Log: Eggs Don't Talk
May. 18th, 2012 06:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
citlaliIt's currently late summer on the northern continent.
The Starsmiths say it is the 19th Turn, 8th month, and 25th day of the 10th Pass.
One dragonledge nearby contains the figure out a shrouded brown dragon. And it’s mostly because of the way his eyes glow that his presence is easily noted. Otherwise one can barely make out his silhouette. But his lifemate? Settled into a stone chair with one foot propped on the back of the seat in front of him. Is he doing much? Nope. Just watching the eggs. And being amused at how Talimoth is guarding them.
Citlali doesn't even appear to notice the brownrider as she comes down the steps into the gallery carrying a half-finished white cloth item that one may easily assume is her robe-to-be; it's actually the dragon's eyes that catch her attention while she seat-hunts. "Oh, hello," she tells them. "I can't tell who you are, sitting like that, but consider yourself greeted anyway." Bronze or brown? Indiscernable.
“Chironath.” Comes the answer, from D’yce. “He likes to play hide and not-seek with the shadow. Guess you haven’t seen that till now.” His eyes flick towards the robe-in-progress, an eyebrow quirked at what he can actually see from here. “I was pretty tempted just to cut some holes in a sheet for mine.” The scraping sound of his shoe coming down off the back of the other chair ruins the quiet atmosphere quite likely. “And he grunts a greeting back at you. Or rather… he would, but he’s being quiet.”
"It's at least /partially/ the thought that counts." Citlali's willing to cede that victory to Chironath at least partway; the brown gets a nod of her head, more properly, in greeting. "My apologies, then, for not recognizing you, when you're the one who asked me to do this in the first place --" More directed at D'yce, then, as she sits, "I didn't actually /see/ you," and she swallows the instinctive 'sir.' "But I couldn't do that. Not if my family shows up. And I can modify it into a proper dress later, or have someone who actually knows how to sew better do that -- I like white things, maybe you noticed." A shyer smile.
D’yce looks vaguely perturbed for a moment, with his brow all scrunched up in confusion like that. “You don’t have to apologize. I wouldn’t exactly call myself the memorable sort anyhow.” he admits. “Oh, I wouldn’t really recommend the ‘holes in sheet’ shortcut. It would be too long, and you’d trip, and get tangled… things I didn’t think of when I was too busy charting and figuring I wouldn’t impress.” But that’s long past now, right? He smile curls upwards a little at her prompting about white things. And he even gives a bit of a nod. “Yes, you do seem attracted to white dresses and shirts. I’m not entirely certain how you keep it looking clean though.”
"By being careful and not wearing nice things when working in dirty places," is Citlali's extremely obvious answer, though she's still smiling. Actually, there's a hint of laughter in her eyes, even if she's not actually laughing, and a moment later she reveals why with a slight shake of the head: "I'm trying to imagine that. I've never seen a hatching before -- wait, that's not true, I saw one here when I was about seven, but I barely remember it -- so it's not too easy, but what I'm picturing is kind of funny. I still need shoes."
A heavy sigh of ‘I should have known that was coming’ is D’yce’s response. “But… white things. It just attracts dirt. Like how flies… nevermind. Bad analogy.” Somewhere, his inner nerd is like ‘dammit, T’yr would totally know what to say here’. Almost prompting another sigh, but instead, it’s just a twitch of his head. “It’s kind of surreal down there on the sands. Clumsy hatchlings darting past you, or seeming to look your way and then turning in the opposite direction. There should be some shoes in stores actually. Sandals with thick soles. Pick them up today – those eggs are going to hatch any time now. “
"Flies attract sugar?" Citlali teases, unable to resist, though her grin is at least focused down at the sewing she's actually properly begun at this point rather than actually pointing it toward D'yce. "Being a stablehand /also/ attracts dirt, so I manage to hold out on my light-colored-things addiction as long as possible when actually working. I have khaki pants but they're stained and understandably so. It's a barn." She tosses that out as if it's a conclusion: if barn, then dirty.
D’yce only sounds like a moron really. And that’s usually only in front of people he would prefer not to sound like a moron in front of. All brain, no wisdom. “Uh-huh.” He grunts, having obviously picked up on some of Chironath’s mannerisms. “Least you’ll be well prepared for the weyrling barracks. Maybe not the lack of privacy. But the mess at any rate.” Deciding to change the subject, he nods towards the sandsea of eggs. “Got a favorite?”
Citlali makes a face. "Ugh, are they dirty? I don't want to /live/ in dirty. I know weyrling dragons need mucking out, I've come to peace with living near that, but otherwise? Some of the people in the candidate barracks are dirty, but Barrett usually makes sure that the people who make messes don't get to keep them," she's still looking at her sewing so she doesn't laugh, again. But at the question, she looks out at the eggs and says, maybe even to her own surprise, "Yeah. Actually. The blue and grey one, with the starburst in the middle? I think maybe we made friends."
“I think you’ll be too tired to care that you’re living around dirty.” D’yce supplies, not bothering to mention how cramped the spaces get as the dragons grow. Some things are best kept as surprises! It’s her confession about the blue and grey egg that prompts a laugh out of him. “Did it tell you that you’re friends?” he wonders, with maybe a little amused snark in his voice there.
Is he making fun of her now? Well, Citlali's just going to continue to look at the eggs or her robe and not at D'yce then. "No," she says, confidently enough, "because eggs don't talk," unless maybe they do, sometimes? He's the veteran dragonrider, "but it was very -- warm. And welcoming. Kind of like a metaphysical sort of hug, I guess you could say. Everyone else was getting terrified by all the eggs they touched, and instead I got that."
“Never heard any egg speak a word aloud.” D’yce agrees, casting a sidelong glance at Citlali while she continues to work on her robe and describe the feeling she got when touching the egg. “There are a few strange eggs from Chiro’s clutch. But his actually gave me the impression I was drowning and then being sucked down into the jaws of some huge sea monster.” From above, the brown dragon snorts. “Sure does make me glad I haven’t had to touch any of those eggs though.”
"Oh, well, maybe it's the creepy ones that actually end up picking you, if that's the impression you got." Citlali doesn't appear to be letting that get to her, though; she liked the comforting sensation she got from the Guardian in the Dark, and other than that she doesn't appear to be thinking too deep into it. Other people can have that job. "Or maybe his entire clutch liked drowning people."
"Well really. The eggs don't necessarily have dragons of the same... persuasion in them. Chironath is /nothing/ like the egg he hatched from." He gestures up at the ledge being occupied by the brown in question. "I guess you could say he's smart like a shark. Smarter. But there's no water feel to him." But then, he shrugs. "I just figure it all works out in the end."
Citlali is still trying to figure out how this stuff works -- she's not, so much, on the ball with it entirely. It's still new. It's getting to the point where 'new' isn't going to be an option anymore, and she's been a candidate for long enough she shouldn't be thinking of it as new -- not that that's changed anything. "Brown made of brains, huh? I kind of figured it sounded more like 'brawn,' so ... except people tell me browns are smart a lot. I did think, though, that the egg and the dragon that hatched from it were the same soul."
[N.B.: Due to D'yce having an RL situation, this scene is unfinished, but I just wanted to get it up here so as to not lose it.]
The Starsmiths say it is the 19th Turn, 8th month, and 25th day of the 10th Pass.
Galleries
Level upon tiered level of hard stone seats, best cushioned for comfort if one is to stay long, arc in spacious, showy display -- all the better for viewing other spectators, as well as the heated sands so far below. Though centuries-old pillars suspend these galleries high in the air, the mammoth cavern's peak extends dragonlengths higher yet, the grey rock lending an illusion of clouded, nighttime skies that's only enhanced by the constellations of living, growing glows and the intense, perspective-warping heat.
Broad staircases spiral downward to the floor of the cavern, the middle of each step indented by generations of treading feet; a narrow walkway circles northeast towards the dragons' ledges.
One dragonledge nearby contains the figure out a shrouded brown dragon. And it’s mostly because of the way his eyes glow that his presence is easily noted. Otherwise one can barely make out his silhouette. But his lifemate? Settled into a stone chair with one foot propped on the back of the seat in front of him. Is he doing much? Nope. Just watching the eggs. And being amused at how Talimoth is guarding them.
Citlali doesn't even appear to notice the brownrider as she comes down the steps into the gallery carrying a half-finished white cloth item that one may easily assume is her robe-to-be; it's actually the dragon's eyes that catch her attention while she seat-hunts. "Oh, hello," she tells them. "I can't tell who you are, sitting like that, but consider yourself greeted anyway." Bronze or brown? Indiscernable.
“Chironath.” Comes the answer, from D’yce. “He likes to play hide and not-seek with the shadow. Guess you haven’t seen that till now.” His eyes flick towards the robe-in-progress, an eyebrow quirked at what he can actually see from here. “I was pretty tempted just to cut some holes in a sheet for mine.” The scraping sound of his shoe coming down off the back of the other chair ruins the quiet atmosphere quite likely. “And he grunts a greeting back at you. Or rather… he would, but he’s being quiet.”
"It's at least /partially/ the thought that counts." Citlali's willing to cede that victory to Chironath at least partway; the brown gets a nod of her head, more properly, in greeting. "My apologies, then, for not recognizing you, when you're the one who asked me to do this in the first place --" More directed at D'yce, then, as she sits, "I didn't actually /see/ you," and she swallows the instinctive 'sir.' "But I couldn't do that. Not if my family shows up. And I can modify it into a proper dress later, or have someone who actually knows how to sew better do that -- I like white things, maybe you noticed." A shyer smile.
D’yce looks vaguely perturbed for a moment, with his brow all scrunched up in confusion like that. “You don’t have to apologize. I wouldn’t exactly call myself the memorable sort anyhow.” he admits. “Oh, I wouldn’t really recommend the ‘holes in sheet’ shortcut. It would be too long, and you’d trip, and get tangled… things I didn’t think of when I was too busy charting and figuring I wouldn’t impress.” But that’s long past now, right? He smile curls upwards a little at her prompting about white things. And he even gives a bit of a nod. “Yes, you do seem attracted to white dresses and shirts. I’m not entirely certain how you keep it looking clean though.”
"By being careful and not wearing nice things when working in dirty places," is Citlali's extremely obvious answer, though she's still smiling. Actually, there's a hint of laughter in her eyes, even if she's not actually laughing, and a moment later she reveals why with a slight shake of the head: "I'm trying to imagine that. I've never seen a hatching before -- wait, that's not true, I saw one here when I was about seven, but I barely remember it -- so it's not too easy, but what I'm picturing is kind of funny. I still need shoes."
A heavy sigh of ‘I should have known that was coming’ is D’yce’s response. “But… white things. It just attracts dirt. Like how flies… nevermind. Bad analogy.” Somewhere, his inner nerd is like ‘dammit, T’yr would totally know what to say here’. Almost prompting another sigh, but instead, it’s just a twitch of his head. “It’s kind of surreal down there on the sands. Clumsy hatchlings darting past you, or seeming to look your way and then turning in the opposite direction. There should be some shoes in stores actually. Sandals with thick soles. Pick them up today – those eggs are going to hatch any time now. “
"Flies attract sugar?" Citlali teases, unable to resist, though her grin is at least focused down at the sewing she's actually properly begun at this point rather than actually pointing it toward D'yce. "Being a stablehand /also/ attracts dirt, so I manage to hold out on my light-colored-things addiction as long as possible when actually working. I have khaki pants but they're stained and understandably so. It's a barn." She tosses that out as if it's a conclusion: if barn, then dirty.
D’yce only sounds like a moron really. And that’s usually only in front of people he would prefer not to sound like a moron in front of. All brain, no wisdom. “Uh-huh.” He grunts, having obviously picked up on some of Chironath’s mannerisms. “Least you’ll be well prepared for the weyrling barracks. Maybe not the lack of privacy. But the mess at any rate.” Deciding to change the subject, he nods towards the sandsea of eggs. “Got a favorite?”
Citlali makes a face. "Ugh, are they dirty? I don't want to /live/ in dirty. I know weyrling dragons need mucking out, I've come to peace with living near that, but otherwise? Some of the people in the candidate barracks are dirty, but Barrett usually makes sure that the people who make messes don't get to keep them," she's still looking at her sewing so she doesn't laugh, again. But at the question, she looks out at the eggs and says, maybe even to her own surprise, "Yeah. Actually. The blue and grey one, with the starburst in the middle? I think maybe we made friends."
“I think you’ll be too tired to care that you’re living around dirty.” D’yce supplies, not bothering to mention how cramped the spaces get as the dragons grow. Some things are best kept as surprises! It’s her confession about the blue and grey egg that prompts a laugh out of him. “Did it tell you that you’re friends?” he wonders, with maybe a little amused snark in his voice there.
Is he making fun of her now? Well, Citlali's just going to continue to look at the eggs or her robe and not at D'yce then. "No," she says, confidently enough, "because eggs don't talk," unless maybe they do, sometimes? He's the veteran dragonrider, "but it was very -- warm. And welcoming. Kind of like a metaphysical sort of hug, I guess you could say. Everyone else was getting terrified by all the eggs they touched, and instead I got that."
“Never heard any egg speak a word aloud.” D’yce agrees, casting a sidelong glance at Citlali while she continues to work on her robe and describe the feeling she got when touching the egg. “There are a few strange eggs from Chiro’s clutch. But his actually gave me the impression I was drowning and then being sucked down into the jaws of some huge sea monster.” From above, the brown dragon snorts. “Sure does make me glad I haven’t had to touch any of those eggs though.”
"Oh, well, maybe it's the creepy ones that actually end up picking you, if that's the impression you got." Citlali doesn't appear to be letting that get to her, though; she liked the comforting sensation she got from the Guardian in the Dark, and other than that she doesn't appear to be thinking too deep into it. Other people can have that job. "Or maybe his entire clutch liked drowning people."
"Well really. The eggs don't necessarily have dragons of the same... persuasion in them. Chironath is /nothing/ like the egg he hatched from." He gestures up at the ledge being occupied by the brown in question. "I guess you could say he's smart like a shark. Smarter. But there's no water feel to him." But then, he shrugs. "I just figure it all works out in the end."
Citlali is still trying to figure out how this stuff works -- she's not, so much, on the ball with it entirely. It's still new. It's getting to the point where 'new' isn't going to be an option anymore, and she's been a candidate for long enough she shouldn't be thinking of it as new -- not that that's changed anything. "Brown made of brains, huh? I kind of figured it sounded more like 'brawn,' so ... except people tell me browns are smart a lot. I did think, though, that the egg and the dragon that hatched from it were the same soul."
[N.B.: Due to D'yce having an RL situation, this scene is unfinished, but I just wanted to get it up here so as to not lose it.]
