs, now, despite the cleared-out galleries, despite the
Telgarian even.

From Hatching Sands, Gamma has connected.
From Hatching Sands, Gamma moves to stand inside Mamma Gamma's SunTent.

Harry turns a critical eye towards the sands. Not that he would know what to
look for in terms of differences -- they all look the same to him: large,
round, eggy. "They... do? Sure they do. I mean, of course, they're big,
and they're shiny, and they look just like your dragon." Again, not that
Harry knows what D'ney's dragon looks like in any case. But he's found it to
his advantage to be agreeable, so agreeable he will be, even if he needs to
trample over logic a little.

D'ney keeps her eyes /there/, though they might glaze over at some point.
"They're big, right. But I hope they won't look too much like Nhaeth. He
was so big and--" finger flickers at the clutch "--and falling over himself
when he was shelled. Oh shut up, boy." She stiffens slightly; passes a hand
over her forehead. "Are the eggs all that exciting?" And that last is most
definitely directed at Harry.

Harry nods enthusiastically. "Eggs? Not exciting, no. They're very pretty,
though, don't you think? So round and perfect and promising of something
bigger to come, you know?" You know. Bigger things. Things with wings?
Yeah. Those things. "Like Nhaeth's egg must have promised a Nhaeth to come
to you, right?"

"'Eh?" D'ney is nodding at Harry's every word. Well, not exactly, but it
would seem so if you count the proportion of nods she's pointing in his
direction. The hand cupping her pressure points doesn't waver much. "Nice.
Very nice." Blind echoing, now. She bats it off. "Oh shells, I didn't
think so much when I was there. You want to get a drink or anything?"

"Drink?" Harry scratches the back of his neck. "Okay. Drinks are nice.
Though eggs are definitely prettier. Drinks are just drinks, you know, the
sort of things that you just consume. They're..." -- wait for it, wait for
it, here comes the big word -- ".../transient/." Now you go find a
dictionary, and he'll go get a drink. "What kind of drinks?"

D'ney won't -- can't? -- follow that. Her head looks like it's going to just
wilt, here. "Trans-what? That means you drink them and they're good for
you, right?" She stands with eyes cast toward the Sands. They're safer.
"Wine. It...helps."

Harry is pretty good at making people's heads wilt, in general, though Faranth
knows he doesn't -mean- it. "I don't know," he says in reply to D'ney. "I
saw it on some scroll this harper had, this one time, this one place, this...
I mean, yes. Drinks are good for you." His mind moves at an incredible
pace. Pity it doesn't move logically. "Wine is good for you. I think.
Maybe. Maybe wine is good for eggs. Or for... er, what does it help again?"

(Nhaeth) Olexath sees: Nhaeth coils up in basking, baking warmth. << Mmmm.
>> The excitability still wriggles at the periphery, encroaching, as he
skims the surface of your thoughts. Lightly. << Asleep? >>

(Nhaeth) [-] Olexath oozes across with subtle hints of rose. << No. Just
daydreaming as Hal calls it. >>

D'ney babbles, "Helps, ahh, me. No." Crossing her arms, she pauses, hovering
beside the sitting Harry. "I think you need it. There's something wrong
with you, or my name's /not/ D'ney. Go," she orders, jabbing a finger at his
shoulder. It just might hurt a little if he doesn't duck.

Harry opens his mouth. He is about to say something. He is poked. "Urmph."
Throwing a bewildered look (he's good at those) over his shoulder at D'ney,
the Telgarite shuffles smartly towards the steps. "There's nothing wrong
with me, and just because wine helps you doesn't mean it helps me." Mutter.
Grump. Walk.

Harry walks toward Hatching Grounds Entrance.

Hatching Grounds Entrance

Stray particles of black and gold scatter along the browned sandstone and
slicked-granite surface of the floor, its darkened patina worn to pathways by
turn upon turn of hopeful and excited footsteps. The heat is striking, even
here, already rolling in waves off the sands, with only the occasional stray
breeze to shift the air. Large and barrel-shaped in appearance, it also
posesses amazing acoustics, and even the softest whisper echoes as if spoken
aloud, making this passageway almost unbearably noisy when crowded.
The bowl slopes away in two directions from one end of this passage, while the
entrance to the Sands yawns at the other; a narrow corridor leads up and into
the galleries.

Harry is here.

D'ney rolls her eyes. Adds the conciliatory "Please", then goes on with her
harangue: "How did you get /here/ anyway? You don't look like someone from
around here." In the meantime, on she moves, from galleries to entrance.

(Nhaeth) Olexath sees: Nhaeth latches on to the new word. << Nice. I like
'daydreaming'. >> Clouds figure largely in his mind right about now, with
the vista of the Weyrbowl imposing on the image.

"I got here on..." Harry pauses, searches his labyrinth of a brain, continues,
"... one of those things. E'nne took me. On Peeseeth. They came from eggs
too, you know. Well. Peeseeth did, in any case. I don't see any wine here.
I'm from Telgar, by the way. We have wine there."

(Nhaeth) [-] Olexath isn't thinking about clouds, but flowers. Silly dragon.

D'ney footprints on with minimal effort. "I know Telgar. And we do have
wine, but not in the supplies. I know a private stash. Cures all silly
thoughts." She bites /that/ off rather viciously. "--Where's E'nne now?"

(Nhaeth) Olexath sees: Nhaeth posits both. Clouds /and/ flowers in the sky.
How poetic. << Are you flying? >>

(Nhaeth) [-] Olexath shows an image of the ground, and him on it in answer.

Harry waves vaguely in all directions but straight down. "Oh. Around. Maybe
drinking wine or something." It's a Hatching, for Faranth's sake, there're
people everywhere. In the meantime, though, the mind wanders again. "Why do
you have a /private/ stash? I thought the Weyr was supposed to have all this
stuff anyway. I thought you were supposed to ---" He pauses, blinks, loses
that train of thought. "Um. What silly thoughts?"

D'ney glances to the left and right briefly. "Why would she bring /you/ to a
Clutching?" It's all in the name of making a conversation it seems, for this
problem Dallan's taken upon herself to solve. Bravely, she forges forth.
"The wine's hasn't been too free lately." Breath. "You aren't thinking
right."

Harry pauses, half to finger his hair and half to give D'ney a proper
look-over. "Are you /okay/?" It's not that she keeps telling him he's not
thinking right (because to tell the truth, others have said the same), it's
just.. "Do you know where the wine is, then? Because if not," and Harry
brightens at this, "we can always go back up to look at the eggs."

D'ney gives a long-suffering sigh, and stops, turning to face Harry and his
question. Puzzlement stands out starkly in her dark-featured face. "Well,
if you're /sure/ you are all right, I won't force you." Just, "Can't have
anyone running around the weyr like that. Especially not around those Eggs."
Someone's a wee bit maternal, don't you know.

Harry's response to this is, naturally, a very confused, "/Eh/?" Even his
very twisted sense of logic can't make anything comprehensible out of D'ney
right now. "But... I asked if /you/ were all right. I didn't ask if /I/ was
all right. I mean, I would know if I was all right. Because I'm me, you
know. That's why I don't ask things like that." A pause for thought, and
then, "You shouldn't try to pretend I ask things like that."

D'ney fields logic with logic. "I know I'm all right, so the important thing
is whether you are too. I wanted to make sure you're okay. Can't have
someone running around if they're not okay. I'm not a healer, but it's only
the right thing to do. See?" So insistent, she is, teeth slightly bared
like a ruffled canine.

Harry has to think about that one for awhile. "But if I'm okay and you're
okay and wine makes you okay and eggs are pretty, then...." The equation is
not adding up. He tries again. "But if I'm okay and... wait. I see. No, I
don't. Why did you want wine, then? Why aren't you a healer?" The fact
that D'ney is comparable to a ruffled canine isn't helping Harry's nerves
much. Note the especial confusion on his part.

D'ney states quite flatly, hands half going to her hips before she changes her
mind and swings them instead. "I wanted wine to--to help you." That seems
to surprise the boyish 'rider, though she regains the thread quickly. "Help
you snap out of it. Whether I'm a healer or not doesn't /matter/." The
latter word deteriorates into a reluctant grimace.

Harry continues to stare at her. "I don't need to snap out of anything," says
Harry's ego. "I am perfectly okay. I don't need help. I don't think I need
help. Why would you want to help me -- even though I don't need help -- if
you weren't a healer? You can /hurt/ somebody if you try to help them if
you're not a healer." That piece of sage wisdom brought to you by Someone
Else, met in the living caverns one dull afternoon. "Anyway," and this the
lad states with confidence, "I don't understand you."

D'ney is oddly amused by this, her lips arching into a smile for the first
time since they've met. "Why would you need to? I don't either, but it
doesn't bother me." She dangles the non-resolution thus: "Okay, what say I
don't try to help you?"

"Okay." Harry is oddly satisfied by this. "You don't help me, and I don't
understand you. And then you don't understand you and then we are all happy,
right? And nobody drinks wine." It's a good enough conclusion for him.
"Not even the eggs. Even though I understand me perfectly -- I'm a
wonderfully normal and okay person."

D'ney is witless enough to start it all over again. "But I understand me--"
she catches herself; comes with the more satisfactory query: "So, we even
yet?"

Harry squints, eyes D'ney. "You understand ...?" But the temptation of
statements uttered in the nearer past overtake his curiousity on that
subject. "Even? What do you mean, even? This isn't a war. I was only
asking about wine, really. You're the one who decided to make everything
weird and talk about healers."

D'ney promptly simmers yet again, eyeing Harry back. "You said you won't
understand me and I don't try to help. Doesn't that mean that we're even?"

"Yes, yes," Harry brushes at his forehead irritably. "We're even."
Congratulations to D'ney: she wins first prize for being the first to be able
to completely lose Harry in a thread of conversation -- a feat previously
only achieved by Harry unto others. "I think, if anyone needs wine though,
it's you. You don't even like eggs." At least, she doesn't to the degree
that Harry likes them.

Nhaeth has arrived.

Nhaeth skims from bowl to stone, talons crashing into rock and wings flared
only slightly to accommodate his bulk in the confined space. The breeze thus
set up magnifies the throaty rumble he emits, deep amongst the glittering
pools of his yellow-flecked eyes. "It's all right, Nhaeth," D'ney declares,
"I'm not upset." She does back towards the sheltering wings, though. "Why
should I like eggs?"

Harry thought he'd gone over this in detail already. D'ney must be a very
dull rider indeed to have not heard him the first five hundred times.
"Because they are large --" a pause here, to make sure she's paying attention
(is she?) "-- and round, and eggy. And because they must look like Nhaeth.
Um. Hello... Nhaeth?" Harry's logic is so astoundingly logical.

A D'ney in defensive mode will say anything, of course. "Shells, you. I like
eggs," she grunts, and goes on in a matter-of-fact way, "Large, round, eggy,
I heard you. Nhaeth says he looks more like a weyr than an egg.
Squarish...that's silly." Why did she even repeat that?

Harry eyes Nhaeth critically. "A weyr?" he asks, squinting skeptically.
Somehow 'weyr' just lacks that certain something that 'egg' has. "I don't
know. I still think he looks like an egg. Maybe a squarish egg, though," is
conceded. "With a head, and a neck, and feet and wings and all, of course."
But nevertheless, an egg. Oh yes, most definitely.

Nhaeth calms down enough to wallow deeper in what sand talons can grab. He
takes the leisure to wink bright eyes casually at the critical Harry, while
D'ney simply looks disgusted. "Eggs are egg-shaped. Oval." There's a
debate going on here, probably about writing down stuff.

"Of course eggs are egg-shaped," Harry nods sagely. "That's because they're
eggs. And of course they're oval. But eggs can be oval and squarish at the
same time. And so can thingies. Dragons." Absolutely oblivious to whatever
writing down stuff debate may be going on, Harry continues, "And you /said/,
yourself, earlier, that the eggs all looked like Nhaeth. Didn't you?"

D'ney snorts. "I did /not/. You were the one who said eggs looked like
dragons. I heard." Just then, Nhaeth ducks his head beneath the kid's
leathers, causing her to jerk forward a bit. Beneath the shields of looming
spars, a sharp muzzle still peeks. "Oh, stop that. You're ticklish!" D'ney
grumbles, and nods at Harry. A swift change of subject might do the trick.
"Will you be staying for the day?"

Harry is easily swayed. Shooting a few looks in most directions around him,
the lad shrugs, "I don't know. I guess so, if E'nne and Peeseeth don't show
up soon." He wouldn't have anywhere special to go anyway. "Peeseeth doesn't
look as much like an egg as Nhaeth does, though," is added as an
afterthought, albeit in lower tones.

Nhaeth looks like an egg now. Yeah. He's all coiled up, spars lifted and
forestay tips dipping into the dust. D'ney gets ideas. And gets helpful.
"We could bring you back. Better yet, D'aad and Raplath could, if I can find
him."

Harry takes a short step backwards. D'ney helpful is a frightening thing.
"Well," he says, plucking at his tunic hem nervously, "I mean, I don't really
know if I want to go back yet. And... oh, hey, didn't you say you were going
to stop trying to help me? I'm an okay person." Which has /nothing/ to do
with anything, except maybe wine. "Who's D'aad? Why's he better? Better
than you?"

D'ney looks up with more serenity than Harry does, at the moment. "Yeah, we
could bring you. Or they could. It's cooler in Telgar." Behind her, Nhaeth
peeks up cautiously, setting up a rustle as his wings unfurl. He sidesteps
the brownrider's tirade by means of a carefully-placed paw, talons sheathed,
then shoves the paw directly into Harry's path. Hi.

Hi. Harry coughs, darts a bewildered glance at both D'ney and Nhaeth, and
finding that both are equally egg-shaped and strange, holds up a hand and
says, "Um. Well. Hello, there, Nhaeth. Did you know you looked like an egg
before today?" Cue nervous giggle. "Probably not, huh? I'm a wonderfully
observant person, you know. Mm, yes. And I actually don't need any help,
really. Not at all. None. No help. Especially not in getting places. No.
That's why I asked E'nne to bring me."

"He won't eat you up," D'ney advises in her decent way, "I won't either.
Promise. But I don't see E'nne around. Will you be okay here?"

Nhaeth is big and assertive. Ahem. Having sidled past D'ney -- un-subtly --
he places his cyan scrutiny nearer the lad's, swaying an awkward step forward
to do so.

Harry peers at Nhaeth's head curiously. "Are you sure he won't eat me? He
looks like an egg but he looks like a big egg. He has a big mouth, doesn't
he?" The lad wrinkles his nose. "I will be perfectly fine." Pause.
"Unless E'nne decided to go home without me. In which case I will be a
tragic hero and be lost in this desert wasteland. And then maybe one day,
Harpers will write songs about my heroicness." Makes sense. "Shoo." at
Nhaeth.

"I said I'd bring you back, didn't I?" D'ney barrels on blithely. In a loud
aside, "No, get the idea out of your head, Nhaeth. If you're fine, we can go
back. Get a drink." Faranth knows she needs one. The Head swoops further
/down/, followed by the other paw inching closer to Harry. D'ney again, "He
asks for your name, Telgar."

"Harry," Harry sniffs disdainfully. "Not Telgar. My name is not Telgar. The
Weyr's name is Telgar. And I don't want a drink. Last time you said to get
a drink, you went crazy." An arbitrary eye-roll later, the lad notices
Nhaeth's other paw. "Shoo. What's he doing?"

D'ney hasn't learnt her lesson. "I'll get one, not you--" and she gets
distracted, "Um, that's nothing at all. He's just having his fun. Harry, do
you want to stay on here? Scrub the floor, change the glows, do /chores/."

Harry gives D'ney another long, hard stare. "No." He falls silent for a
moment. And then, "Are you trying to help me again? Because you know, wine
helps you, not me."

Nhaeth wavers his intent stare to D'ney for an instant, winning the concession
of a waved arm from his lifemate. "I'll be fair. We need candidates for
that clutch in there. You should know that. Nhaeth tells me that you have
the chance to Impress one of those -- eggs." She won't say 'shiny', nope.
The next words come out slurred but dignified: "Will you Stand for
Spectreth's clutch, Harry?"

D'ney is hopeful. Extremely hopeful. "If not, we'll bring you back."
Really.

"/Eggs/." Harry is intrigued, really. "Impress an egg?" That hardly
requires any thought. "Okay, I want to Impress an egg." He also wouldn't
want D'ney to be happy, would he? "Will it be a shiny egg?"

D'ney has some ounces of faith left in her. "The eggs are shiny, but the
dragons that come out are very ugly. They eat a lot, and you have to do
chores." Which bears repetition.

Harry has disconnected.

Aaliyah slinks, planned movements apparent, in from Northeastern Bowl.
Aaliyah slinks, planned movements apparent, toward Galleries.

Harry has connected.

D'ney has some ounces of faith left in her. "The eggs are shiny, but the
dragons that come out are very ugly. They eat a lot, and you have to do
chores." Which bears repetition. (repose)

And Nhaeth? Blue-eyed and dusky, he returns his wingsails to his back and
lowers his draconic bulk to the ground, pridefully satisfied.

Harry chews on that one for awhile. "Well, that's okay. I guess. I'll bet I
can convince an egg to stay shiny." He's a convincing sort. "And as long as
the chores don't have to do with..." He'd say you, but that would be mean.
"...wine. Okay."

"Okay?" D'ney repeats, "Is that a yes?" She's not crestfallen, yet.

"Yes!" Harry nods, enthusiastically. Now is she crestfallen?

Aw shucks. D'ney shrugs, slumping slightly. "Maybe Nhaeth likes the way you
think." A sigh dredges out of her, and a hand waves in another direction.
"You can't change your mind, you know."

Harry didn't know. But now he does. But a few chores are well worth D'ney's
unhappiness and a chance at Impressing ... an egg. "Yes, yes, okay. I think
like an egg."

D'ney agrees. "Right. Now you belong to the barracks, and you can get your
clothes and stuff another day. Okay?" She shuffles off, brisk and huffily
annoyed.

Harry tries that out on his tongue. "Belong to the barracks? A room owns me,
you mean?" That's demeaning. Nevertheless, he follows suit and shuffles
after her.

Center Bowl Area

Open air but allows for more heat to envelope each form in the usually fairly
busy section of the bowl's center area that greets eye eyes of those coming
through the west entrance. Lifting wings to flight and shooting past during
landings are two of the most common activites for the Weyr's draconic
residents. To each side, evidence of the Weyr's true volanic nature can be
seen: rough edges reaching skyward in sand-blasted fingers of spires that
scrape the underbelly of the sky. The living cavern area can be seen towards
the northwest and the hatching sands are evident due east, accessible through
the northeast or southeast sections of the bowl. To the south, the glitter
and glimmer that is the lake becons forth to offer cool respite.

It is a bright, cheery day. Belior is waxing towards a full moon and Timor is
three-quarters dark. It is a spring early morning.
You see Naavath here.
The following dragons are here: Kaeth, Zafirath, Xweth, Halaith, and Jaath

Harry walks in from Hatching Grounds Entrance.

Nhaeth slinks in from Hatching Grounds Entrance.

Nhaeth tags along, just to make sure Harry (his?) doesn't get misled.

Candidate Barracks

Stone platforms hewn from the volcanic rock line the perimeter of the room,
each one covered with a cot's mattress for young bones, and a few coverlets
according to choice. The bedstuffs appear to be sinking into the stone, the
platforms going gradually hollow from generations of anxious bodies resting
on them. The walls of the chamber are shot through with obsidian streaks from
long-ago volcanic activity that writhe over the surfaces like striations on
an egg. Natural darkness is lifted from the cavern with glowbaskets
everywhere that provide a cheerful light to welcome weary bodies to bed.

Perched somewhere up high, you see Satler and Marc.
You see a large basket, Kabamit's Cot, Badge, Jennar's Cot, and Koriah's Cot
here.
Koriah is here.
From here you can go:
Bowl

Harry walks in from Northeastern Bowl.

"So this is the room that owns me?" Harry rubs his toes in the dust. "It's
kind of a pathetic owner, don'tcha think? I'd rather be owned by my cot."

Koriah lies back in her cot, looking up at the ceiling. A little stuffed gold
dragon lies under her woven hands that rest on her stomach. But when she
hears entrants, she sits up abruptly, looking around.

D'ney enters the barracks, pausing at the first cot. "Here. We have rules,
you'll be told of them later, but for now pick a cot." Half a nod goes to
the few occupants already here who aren't asleep. "Okay, your cot owns you.
Or the weyr."

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