<i>Late</i> rabble.. ! -- Hatching Sands

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Date Posted: 19:37:22 04/27/05 Wed
Author: L'meak - Marath .. B'mulf - Zeeth .. Letimira .. ~~U-boot~~ Uamaro
Subject: Late rabble.. !

Lemeak rolls his eyes to himself, folding his arms across his narrow chest. He lets a pale, pointy chin fall to his collarbone and frosty eyes fall shut, a relaxed frown set about slightly-puckered lips. The gaze snaps to attention at the sounds of cracking eggs, but he tries to keep his cool.. this was a chance of a lifetime, right? Why not get excited? As he shakes his head, fluffy bangs swishing over his white forehead, the Candidate sternly reprimands himself. I am a Healer, not a rider. I'm only here. to. here to.. Shards. Hands clench into fists around either thin arm, and Lemeak fiercely shuts his eyes.

Then there's a fresh round of cracking coming from the mass of eggs and he finds himself watching them. A showy green, a bug-eyed brown, and a clumsy blue. Lemeak shook his head and leaned away, watching each hatchling pick their partner for life.

Then there was another.. her dark fury tearing down the unfit like grass beneath her dangerous talons. The Candidate finds his jaw dropping slightly, before his attention is stolen by a woman moving to tend to the girls felled by the green. Is she a healer, like himself? Unconciously, he fingers the knots over his robes, which are all immaculately tied. Lemeak turns, wanting to track the project of the stalking green.. only to find her right there, her eyes the colour of old wine and fire.

L'meak, I'm Marath. Please let's get out of here, I'm hungry.

L'meak pauses for a second, trapped between the worlds of Candidacy and weyrlingism, that goldbronzebrownbluegreen mindmeld called Impression. He pulls himself together, staring forward with parted lips and hazy, grey-touched eyes. Marath stands before him, patient and calculating. Are you ready? Think at me.

.. yes. Yes. You must be hungry. A narrow, bony hand for a moment touches a knobbly, dark skull, but the green twitches her head out of the way.

That's very undignified, she growls, though her mind is alight with cold amusement. L'meak gives a dark smile and drapes his arm over her neck, instead. Marath is still gooey and sandy from the egg, and he relishes privately in her warmth. Together, they exit, without a word nor wave to anyone.

-

Bomulf, at being unable to grab Mahiri's attentions, returns to his silent, grinning nature. Knobbly yellow fingers tap on his puffy white sleeve, both rolled up to the elbows in a rumple of cloth. A good deal of moisture has collected on him due to the heat, and his free fingers sweep beneath his blue headband, scuttling away the sweat. Dark eyes and pale teeth beam at various little things - a big sand dune with an odd shape, a dragon or two, maybe a pretty girl. It doesn't much matter to him.

The young man smiles up at the sky and gnaws the tip of his twig, nonchalant as ever. A few dragons pick a few boys. Cool beans.

Then a particular golden-brown hatchling makes his distracted way up to him. Bomulf crouches to put himself closer to the dragon's height, and flashes his teeth in a friendly grin. The brown cocks his head, eyes swirling a lazy and contented teal.

'And who are you looking for, then?' Bomulf whispers, sure no one would hear. He reaches out his hand to touch the sode hide, then remembers the dark green a few minutes past, and recoils. But the dragon presses closer, until they're touching.. rubbing against each other, even.

B'mulf, I have found you! I am clever, yes yes. I am Zeeth! We must go to the bowl for food right away. He churrs and tousels B'mulf's upturned hair with a happy, sunny chin.

B'mulf gacks, loses his balance, and lands back down in the hot sand. He's used to the heat, though, and pays little mind to it. Yellow hands connect with the neck of Zeeth, stroking up and down along it. Zeeth, eh? the new rider speaks while the hatchling squalls with dragonian laughter at the tickles. My.. partner, shall we say? B'mulf's grin switches from ever so slightly mysterious to joyful as he gets to his sandals. Zeeth remains close to his Impressor, and they head to the bowl together.

-

Letimira grins and folds her hands behind her back, tipping from heel to toe as she listens to Dorat. He had a big, strong voice, and she liked it. When he proferrs his hand, she accepts it, grabbing his index finger with one set of digits and his pinky with the other. The contrast is stunning - lean, big, dark, tough.. slightly pudgy, petite, pale, soft. The Candidate beams up at him, glad to meet someone properly polite and friendly. 'Greetings Dorat, it's a pleasure to meet you.' The Admiral croons and turns to face the dark young man, tilting his bronze head and shuffling about on his human's shoulder. Letimira nods justly, and strokes the firelizard's long snout. 'Thank you. I think so, too. And so does he. Don't you? Dooon't yooou?' she tuts and coos at the flit for a few seconds, who makes an embarrassed squawk. 'His name is Stockings. Admiral Stockings.'

Suddenly there's a brown there, and that brown is suddenly atop Dorat, and suddenly crying out. Letimira jumps three feet and prances away. But Stockings is humming loudly, and she'd heard the full-sized dragons doing that when some of the eggs cracked. She cocks her head, her orange-blonde locks flicking a bit. 'Did he.. ? Are you.. ?' At the look on both faces, the girl knows it to be true. She would merrily lean down and help Dorat - D'rat - to his feet. 'Congratulations!' she cheers and pats his back, before trailing her hand down Tolgath's massive shoulder. Now, the Candidate hopes he won't mind.. but she was very curious. 'Wave goodbye, mister,' she scorns the bronze, who blinks at her, then launches delicately from her shoulder to fly a lap about the brownrider's head, trilling. Letimira welcomes her little baaaby back with a cheerful hug.

-

Uamaro remains by the wall. His olive skin is gleaming with sweat, but he doesn't seem to care. Feels like the beach, he thinks, before setting himself down upon the sand. It nearly burns his bum off, but the muscular lad shrugs off the pain to relax in the heat. A low grumbling emits from his stomach, and he winces, rubbing a massive hand over the soft swell of his gut. Wish I brought another pie. Suddenly, he laughs and his thick body shakes. This was a blast. Dragons crawled from the nest and towards their partners, wave after wave, and he had the best view of them all, didn't he?

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