Hatching: Part Three

[lelaelle]

Part Two

From the sands, R'vain notices Ashwin, though. Notices that Ashwin is not noticing him. And R'vain, to this not-noticing nods once, hard. He turns around, arms crossing, to watch the ongoing hatching from a place right beside the guard lieutenant, silent, waiting. Though as the dragons do wander their various ways, as hatchlings find their pairings and are directed off the sands, the Weyrleader cannot help a small, small grin.

From the sands, Close enough to hear what's said, Miniyal's eyes drift towards Essdara. The kitchenworker is given a look. Just a brief one and it gives away nothing. She's good, at least, at the neutral polite expression and that is what gets seen now. The same expression as she steps once more to the side and wipes sweat from her red face.

From the sands, "So.. does that mean you've changed your mind, Dara, about my suitin'? Cause you keep on makin' suggestions..." Rysia teases, before spotting the bronze following the gold. Taking a skin out of Sivoril's records, she reaches over and pokes him in the side. For luck, of course, as soon as he steps back in his previous spot.

From the sands, "Yes'm," Roa notes to Issa with a small salute. She is already backing away, but first she halts by Ashwin to note, quiet and gentle, "Ash. The men." Those other guards standing with their jaws flapping wide. She offers the lieutenant a tiny and private smile before dipping away and returning her attention to the business on the sands.

From the sands, A lovely young woman is studied by the little queen; she is one of those girls that managed not only to be wearing makeup and a fashionable updo, but also somehow looks appealing even in the shapeless white candidate's robe. The gold blinks, inner lids flicking over and away, and then she shakes her wings and sends strings of hatching slime onto the girl's bare legs and feet. This done, the gold turns and moves away, oblivious to the lovely thing's dismayed cries.

From the sands, Jensen wouldn't deal well with scolding, just now. "/Most/?" Then, when he digs himself out from under the pile of Sehkrath coiled around his mind, he remembers. Vej is found first, standing there staring, near to... Ashwin. Looking suddenly and all at once apologetic and frustrated, he lets his legs walk on autopilot, tripping once when Sehkrath bumps into them from behind. Lifting a hand, he makes a very sudden, vague gesture at his Lieutenant and widens his eyes. /Do/ something.

From the sands, Katriel could wish she hadn't heard Dara. The holder girl's cheeks turn roughly the color of her hair, even darker than they have from the heat, and she keeps an even /more/ intent look on the dragon, rather than looking toward Rysia and company.

"To the betting? Ask the bookies," G'thon replies to Sakher, voice a little dry. "Or do you mean to that?" His hand lifts, flings out a loose gesture at the goings-on below. Then he turns his attention to Fienne and murmurs, "Not a candidate, that I know of. Perhaps merely in the - line of attack, if you will. He stopped the hatchling leaving the cavern, however; for that he should gain some applause?" Gentle, if a bit teasing, meant to be humorous.

From the sands, An egg well off to the side from the rest shimmies a bit. It's a careful motion, just shaking the sand off. And then it shimmies again, more insistently. Hey! I'm over here! Don't forget about me! The shimmying soon turns to a violent shuddering, as if the hatchling inside is bouncing off every wall, struggling to break free, and then! With a tinkle of broken shells, the egg shatters, falling to pieces around a very triumphant little blue.

From the sands,
Proud Night Sky Blue Blue Hatchling
Long, lean, and quick as a whip, there's a boyish grace to this blue,
his hide the vibrant indigo blue of the night sky on a clear, moonlit
night. Rakishly angled eyeridges give him a decidedly mischievous
look; sharp-edged, oversized headknobs match the scimitar arches of
the neckridges that march down a long, serpentine neck and whip-thin
tail. His shoulders and chest are narrow, any muscle there wiry and
sinewy; while he isn't small, his mass is in length rather than bulk.
Elongated limbs grant him an extra height, a dark stippling of
near-black sticking to his hands and feet. His crowning glory,
however, is the spread of his wings: as scythe-curved and angled as
his 'ridges, the sails are dappled with paler blue sparks like the
night sky. On the right wing, two stand out larger and paler than the
others.

"As good as anyone else, I am sure," says Sakher to Fienne, easily. "But I'm pleased your friend impressed himself, though." For once, though, he has relatlively little to say, and simple watches a moment.

From the sands, Kenathan glances at the bronze again, then, once more, frowns and shakes his head. Not approaching Rysia and Sivoril, he turns his attention rather, to the new hatched blue. "Now *that* is more my speed," the boy says to himself, watching the newest hatchling quite intently.

"That wasn't real," Laelle accuses Reyce without looking at him, claiming he feigned that sniffle. She barely opens her mouth when she speaks, lest floating germs get drawn in. Despite not facing him, she arches a brow, some hint of a wryly amused challenge.

From the sands, It takes a long time for Ashwin to get his hands down from where they're laced together behind his head. Jensen gestures, then, and Captain's pale second blinks, uncurling and straightening up. "Sir," he murmurs under his breath, sucking air in through his nose, and lifting his head. Roa, as she draws away, gets a disconcerted nod. Then he's easing a step forward, so he can catch Vej's eye, catch Morley's eye, look up to the galleries where others of the guards are spectating. Something in his pale gaze seems to convey an instruction, and one by one the guard falls silent, straightens up, puts away the public speculation. "Sir," he mutters again, as he steps back into place. This time, though, it's to R'vain, and it doesn't sound happy.

From the sands, Miniyal bites her lip and tries not to laugh at what happens with the gold. Tries, and fails horribly. Still, it's too hot for much laughing so she just contains that amusement to a smirk towards the girl shaken with goo. Well, one finds their entertainment where they can. When there's another dragon to watch she looks over and gives the newest blue her attention. More looks, considering, from dragon to candidates. Playing games in her head.

From the sands, Sivoril is poked. It catches him just beneath the ribs and in an odd display of someone who is apparently willing to dish it out he actually shies away from the contact, turning a slightly embarassed look towards the poker. Apparently, his hippocacy is realized for he flushes markedly beneath his already crimson face. "Mumble." He says. Yes, he does not just mumble, he actually comes out and says the word 'mumble'. Taking another breath he shifts to his left foot from the right, trying not to imagine either or sizzling. He is also in the same boat as Miniyal. When the goo-splatted lovely thing is so afflicted, he finds himself biting his lip. That's not like him at all, having thoughts like this. Perhaps... he's been corrupted. No, this thought is vanished and he steps closer to Rysia. Silent comfort. For him? Oh, yes. Absolutely.

From the sands, "Ahh, m'love, I just want to give you a hope for freedom. But I know our passion can overcome any obstacles, even the gold-hided kind!" She's enjoying herself far too much as she grins at her friend, peeking over her shoulder. "Pretty little blue, one of the boys'll be happy." A glance at the blushign girl gets an even wider grin. She says to Rysia, in a secretive voice that is certain to carry, "I do love when they pretend not to hear me, even as they turn pretty colors, y'know? Whatcha think, she make a good greenrider? Sweet, innocent, greenrider... Perfect!"

From the sands, "Yeah," agrees R'vain. The syllable is storied, slow and rumbling, an acceptance of Ashwin's 'sir' as much as a reply; and that means something. But that's all he really has to say, right now. Hatching to take care of. People to guard. Hatchlings to watch.

From the sands, "Most," Issa echoes enigmatically, her tone falling casual and even more amused under the constant hum of the dragons. Her eyes scan the milling sea of white robes and sudden new riders, but her face is turned just far enough back toward Jensen to let her words carry back to him. "You're going to go through there," she directs him, sparing a glance and a pointed finger toward the archway into which a blue is currently being led by a little slip of a boy. "One of the weyrlings is in there to provide the food he'll be wanting," she continues, her speech taking on a rhythm of rote. This is the point where she splits off though, so she pauses, turning to him fully and giving his face a once-over before dismissing him with a sudden smile and a, "On your way, bronzerider," the title tossed out almost playfully before she turns and strides back to join D'ven in collecting new weyrlings.

From the sands, Proud Night Sky Blue Blue Hatchling takes a moment to shake himself off once he's out of his shell, flicking a bit of goo here, a clump of sand there. Once that's accomplished, he turns his attention to the parents. Even from the shadows he sticks his snout toward Tialith, as if waiting for his mother to take him in. But soon, there is instinct pressing him on. With a brief, almost mournful croon, he shakes himself off, resumes his proud stance, and starts to slink through the shadows. Watching.

From the sands, "Dara, stop teasin' the poor lass... 'Sides, she might do just fine." There's a pause, then Rysia admits, "Either way. And that is a handsome lad.." she agrees with both Kenanthan and Essdara, before flashing a quick smile to Sivoril, rather amused.

From the sands, Kenathan is, now, almost entirely watching the blue. He tears his eyes away to spare gold and bronze a quick glance, but it's only a quick one. Well, and a second quick glance to see if there are any eggs left. "Definitely. You can have the bronze, Sivoril," Ken adds, amused generosity. Relaxing now, it seems, as much as the hot sands allow, as he drifts closer to the others.

From the sands, Implacable Imposing Bronze Hatchling is right there to collect the lovely girl's dismay, as his gold clutchmate moves on. Hearing her cries, he stops and turns his head towards her, reflecting her heart-break in a hundred tiny facets. Soon her tears become boring to him and he pushes away, scattering sand at her and her friends, and belatedly adding his own mark to her appearance. This time, though, her dismay doesn't attract him, and he powers down the sands in search of other candidates.

"I don't know about that," Fienne murmurs to Sakher. "I don't have very good luck as a rule, you see." Another little glance for the sands. "I'm not sure he's pleased about impressing either... it's just very odd." She lets out a little sigh, then folds her hands in her lap and settles back to watch what else might unfold.

"I sympathize," commiserates Sakher, watching Fienne and the hatchling intermittantly, "though I can't say I've been in that particular situation. I prefer making my own luck, when it is required--very few things, you see, are as random as they can appear. Hatchings are, of course, one of them, because who can hope to understand the ways of dragons?"

Reyce leans back in his chair, using the wall behind him to brace his head. He's beginning to let his eyes slip closed as well, but Laelle's accusation registers and he cracks an eye back open. She won't look at him directly; he won't look at her with both eyes; they're well-matched in their indifference. "What wasn't?"

From the sands, Sivoril raises his hands at Kenathan's statement. "Err." He says. "Err." He repeats. "Uh, thanks. I think." So, that caught him off guard. So much so that he forgets to switch feet again and a small yelp is forced from his mouth. For a moment, he actually ponders sitting down but that would involve burning his arse and not just his feet. Needless to say, this is not a desirable affliction. "Heh, sorry about that. Good luck, Kenathan." He says smoothly enough; recovering from his initial shock. Apparently, he hadn't actually given much thought to his own potential impression, giving thoughts primarialy to others as his way.

From the sands, Her perusal has come to an end, and if thus far the hatchling gold has sought her other with casual motions and bemused exploration, there is an urgency that appears now. She sees her choice. She has made her decision. Darting past the fine and fair young women, it is towards a plumper and less perfected figure that the gold rushes. It is Miniyal's knees that the little queen hides her face against.

"Who indeed," murmurs G'thon, and is quite quiet.

From the sands, Aw crap. Katriel is perhaps not as used to the whole culture of how to behave in these situations, catching her lower lip between her teeth when the gold finds her match somewhere else. Unfamiliar with the new goldrider, she doesn't even shout out congratulations, instead taking an uncertain step back to scan the remaining dragons once again.

K'rom is watching the hatchlings choose their lifemates and then sees the Gold choose here and just blinks. "Oh wow," is all he says and just stares blankly.

From the sands, The weyrwoman blinks, brows arching as she returns to her place in time to see just whom the little gold has chosen. Her laugher is soft this time, her head shaking slowly as she smiles. "Well. There it is, then," Roa murmurs. And then, much more quietly, "Try and quit -that-."

From the sands, Miniyal's knees are bumped and it pulls her attention back to where she is as much as anything. Along with everything. "He's going to be so smug, like he knew." She informs the gold this and then lets out a sigh that's not at all disappointed no matter her words. Biting her lip she stifles a laugh, if not her smile and then nods. "I'm aware of that, yes. There's no need to state the obvious, right? It's too hot here anyway." Babbling. She babbles, but at the same time she has enough since to at least get oriented in the right direction to leave. She smiles, she babbles, she can't help but lift one hand to find that ring hidden in her hair and touch it.

From the sands, Well, there's something to say about /that./ A low curse word rumbles out of R'vain, low enough it is probably for only Ashwin's ear to hear-- and then the Weyrleader stalks off toward the little Weyrwoman, head shaking as surely as hers does. Roa smiles alone, though; the Weyrleader turns to watch the hatchlings still scattered and shuffling on the sands with grim expression.

Fienne's hand finds her mouth, fingers covering her lips. If she was uncertain what the bronze lingering in front of Jensen meant, the gold burying her head in Miniyal's skirts is far less obscure. "Oh, gosh." Over her fingertips, wide blue eyes flick to G'thon, then back. "Congratulations?" In her breathy little voice the uplilt at the end makes the single word far more question that statement, though behind her hand the edges of a smile's curve might be glimpsed. Aiming for the continuation of polite conversation in spite of her interest apparently lying with the Candidates, Fienne murmurs, "Make your own luck... how do you mean?" It's an aside really, eyes still on Miniyal and her reaction.

From the sands, Rysia looks up to spot the little gold make her choice. There's a flash of.. not quite disappointent, not quite relief, but either are quickly gone, as she calls out, "Congratulations, Miniyal..." as the once-recordskeeper and her new partner head towards the little exit. Dara and Min's catfight aside, the words seem to be honestly meant. Now, back to the other half of the show.

From the sands, Issa trots over to take a scared new bluerider off of D'ven's hands as soon as she's done with the troublesome captain of the guard, escorting him with a soothing hand and even calmer tones for the few extra steps it takes to get to the waiting cavern. Gasps and cheers from the crowd draw her back though, and the boy proceeds the rest of the way on his own. The gold dragon has found a girl and, between stiffly shifting white cloth, Issa glimpses Miniyal. "Oh, Faranth's..." And the rest sinks below her breath, uttered hotly though her face remains calm. Wide blue eyes seek out Roa, disbelief in her slanted smile, but the greenrider rushes a step behind D'ven out to the edge of the clump of candidates. "That's it," Issa's voice can be heard to urge approvingly, as if that were just another greenrider beginning to head toward them, "this way, come on."

A 'hmph' is given as the gold chooses her rider, H'kon neither overtly pleased or displeased. The rider does open his own eyes, and crane his neck upward to try and get a view of the new gold pair from his vantage point.

From the sands, Sivoril is unsure of how to react at the latest pairing. Given the fact that had been hoping to friends, and it is a friend that has just impressed. Or at least, someone who he thinks is his friend. Evil, she is. And now twice the evil. He reaches out, meaning to poke Rysia in the flank again. Another wish of luck? Probably. His ears do not catch Roa's comment of 'let's see her quit that' but, he's up on the gossip and would no doubt have found it amusing. A second poke is aimed towards the woman beside, and then his attention is flitting back to the bronze -- not wanting to forget him in the throng of those watching the Gold. Any congradulations he has, will likely be given later.

From the sands, The look on Dara's face when Niya Impresses is close to panic, "Shit, I was /joking/. I mean, I'm glad for her, of course, but I don't need /another/ goldrider who hates me. Shards, I oughta just go to benden while I can. 'Least Roa's young enough that she won't be senior any time soon." She shuffles back to Rysia's side, now the coast is clear. "But, not us, so that's something. I was hoping she'd pick you, though."

From the sands, Peloth pads calm and careful, keeping pace besides her rider. Her head moves and her muzzle finds Miniyal's palm, nosing it with a bump. That hand is for petting. Bump. That is how one pets. Wings drag, tail drags, and her feet pick up the pace just a little in hopes of encouraging her lifemate's to do the same.

From the sands, Settling back onto his haunches, the big bronze lets out a sudden roar, in a baby voice already deep and rumbling. He runs his gaze down the line of candidates again, his lips still held back from the sound, and comes with decisive finality to a candidate not ten feet from him, a rugged young man with tied off black hair. With another roar, shorter but no less harsh, the hatchling picks himself up and waits for Sivoril to step forth to his claim.

From the sands, Proud Night Sky Blue Blue Hatchling grows bolder as he slinks. Here he settles for a moment to watch a grouping of candidates across the sands, there he stands in front of a harper boy for a long moment of inspection. Eventually, he moves on, catching a nervous holder boy engrossed with his brazen brother. Sneakily, the little blue creeps up behind him, catching a mouthful of robe and giving it a tug. When the boy falls with a terrified squak, the dark little blue scrambles away in a spray of sand, crowing cheerfully.

In response, Laelle chances the illness in the air and gives a little sniff. It's vaguely haughty and disdainful sound. She has no other answer for Reyce. Besides the crowd is errupting in another flurry of excitement, this one for the newly impressed gold. Laelle blinks once, opens her mouth and then closes it again.

The ripples of each impression spread out through the galleries, and for most, the Headmaster's reaction is muted. For Miniyal, however, he has a broad grin, a flash of white teeth against dark skin -- and then he laughs, drawing glances briefly as he does so. It is when he has recovered that he speaks, quiet only enough for his closer neighbours to hear. "I said to her that I would have her in my classes," he informs Penny with a lazy grin. "I will have to speak to the Weyrwoman about sending her to Caucus when she is finished her weyrlinghood."

From the sands, Rysia heys, and would poke back, but catches sight of the bronze. Instead, she just steps away from the young man, closer to Dara, shaking her head, "A kind wish, but at least I'm not in Issa's clutches just ye... oh, shards. That one's going to be a handful..." the young weaver snickers, eyes drawn to the blue.

J'sek's reaction to the impression involving the gold is only a soft "Hmm." Nothing else is said for a moment or so, before he side glances towards K'rom and seems ready to comment further, only to lapse back into silence and only nod his head a little. Then his glance slowly moves back to the wandering bronze and blue, yet lingering a little more on the blue.

From the sands, Miniyal is, thankfully, blissfully unaware of everyone's reaction. She can deal with it all later anyway. So she pets with the hand meant for petting and is easily persuaded to move faster as well. Although she stumbles here and there in the process. When she has to focus on someone it's Issa who is talking and she manages a nearly apologetic smile to the other woman. "Ummm. Right. This way. I know. We're moving." They are indeed moving and it's a relief to get off the sands anyway. Too many eyes can be felt now where before she could ignore them.

"Yes, I think so." As if G'thon is just now deciding to agree that congratulations are, in fact, in order. He has only just begun to smile a little more than he had been before, than he does almost always, and glances at Sakher for his answer rather than at Fienne who asked the question.

From the sands, Kenathan shakes his head a little. "A handsome one, though...and see, I said you could have him, Sivoril." He cracks a grin at the other boy. "Good luck...I don't envy you." He steps away slightly, regarding the blue again, whilst making sure Sivoril and the bronze have space.

From the sands, Katriel now seems utterly uncertain of what she's doing on the sands. The last few dragons don't seem to be headed her way, the impressees are being led away...and that blue /certainly/ isn't for her. In fact, she'll just step over here, with another group of rejected girls - including the tearful pretty one, who earns a wince for her lack of composure.

Neiran folds his arms. That is all. Silence, and an unreadable face while he remains standing on his seat, as the person in front of him hasn't had the courtesy to sit again.

Unbeknownst to either of them, Reyce in the stands and Dara on the sands have a similar reaction to Miniyal's Impression. The rush of spectators screaming - in excitement or dismay, who knows - draws the Bendenite's attention down, and he adds his voice to the crowd with a simple, muttered, "Shit." Making a heavy, phlegmy sound in his throat, he reaches for the handkerchief he put in his pocket so he'll have something to spit into.

From the sands, Sivoril watches, as the young bronze approaches nearby. There is a sort of odd silence from him as he studies it. It is the first hatchling that he has seen at such close range. Stock still he is, recoiling half a step at the sheer force of the nearby bellow. For a split second after that, Sivoril looks different. Eyes are half lidded, face moving into something that looks like fear, and then relief. One knee fails him and he stumbles, not really conscious of the fact that his palms are digging into the scorching sand. A half second after that, he seems to come to his senses -- reaching out to grasp the bronze's shoulder, oblivious of sand and egg goo as he pulls himself to his feet and begins to follow the dragonet as though given an order. Let's just hope the young hatchling knows where he's going, or someone is there to show him.

From the sands, Ready and waiting at the edge for Miniyal are Issa and D'ven both, though the creel of another Impression draws the former's eyes away just briefly to note the new bronze and his boy. The greenrider waits, just long enough to settle a hand on the new goldrider's shoulder, returning her apologetic smile with a smooth, if quick, one of her own. And then she leave D'ven to the honor of escorting the goldrider back, left here to gather up the bronzerider and, while she's at it, the thin reedy boy that a green's just Impressed to.

From the sands, "Yeah, just a bit." Dara says, agreeing with Rysia absently. Katriel gets a small smile, no teasing in it this time; sympathy, instead. "Looks like we're safe for this round, Rysia. What do you say we go celebrate with more wine than is conceivably safe? I'll even promise to keep my hands to myself. We'll invite the cute girl and mourn for her, hey?" She nods her head at Katriel.

From the sands, Proud Night Sky Blue finally ceases his creeping around the edges of the sands. He's peeked in enough windows now, watched enough candidates in their (not-so) natural habitats. He takes one more look around the sands, still shrouded in shadow, then rushes forward to stop in front of a tall, athletic young woman with auburn hair and golden brown eyes, rising up on his haunches and flapping his wings to an almost hands on hips posture with a triumphant crow!

Penny has been rather silent since the commotion involving the errant bronze early on in the show. Sefton's laugh earns him a sidelong glance, the sound drawing her out of her quiet -- perhaps even sullen -- musings. "And now even power to sway the dragonets' choices, to bring you the students you want?" she says, and though her tone is even, the quirk of her mouth gives away the tease. "You stop at nothing to get what you want, do you?"

From the sands, "Pahanath?" Dara's voice is tiny and confused. "Wait, but... I'm not a boy..." There is a brief hint of panic in her voice, but it is short lived. "Second door. Yes. That's where they went...." She looks around frntically, looking to Rysia for help briefly. Then her eyes widen and she snaps her gaze towards the weyrleaders. "Oh, shards, he's gonna be /pissed/! I'm so dead!"

From the sands, Katriel is scared of Dara! She talks about girls kissing! But this time, she casts a sidelong glance toward the other woman just in time to catch sight of the...decidedly odd impression. The holder girl's eyes open wide with surprise, and she even takes a step back to tug on the sleeve of a weyrbred girl next to her before whispering: "Is that- Does that- /happen/?" And then, as has already been said once: "Can that dragon do that?"

From the sands, Xalth makes it a little easier for his chosen rider, taking one step forward as Sivoril lurches to his knees. Arching his neck, he turns his muzzle into the man's back for the moment that he's just kneeling there, but the tender moment is soon interrupted by another one of his roars. Softer, now. Once Sivoril - who will become S'ol - has his feet, the bronze turns himself and his rider to march off the sands and go find food.

From the sands, "Apparently. It just did." Ken steps back and shrugs. "Good luck with him. Wonder who's going to be in charge of the guard now." That's thoughtful, and the boy drifts away from the others, even Rysia, looking across the sands, brushing more sweat out of his eyes.

From the sands, It has been a blue, blue hatching-- and R'vain adds his own blue streak to all the rest as he catches sight of that blue's sudden uprising, and of the shape of the candidate behind his spread wings. "Fuck," he spits, "he's goin' t'run 'er down and she ain't even got sense t'get out've th'..." Way.

No. The Weyrleader is not 'pissed.' He's thunderstruck. His nostrils flare; his face turns red. He gawps a little, chewing on words-- and then Essdara looks their way, and it's all he can do to stare back. "Roa," he growls. "Do something."

From the sands, "Dara, you are not usin' me to pick up gi.... " Rysia trails off, then with a bit of an odd smile, moves back where she was in when Sivoril was about, closer to Kenathan, "I think you are to be bein' a bit busy for a while..." she says in response to Dara's look, laughter fairly evident, before shaking her head, "No-one's goin' to be killin' you, dearheart. Now go stuff... Pahanath? and worry about everythin' else later...." After Dara turns, that's when she'll just slowly shake her head. Evil bronze hatchlings, Mini impressing, Dara and a blue.. that wine sounds like a good idea.

For Reyce's reaction, loogie and all, Laelle let's out a short, quiet bark of a laugh. It could easily be a cruel sound if she let it grow louder, but the note is carefully restrained, much like the glimmer of amusement in her eye. And she doesn't turn those eyes to the sick man beside her. Oh no. She doesn't need to see him handle that phlegm.

K'rom blinks then, watching the blue intently. When the blue makes his choice, he grins broadly and stands up for a moment, then quickly sits back down, "He chose Dara!. Good choice!"

Fienne finally just slumps back in her chair, running a hand over her face. "I am so confused... this is the oddest hatching I have ever- well, I mean it's the only one I've ever seen but, seriously." There's a little headshake and her eyes flicker over the sands as if wondering what /else/ might happen.

J'sek had kept his attention focused on the blue, not quite fully noticing that the bronze had impressed. However, when he notices who exactly the blue does stop in front of, the weyrling's brows raise in disbelief. No name comes to mind, but that doesn't matter. Instead, he gapes awhile before catching himself and coughing slightly. "I didn't think that was even possible!" he says, most likely echoing a few other responses to Dara's impression of the blue. Then to K'rom, he side glances. "You know her?" Obviously, memory isn't not a strong point on this weyrling.

Neiran's brow furrows. "Assuredly unorthodox," he murmurs, lost in the din of exclamations, most likely.

From the sands, Pahanath is just utterly pleased with himself, completely unaware of the ruckus he's caused. Look! He got him a Dara! And...she's paying attention to Mom and Dad? Oh no, that won't do. The little blue sticks out his muzzle to snag a piece of Dara's robes, wings flapping broadly as he starts to tug her toward the exit.

Neiran folded his arms before; G'thon folds his, now, and leans back in his chair, and - indifferent to the fact that it means he shifts a little awkwardly between the people on either side of him - crosses his legs at the knee. He has nothing to say, but he's stopped watching the bronze, the browns, the greens still seeking their matches below. His eyes, like so many, are on a girl with a blue.

H'kon outright scowls, slumping back down into his seat, and again trusting his Arekoth to fill him in on any important developments in the future. "He has no right to make that choice," is agreed. So Neiran's words maybe weren't totally lost.

K'rom turns and stares at J'sek for a moment. "Yes I know her. She also stood at our hatching. An interesting choice, and nice."

From the sands, What Roa does is stare. And blink. And stare. Because blue. Dara. Blue. Dara. Blue? Dara? The weyrwoman clears her throat softly and drags her gaze away from the unlikely pair to study the weyrleader. With a quirk of her brow and a tiny smile on her lips she lifts one arm and snaps her fingers. *Snap!* Then she glances back towards the little wayward hatchling and his new lifemate. "You know, R'vain. Maybe we should just let her keep him."

From the sands, "But that's- That's- I mean, it's not just that I don't recognize her, but that's a girl, isn't it?" Katriel asks of the weyrbred girl next to her, who simply nods, dumbfounded.

From the sands, Issa makes her way through the Impressees, ushering on another couple of greenriders before moving on to the next blue to Impress. Only... It's Essdara. A beat is missed, feet stuck stiff in the sand while a confused frown drops over her wide eyes, but it's only a beat. Then she's pushing past the few candidates that stand between her and the bluerider. The bluerider. "Come, come, come," Issa calls to Dara urgently, standing a few feet away as she spares a stunned look up to the Weyrleaders, absently stretching out her hand to wave the former kitchen worker on.

"At nothing," Sefton agrees, looking down to the sands. And then, Essdara. That silences even Sefton, and he rises to his feet with others of the crowd to look down at Essdara. "Blue," he murmurs, standing quite still. "A girl." And then, after running his dark eyes over the assembled crowd briefly, he rises to his feet, squeezing Penny's shoulder in wordless farewell before he turns to make his way up towards the back of the galleries, and out.

From the sands, "Hungry. Yeah, I'm hungry, we'll get you some food, yes..." Dara's mind is working a mile a miute, and so she lets instinct (Well, the ones not screaming to run far away) take over as she moves in the direction the other weyrlings went. A and absently finds her blue companion, rubbing Pahanath's head soothingly a she belatedly sees to his needs. Issa gets a blank stare, and then they are past the woman and off to feed.

From the sands, *snap!* R'vain's head turns, a snarl ready on his lips. At least it means Dara's out of his line of sight. While the Weyrleader, scowling, addresses his Weyrwoman in less than thrilled tones. "Ain't a /pet canine,/" he hisses, and then turns, impotent, to start for the path that leads up to Roa's weyr. No speeches from him. Not any for polite company, anyway.

J'sek simply stares back at K'rom for awhile, before shrugging. "I'm horrible with names, remember?" he mumbles, before smirking slightly. "It's all well and good that they found each other." J'sek murmurs, mostly for the other weyrling to hear. "But it's not going to sit well for very many people..." At that, he falls silent again.

Hawwwk. Better she didn't look. Reyce draws the spit-logged napkin away from his mouth, making an unusually expressive face as his teeth scrape down his tongue, then carefully refolds the napkin (again so the gross side faces in) and shoves it back into his pocket. He has, in his illness, missed Dara's Impression to the blue, but no doubt there their similar responses would diverge. His attention instead shifts to the passing Headmaster, catching a glimpse of Sefton's expression as the other man heads up the steps and out.

From the sands, Issa trails after Dara and her blue, unfocused eyes staring at the hatchling's tail and the tiny dunes it creates in its wake. Assured, though, that the pair will make it to the cavern safely and without any hitch, Issa peels off to her former spot near the Weyrleaders. "Wasn't expecting that," she notes, voice still calm and lightly amused though her mind is clearly working overtime when she turns back to watch the stragglers on the sands.

Penny's eyes are on the sands when all the confused murmurs start up again. Another runaway? But her eyes soon find Essdara as she walks the blue out, and there they remain, her expression utterly bewildered. She doesn't answer Sefton, and only shifts her gaze after that squeeze to her shoulder. Her eyes flick up as he turns to leave, and she turns her head to follow him out for a few moments before turning back to the surreal hatching.

From the sands, Katriel watches the blue depart with great perplexment, brows furrowed, before she finally realizes the hatchlings are gone. "Oh dear," she murmurs, a long breath released as she looks up toward the galleries and those remaining.
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K'rom nods at J'sek, "Well, no. Not many people would be happy. But, well, there are those who are never happy. I know it's not the same, but some weren't happy at my Impression and said I wasn't deserving." He shrugs then and looks around at the other Weyrlings.

From the sands, "It happened," Roa notes quietly, one hand reaching up to touch the elbow of her own lifemate. "There's no undoing it. You know that. And she's going to need to hear from you that you don't plan to hold it against her." And then a very slight narrowing of the weyrwoman's eyes as she regards R'vain. "Take some time if you need it. Get some air." Her eyes flick around the sands, emptying as they are. "I'll move everyone along when it's over."

Fienne looks up as the crowd already begins to thin. "Is that it, is it over?" She leans forward, peering among the shards that are all that is left of the eggs. "Oh. I guess so." There's a hint of puzzlement lingering, as if it all happened too fast and was too different than what she expected. Perhaps even a hint of disappointment, an anticlimax now that it is all over. "So... there's a feast now?" If anything can bring a ghost of a smile to Fienne's lips it's the possibility of good food.

From the sands, Rysia looks about, to consider who's left, then shakes her head, "Wine bad..." she murmurs, more to herself than not, before settling in to her shifting of feet, and waiting until they can move on. Despite her still standing there, there is an odd little smile, well pleased with itself, regardless.

From the sands, R'vain does little better than snort for Issa's words, and not even that for Roa's. Ruvoth gazes after him as he disappears, whuffling.

J'sek quirks a brow a little at K'rom's statement, but his reply to that never comes. Instead, the weyrling slowly rises from his seat, lingering a moment as he casts a quick glance towards the sands before looking back to the weyrling next to him. "So where to now?" he asks with a faint smile. "Or are you going to stay here for a bit?"

The ethics instructor tosses over a slow smile at Fienne, his mood recovering, slowly. "There generally is. Ah - he's - " G'thon unfolds his legs and arms and leans forward in his chair, one long hand going to its arm, his eyes on the sands below. "R'vain. He's meant to - I wonder if he forgot."

From the sands, The last few pairs are made, the hatching finished with a blue meeting his match, the pair ushered off by D'ven, and with no Weyrleader on the sands, those candidates who remain seem antsy, as do many of the onlookers in the stands.

K'rom peers at J'sek then, "Well, there would be a celebration for the Hatching. Which means good food. And drinks. We should eat well."

From the sands, The weyrwoman huffs a small sigh when R'vain leaves, and then she sucks in a deep breath. She lifts her hands to cup her mouth so she can call out to observers, riders, and candidates alike, "The Living Cavern will be holding a feast in celebration of a successful hatching! I hope to see all of you there!" She even waves to the galleries before practicing what she preaches and moving towards the exit that will lead out into the bowl.

Pale brows arch slightly upward, and Fienne follows G'thon's eyes out to the sand. "The Weyrleader? He's meant to..." she trails off with a questioning note, shifting to peer out over the sands which are pretty obviously empty of one looming redhaired Weyrleader. "Looks like he did forget, or something." A shrug pushes whatever it is he was supposed to do away and she aims a smile at G'thon. "I'm sure the Weyrwoman will have it well in hand. Are you going to the feast?" This last offered also to Sakher. "We could all walk together."

From the sands, Issa watches D'ven handle the last Impression then, countering his move to the wall of the cavern, steps away from Roa with a sighing smile and out further onto the sands, drawing the remaining candidates to her with a broad sweep of her arm as well as individual names called out for those that linger. Though her voice falls under Roa's announcement, it's enough to pull the ragtag group together and the greenrider leads them off the sands.

From the sands, Rysia considers Roa for a moment, as she heads towards the exit, then looks towards those left, "Bath, an' other clothin' first, I think." That said, she still falls in after the greenrider, off the sands.

Not watching the loogie or its master, Laelle does see Essdara's impression, to which her brows press together in a rather notable expression of confusion. It even leaves her unusually ineloquent. "Uh..." She glance at Reyce then, only to see him looking off after the departing Sefton and so he likely misses the quizical lift of her brow. And then there's hardly time for anything else, as the crowds eagerly begin to file out.

From the sands, Katriel looks a bit uncertain at the mention of a feast to come, looking uncertainly after D'ven and the cavern full of weyrlings. Finally, she lets out a long breath and follows after the others.

From the sands, Kenathan shrugs, turning to head off the Sands. He doesn't go to the feast, though. He grabs some food, and then, quietly, leaves for some quiet corner of the bowl. Not really saying anything to anyone.

"Or something," agrees G'thon with a mild laugh. "And it seems she does. I suppose there's nothing to be done for it. - Ah, Sakher. One of the weyr's most impressive spreads awaits us - perhaps Fienne's idea is a good one?"

The confused, ineloquent comment from Laelle draws Reyce back with a plain blink. The weyrwoman's announcement doesn't really reach this far back in the galleries, but the crowd of departing people is cue enough, and Reyce gets up quickly to beat the rush out to the Living Caverns. "See you," he throws at Laelle as he climbs past her, careful not to touch her with his suffering, sick body.

"Oh right. Good point there." J'sek says, nodding his head a little. As the crowded galleries begin to thin out as more and more people leave, the weyrling finally follows the flow, pausing only long enough to glance to K'rom. "Coming?"

Neiran is forced to move off of his perch when people make to shuffle past. He collects his book and obligingly moves out of the paths of others, making his own way towards the exit. He does offer H'kon a parting nod, at least, for courtesy's sake.

K'rom nods at J'sek, "Oh, definitely. I am coming! I wouldn't miss a chance at good food for any reason...." A smile then as he follows J'sek with some of the other Weyrlings.

H'kon returns Neiran's nod, pushing out of the row, but in the end standing in a corner and waiting for the galleries to empty out. Brow is well-creased, the departing people watched a bit distantly. Surely he'll leave once the way is fully clear.

Though left without answers, Laelle doesn't seem eager to give her confusion further voice anyway. She draws her legs in close when Reyce gets up to pass her, and whether that is out of politeness or out of fear of his sickness is left for anyone to judge. She herself is patient and ready to let the crowds thing before following them out.