Bailey, K'ane, Nathanael, Prymelia


Prymelia and Nathanael get to touch eggs and are both in turn, touched. (Egg posing by Bailey )


It is sunrise of the thirteenth day of the first month of the second turn of the 12th pass.


Southern Weyr, Hatching Sands

OOC Date


bailey_default.jpg k-ane_default.jpg nathanael_default.jpg prymelia_default.jpg


Hatching Sands

The Sands are surprisingly soft to the feet and to the eyes: rich grains of gold commingle with the ground basalt-black that mark the shores of Azov's Sea. The whorls of lighter color pattern into the sands, larger-grained and often settling at the top, as golden driftwood against dark shores. … but the moaning from above sounds like the chorus of the damned, lessening the natural beauty here below.

There's a moment where Bailey can CLEARLY be seen glaring at K'ane as the bronzerider brings a little cluster — no more than four — candidates to the Sands. The assistant weyrlingmaster has a stubborn eyebrow TILT for her shenanigans and a challenge unvoiced as he bows to the clutchmother who restlessly curls about a cluster of eggs: Winter is Coming, Exsanguinated, Seal'd With A Hiss. Her eyes whirl reddish-alarm but Bailey can be seen to soften when she notices a PARTICULAR face amongst the bunch. "Fine, fine. But be CAREFUL," the goldrider threatens the group, "Or I will beat you all until you bleed out on these nice Sands, and then someone would have to clean it." Her voice borrows from her lifemate's ice. K'ane falls back with a smirk and a, "Good luck," for the kids.

Given the tale that had come back to the barracks the night before, Prymelia is somewhat reluctant to get all up in the icy queen’s territory and so shoots K’ane a narrowed look and then eyeing Khaly, she does the requisite bowing thing. “I don’t taste very good.” The former trader mutters. Probably meant for the brooding gold or simply a verbal reminder to herself that a dragon has never actually eaten anyone. Gathering herself Bailey is given a smart salute and then Nathanael is flashed a smile. “Ever touched an egg before?”

Nathanael had totally trailed behind the rest, feeling not at all nervous about stepping down onto the sands. Maybe he SHOULD feel it, but there's a rather perfection to the teenage belief that nothing bad could ever happen with a particular goldrider around. Rather, his eyes have drifted here and there as he forces himself to walk. The bow that Nathanael gives to Khalyssrielth is a proper one though marred by a huge grin. "I dunno if'n I'd be tastin' good. I mean, I like 'e food I be eatin', so mayhab she'd be likin' us," comes Nathanaels response. "Aye, Ma'am Bailey was lettin' me touch her last'uns. Ye think he'd be mindin if I was sayin' hi t' Ma'am afore touchin' 'e eggs?" K'ane gets a bit of an EYE. Because he's weird. Cool, but weird.

"Shoo," Bailey gestures absently at both of them, keeping an eye on Khaly. She draws her narrow shoulders up, takes a fortifying breath, and draws the gold away from the clutch, pacing over into a corner with the darkened beast to murmur encouragement and rub her nose. On the far side. Where nobody can see such WEAKNESS.

Nathanael will take Bailey's shoo as a no, but that's like… a no for now. He turns his eyes to the eggs and ponders for a loonngg second. They're all so pretty. Touching them all would be fun. But there is one that seems sad and hopeful at the same time, so splitting away from Prymelia he winds his way carefully towards the Flying on a Broken Wing egg, and touches it gently, tracing the lines that almost give it the feeling of flight already.

Flying On Broken Wing Egg
The Sands about you lay nascent and waiting along with their charges. The shell doesn't change under your fingertips, coarse and smooth alike with glitter and white. But the longer your eyes rest upon the egg, the more it seems that those glittering sparks dance and twirl and spin with whirligigs of delight, cold-crusted and dreamily fun. The patterns are hypnotic, the way the light dances, the way glimmerings spark against one another, the way they blend and shift and… how long have you spent staring at this, again?

Shoo? Well there’s a new one says the browlifted look Prymelia slides to Nathanael. And then he scampers off leaving her with the runny nosed Gatreen. Does the kid EVER blow it? “Don’t snot on the eggs.” She advises and tosses the lad a stern look before heading toward the fascinating looking Brainfreeze! Egg. “If you tell me to get naked and roll around in furs, I’m gonna tell your mama.” Just sayin’.

Brainfreeze! Egg
The feeling is abrupt, jolting as soon as fingers contact the smoothness of shell, as soon as fingerpads trace those whorling sulci bulges: how fast do nerves fire at the touch of ice so cold it burns? Well, you know now, Prymelia: because this egg is so cold,// so //cold: a headache abruptly falls upon you, as sharp and swift as the cold fell, and the world threatens to go dark about the edges. Push through it, child, and surely you will make it. Or maybe all the blood vessels in your brain will simply finish freezing and there will finally be an end to this agony.

Nathanael stands, his finger tracing and retracing those visual lines. His head tilts sideways, eyes going slightly unfocused. He would have probably have stayed that way too, watching those deceptively shifting colors, if the final candidate neither Prymelia nor Gatreen hadn't edged by and lightly brushed against his arm. Shaking his head as if coming out of a daze, Nathanael smiles down at the egg and pulls his hand away. "Ye're a pretty'un." Reaching up he brushes back blond hair and turns to look at the eggs. Skyblue eyes finally fall upon the icy and luminous shimmer of Valkyrie's Passage Egg. He has to edge carefully around a pair of eggs, but he comes safely to its edge and lays a hand upon it.

Valkyrie's Passage Egg
A thunder of wings, a roar of sound and sight and smell and touch: it leaves you blinded, it leaves you lost. Numb to the core, frozen. Are you dead? You may be, inasmuch as you drift — drift — drift. Lost forever. Or are you? A glow from within: that which does not require mere senses to commune, that which is the essence of// you. //Your heart. Your soul. Your chi. Whatever it is called, it glows a gorgeous blue, drifting skylark, emerging against the darkness as a boreal dance. It is eternal and timeless, the passage from one realm to the next. There is light at the end of this tunnel, but all the stories have it wrong, for this light comes from within.

Prymelia's fingers have barely touched the Brainfreeze! Egg and she utters a most unladylike curse and snatches her hand away. With a hand rubbing at her temple she squints at the thing through the sudden pounding headache. "You are one messed up egg." A quick glance off to where Bailey has taken its dam. "Or you're not really an egg at all and are an icicle in disguise." That her thoughts muttered under her breath when she steps away. In a flash the headache is shoved aside when she claps eyes on Blingin' Egg. "Ohhhhhh." Quick steps take her thattaway. "Oh you are gorgeous." With the tip of a finger she touches it and then flattens her hand and caresses the very blingy egg in a most covetous way. SHINY!!

Blingin’ Egg
OH GIRL. OH GRRRRRRRL. Girl we need to work on your STYLE. (Was that a fingersnap? That was a FINGERSNAP.) That hair. You could be doing so much more with your hair. Why is it so long? Girl that shit went out of style like TWO WEEKS AGO. And those clothes. Those pants. Who you gonna get dressed all up like that? No, wait, hang on, honey, you need some SHINY SHIT. Here. Have some bling. More bling. Diamonds. Jewelry. … but as you look closer you realize they are sugar-crystals, and dissolve in the rain. Do you feel cheated, yet?

As if frozen to the spot Nathanael's tendency towards constant movement stops, abruptly. The frozen chill has him standing unnaturally still, hand pressed against that egg. Slowly though, his shoulders relax and he smiles, though it is not the chipper-greet the sunshine type of smile. It is one which remembers loss, but the good to be found in the memories. "Ye know, Ma was alway's sayin' somethin' what felt like that." He lifts his hand from the egg and stuffs it in a pocket, perhaps to keep hold of the glow for just a few moments longer. His small smile doesn't fade, and he turns his steps to seek out that perfect white one he had seen before. A few steps And Suddenly, Blood Egg is reached for with the hand not stuffed in his pocket.

And Suddenly, Blood Egg
Nature surrounds you, soothes you, but not the robust growth of the jungled forest nor the tempestuous nature of the seas that you are so very familiar with. No. This is ice. This is *ice*, for there is ice, and there is ice. Flowing, slowly, glacial, drifting. You are so cold, frozen, but it doesn't happen painfully: it is a slow and near-sensuous process, drifting off into a timeless sleep. Too late, you glance down; why is your hand covered in blood? Why is your skin blue-white? Why are you drifting, why are you gone, why are you… why was the price of this the cost of your lifesblood? Thread shines silver, and then all goes dark.

Like a magpie to shiny piece of metal, Prymelia is drawn inward. But then there’s a frown and followed by a tight narrowing of eyes. “These aren’t my clothes.” The former trader hisses. “And how about I show you….” Ooooo. Waaaaittaminute! BLING? Jewelry? DIAMONDS!? The redhead positively glows with glee and then suddenly steps back and just stares at the Blingin’ Egg. “You are the worst kind of tease!!” Haughty the sniff and the cheated young woman stalks off with arms folded. But something catches her eye, a glimpse of deep blue and perfectly geometric patterns and curiosity gets the better of her and finds Prymelia laying a light touch to Let It Go Egg.

Let It Go Egg
Oh, trader. There is so much anguish and dismay in your life. Gentle are the fingertips — fingertips? — that trace the outlines of all the hurts, limning the lines that tattoo your soul with darkness. Your family. Your father. Your wagon. Your life. It accumulates as a burden, dragging you lower, pushing you down. You can't breathe. You can't see. All is dark and there is no way out. A single snowflake drifts down into the inferno of your own anxiety, dropping upon the very tip of your nose and melting not, a diamond — a true diamond — scintillating. Let go of your anger. Let go of your rage. There is life to be lived, and t'is not worth carrying around the weight of your burden: you are without peer, you, unique, light as a feather and reborn through frost rather than phoenix's fire.

The warmth of memories that the last egg had inspired falls away as the images of this one creep up slowly. He stands and bites his lip. He removes his hand from the egg and turns away from the view of others. No, his hand didn't just go up to brush away tears. Nope. Shaking his head he glances back at the egg then moves on, keeping whatever feelings the egg had inspired tucked deep with his heart. Right. It is slightly forced, but he brings a smile back to his lips and turns around. The Only Way To Quit Egg is near at hand, and Nathanael touches it.

The Only Way To Quit Egg
YOU ARE A FREAKING EGG JUNKIE, NATHANAEL. You know it. You feel guilty over it. You crave the curve of shell, the caress of hand against that leathery texture. You jones for it. You want it. You want it. YOU WANT MORE. You always want more. You can't have enough. It is intoxicating, uplifting, emotions and life and all the possibilities: they lift you higher than any drug, higher, higher, more, more, MOR… the shell shivers under your hand, and in the clarity of this perfect high, you can sense a tendril of simple wistfulness. You are suddenly sober, for that wistfulness is simple and sad, as if the presence under your hand wishes quietly to be wanted for itself. Just once.

Prymelia’s hands spreads across the egg’s surface as if her fingertips are reaching for something deep beneath the egg’s shell. Freckled features pale and her eyes slip closed a single tear quivering at the edge of thick lashes followed soon by another and then another, casting a silvery track down a cheek. A trembling breath of air escapes parted lips followed by a quickly snatched inhale and then as if burned, the former trader’s eyes fly open and she steps back, almost bumping into Gatreen in her haste to get away. The egg knows too much. Pierces too deep. Offers a hope she doesn’t dare reach for. “I uh…” Her gaze darts about looking for somewhere to escape to. “I need to pee.” Yup, call of nature people. Gotta go. Coming through!!

Nathanael has to stop himself from sitting down right in those sands and hugging the egg in front of him. "'m real sorry." Excuse him while he apologizes to the egg. His hand brushes against the side of it one last time though, and then steps away. "I really do jus' like meetin' ye'all." For the first time his eyes lift upwards from the eggs littering the sands to see Prymelia brushing her way away. He casts one last look at the egg, then edges himself out from among them also. He's closer to Bailey and Khaly then others, and he bows to them again. "Thank'e f'r lettin' us come." A glance to K'ane, should he go?

K'ane appears more concerned at Prymelia's expression than Nate's, but he gestures. "S'enough," he calls to the other two, low, "Let's go. Thank y', Khalyssrielth," he executes his own bow before leading the way off the Sands.

Head down, Prymelia hastens off the sands, walking a wide berth around K’ane. Nope. She can’t look at him just now. As soon as they’re out into the bowl, the former trader lengthens her stride in the direction of the latrines. Need to pee, see? Furiously she scrubs at her eyes until tears are gone and red smudges smear delicate skin arms wrapping tightly about herself.

Nathanael is respectful enough to keep his feet walking until the edge of the sands and a corner is turned. Outside of the sands and that mental cool the eggs seem to extrude it is hot. But that doesn't stop Nathanael from breaking into a run once it is okay. "Ma'am Prymelia?" He'll catch up unless she starts running faster.

Doing her level best to scrub the frozen egg’s gentle message to her from her mind, Prymelia startles when suddenly Nathanael is suddenly right there and calling out to her. A bright smile is fashioned with facades slipping neatly back into place. “Hey, Nate. Did you have fun?” With the egg touching.

Nathanael reaches out, perhaps to take Prymelia's hand in his own. "Ma'am. 's alright t' be cryin'." When he looks up his own tear stains are easy to see in the bright sunlight. "Ye dun have t' be hidin' what be makin' ye sad."

Given that she’s been thrown more than a little off-center, Prymelia’s hand is easily caught by Nathanael and she stops short and stares at him. Lips part to give hasty denial and then she sees reflected back at her blue eyes exhibiting evidence of having been touched just as deeply. She swallows and the smile that twines about her mouth is genuine and without guile, touched at the edges with sorrow, pain and a streak of darkness. “How do they know that stuff?” Its barely a whisper and might not even have been audible were they not standing close together.

Nathanael squeezes her hand, and just looks upwards at Prymelia. "I dunno. Sometimes, 'e riders're sayin' they 'n their dragons're sharin' minds. Mayhap 'e babies're 'e same, 's jus' they ain't focused on one person yet." His eyes fall to the ground and he kicks at a small clump of dirt. "I dun think they be meanin' t' be makin' us sad." The hand unclaimed by Prymelia reaches up and rubs at his own held back tears.

Although separated by eight turns, Prymelia listens in solemn silence as Nathanael delivers his explanation. Blinking furiously she nods and then turns her head away in a bid to gather her composure, angered with herself for such a display of vulnerability in front of another. But when she looks back again and sees the former young seacrafter lad rubbing at his eyes, her heart melts and she finds what she needs to distract herself - offering another comfort. With a light tug of hand she pulls the lad who has become as a younger sibling to her, closer and folds him into a hug. For a long time, she says nothing, merely hugging his thin frame to herself and rocking slightly from side to side, her mind still reeling from that gentle touch that had brushed up against it while tears slip silently down her cheeks. But then, Prymelia pulls away and swiping at her eyes, utters a small thready laugh. "Look at the two of us. Silly gooses getting all blubbery over an egg. I won't tell if you don't tell." Because if she makes light of it, she won't be forced to have to inspect any of it too closely.

Nathanael has never been one to be shy about accepting hugs. And this one is absolutely no different. If there is a slight clinging there, he is sure that Prymelia will not mind. For while his family is far away, he will cling to those who he knows he loves and who love him back. Isn't that what brought him back to Southern's shores in the first place? Within that hug his tears can slip down freely. "I dun think we be cryin' over an egg." He is solemn as he brushes back those tears again. Where her tact is towards levity, Nathanael's is for introspection. "If ye's was anythin' like mine, 's 'cuz there be somethin' what we was already sad 'bout, 'n jus' wasn't thinkin' 'bout." He draws in a deep breath. "I ain't gonna say nothin' tho'. Eggs was talkin' private t' me, 'n it ain't no'un's business what they be sayin'."

When levity falls flat and is met with something more insightful, Prymelia squirms inwardly for she can’t deny the hard truth behind Nathanael’s words. How did he get to be so clever? “Aye well, thinking about it ain’t gonna fix it or change it. It is what it is.” Whatever IT is. “No.” The former trader shakes her head, tears dried from her cheeks and hazel regard taking on a determined cast as shoulders square. “That egg was right about one thing and K’ane better put his back into it because I refuse to be held down.”

Prymelia's stern instance brings a smile back to Nathanael's face and he grins. "'course ye ain't ma'am! Ye wouldn't be Prymelia if'n ye wasn't!" He drops her hand and takes a deep breath. "Ye know what Ma was sayin' t' be doin' if'n sads was takin' ye o'er? Be findin' somethin' t' be makin' some'un else happy. Ye wanta go see if'n Ma'am Ardstelle'd be lettin' us take some've 'e sugar sticks she was makin' f'r t'night when we go back t' chores?"

Warm amusement trickles in to sift aside those dark things Prymelia tries so hard to ignore. Booze would go down better but one look at Nathanael’s eager expression and she doesn’t have the heart to say as much. “C’mon then, lets go see what we can lift from the kitchens.” Because stolen goods always taste so much better. “But if my butt gets bigger you can explain to K’ane why he has to find me bigger pants.” Actually, that thought amuses her and helps the red-haired ostrich to bury her head back into the sand.

Nathanael regains his grip on Prymelia's hand. The prospect of the sweet, and moreover, the giving of that sweet away to others puts the slight jaunt back into his steps that is so familiar for the teenager. "Ye butt ain't big ma'am. 'n ain't no'un'd e'er be thinkin' that! Ye know," and a sly glance slightly towards her, "Some've 'e candidates be havin' a crush on ye."

Hand-in-hand, Prymelia ambles along with Nathanael a silver laugh greeting his counter about the size of her butt. “Perhaps I should name you Defender Of My Butt, hmm? I could make you a knot and pay you in bubbly pies.” Silly nonsense is a balm for the soul. His next revelation finds the eldest of the candidates choking back laughter and lifting an elegant brow his way. “So long as its not that runny nosed Gatreen,” seriously the boy has sinus issues up the wazoo, “I think that’s very sweet. And so are you.” With her free hand she’ll reach across herself and probably annoy him by ruffling his hair. “My most favorite once-seacrafter. Any dragon that finds you out there will be lucky to have you.”

Perhaps Nathanael has been spending ENTIRELY too much time with Linden lately. He falls back just a half step and glances backwards at Prymelia's butt. There isn't any leering or weirdness there, just speculation. "Ma'am." And he actually manages to stay serious, "'m thinkin' ye butt can be takin care've itself." He bumps a hip against hers (okay, so it's more like against her thigh) as they walk back into the main weyr. "Ye too ma'am. 'm glad 'e dragons in Igen was stupid."

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