Ista Weyr Log: Aerianth and Nikoth's Clutching - March 2008

Aerianth and Nikoth's Clutching - March 22, 2008
Logfile from Griere.

Public announcement: A'son announces "Hey folks! Aerianth is making her way onto the sands to do the egg laying thing! This will be going on all day, so feel free to stop by now or later. +go Ista-Bowl then to the hatching galleries! :)"

Ista-Sands> Aerianth makes her way onto the sands, already carefully inspecting neatly raked grounds, dragging her talons through dark grains. At length she finds a suitable spot to settle in. With wings half-furled and her head low, the first egg makes it debut.

A little boy jitters cheerfully at the front, watching, waiting. "Oooooooh!"

Xielar currently lies down in what must be an uncomfortable position on the closest tier to the sands. The Istan teen currently has his usual boots and dock work wardrobe on, making it worse to sleep in, especially in the heated environment of the Hatching Grounds. At the arrival of Fayre, the teenager finally wakes up. "-but I didn't have any bubblies sir!" he says, breaking his sleep and whatever dream he had been having. He blinks a few times before grimacing some, offering incomprehensibly, "Ugh." He blinks again as he sees Fayre, asking, "What're you doing here, Fayre?"

And not long after Fayre comes Noemie, scrambling to find a seat near the front of the stands, looking carefully to see if any eggs have already arrived-- oh, look, there's one! She finds a seat near Xielar and Fayre, laughing at Xielar's confused awakening as she settles. "Question is, what were you doing here first? And, are you taking bets already, Fayre?"

Eslyn walks up from the hatching grounds entrance.

Eslyn has arrived.

Fayre jumps in surprise when she notices the sleeping Xielar, but her shock quickly turns into a bemused look. "What? You claim clutchings are boring, and then you're campin' out in the galleries to be the first one to Aerianth's? I'm here to watch the eggs, o' course. Why else would I be sittin' around here?" She waves cheerfully at Noemie, shaking her head. "Not quite yet...bettin' for me opens when the last egg is laid. I've taken a few bets on how many eggs will be in this clutch, though. Most folks have been generous and put it in the high twenties." With a wink, she explains, "Bit too late to place one of those bets, though."

"Some other dock worker slapped me with a yellowfin," Xielar tells Noemie grumpily. "This was way earlier, and so I had had enough of it, so I came here to hide from him." The dock worker blinks once at Noemie before offering a sleepy introduction, "I'm Xielar." He makes a face at Fayre, asking, "A clutching!? Another one!? Oh shardit. I mean, I knew the Weyrwoman's queen was going to clutch soon but..." He grimaces once more before sitting up some, stretching out his legs. "I guess I might as well stay if I'm here." He glances to Fayre then to Noemie and gives the greenrider a brief grin, saying, "You'll know it's business as usual for Fayre when you see her gambling book out."

Eslyn has left.

"A half-mark on twenty-two, then," Noemie says to Fayre, grinning. "Seems like a good number, doesn't it? I've made my mind up to place some bets this time... you convinced me. Tips and suggestions are all welcome." As she's so wont to do, she tries to refrain from laughing at the misfortune of another, and fails miserably. It's a kind laugh, though, far more at the humor of the situation than at Xielar himself. "A yellowfin? That must have been smelly. Got you in just the right place at the right time, though. You lucked out!"

Fayre winces at Xielar's story and sniffs the air a bit when Noemie mentions smelly fish. "Well, least you don't smell like a yucky fish anymore, eh?" She chuckles slightly as she continues to make a few notes. "Not sure if the galleries are the best place to hide, considering the crowd that's going to come in through here today." A huge grin appears on Fayre's face at Noemie's announcement. "Oooh! That's wonderful to hear, Wingleader. A half-mark, you say? I'll scratch you in." She flips a few pages back and carefully writes Noemie's name, bet, and wager down at the bottom of a short list. "Best tip I can give is play it safe and go with your gut."

Xielar smirks back at Noemie, telling her, "Lucked out!? I don't think so." He looks over at Aerianth, almost appearing apologetic. "Well, I suppose it's not -that- bad." He wrinkles his nose and returns to the topic of the yellowfin-slapping, saying, "Yeah. It was of the particularly smelly variety." He glances to Noemie curiously and shakes his head at her, "If we're making -idle- bets, I'd say it's going to be a bigger clutch than just 22." He nods once more and adds, "I mean, that weird High Reaches's rider A'son -does- have a bronze." A look to Fayre, then back to Aerianth on the sands and he finally commits to a number, offering: "I'd say 29." He chuckles as the wagers are quickly written down by the assistant headwoman, shaking his head in amusement at Fayre.

Amaris walks up from the hatching grounds entrance.

Amaris has arrived.

"Go with your gut /and/ play it safe? Aren't those hard to do at the same time?" Noemie asks. "I'll remember that, though. And 29 eggs-- isn't that quite a bit for an interval? But optimistic. It's good to be optimistic." Just then, the second egg makes its way onto the sand. "Oh! Look at that one... so much color. Beautiful! Bet that could hold a green or a blue, maybe?"

And look! It's that weird High Reaches bronzerider now, come strolling up into the stands. A'son sneaks his way into some of the first seats up front, keeping himself just away from the little crowd that's currently ooing and ahhing at the eggs on the sands. Nikoth is down there, looking handsome and proud of the eggs that are arriving. "Yeah, you would be." He murmurs to himself, eyes wide and a little blank as he watches.

Fayre waggles an accusing finger at Xielar, her eyes squinting slightly--perhaps a vain attempt to give him a menacing glare. "But I'm not taking any mark bets from you, young'un. Your mother would be all over me I'm sure. O' course, play bets are fine, but I'm not writing you down in my book." She nods in agreement with Noemie, pointing to her own bet of twenty-three eggs written down in her book. "Aye, I'd say twenty-nine is a bit high. Though Nikoth and Aerianth are both at prime ages." She grins cheerfully at the arrival of the next egg and flips back to her egg charts. "Oooh, pretty one indeed! Definitely can't see a brown comin' from that one."

"Brown," Xielar predicts of the newest egg fearlessly, or, perhaps possibly to be contrary to what Fayre said. "That one will have a brown in it." He grimaces back at Noemie, saying, "You never know! Well, actually -you- should, rider. Dragons do surprise you at times." He pauses and amends his latter comment, saying, "Well, they surprise -me-." His eyes reluctantly look back to the newly clutched egg, as if unsure whether it is actually okay to enjoy looking at it. He looks back at A'son's arrival, snickering lowly to himself before glancing back to Fayre, telling her indignantly, "Young'un!? I'm nearly 16 turns old, Fayre!"

Amaris quickly walks into the caverns, her bright brown eyes searching for a seat nearest the front. In her excitement she leaves her friend and caretaker far behind as she takes a spot near A'son. "Just two so far?" She asks the crowd at large, watching the gold dragon below with curiosity. "Oh, three." She corrects as the Imperial egg joins the others.

"They do surprise you, that's true. For all we know, could end up being a bronze. Aren't bronze eggs usually a bit bigger, though?" Noemie's attention is caught just then by the arrival of the third egg, and she lets out a low 'ooh.' "Now /that/ one, I wouldn't be surprised if it were a brown or a bronze." Her attention on the sands, she doesn't quite notice any of the new arrivals-- although it's hard to miss the crowd in the stands steadily growing bigger.

Fayre hides a smile at Xielar's declaration of brown by busily scritching away in her book. "When you're my age, sixteen will seem real young, Xielar." Yeah, since the assistant headwoman is so old herself at twenty-two. "It's weird when you hit twenty, 'cause suddenly your teenage years are over. Gotta start bein' responsible n'stuff." She nods sagely at the appearance of the latest egg. "Yeah, seems a bit regal, that one. Maybe a bronze. Can you tell how big it is, though? Those metallic dragonets need room to grow." Fayre catches a glimpse of the Weyrleader among the new arrivals, but her attention remains on her betting book and two companions.

A'son is listening in on their conversation, obviously. Because he eventually turns away from the eggs and to the group, noticing Xielar first and then Fayre. Familiar faces, kind of. He lifts his voice loud enough for it carry over, "I'm going to bet twenty." When Amaris arrives near him he generates a small smile. "Three, yes." His attention slips from her quickly enough to the next egg that has found its way onto the Istan sands.

Xielar watches as the next egg is clutched and tells Noemie, "Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if it were a green." He almost seems to be contrary for the sake of being contrary now. Though he does acknowledge the Weyrleader, Xielar is more attentive to Fayre and Noemie. He pauses and looks to the sands for a moment, staying blessedly quiet for once.

"What am I, then, an old crone?" Noemie asks, grinning at Fayre. "Sixteen /does/ feel like an awful long time ago, though. Nearly ten turns, I suppose. And an awful lot has happened since then. I don't think it's so much the time that passes, as how you use it." Hearing A'son's voice, she looks over to where the sound is coming from. "A good bet, Weyrleader! And, congratulations. From the eggs on the sands, it's a wonderful clutch already."

N'thei walks up from the hatching grounds entrance.

N'thei has arrived.

Fayre reaches over to squeeze Noemie's shoulder, giving her a mockingly serious look. "Makes you a wise ol' elder, m'dear. We should all listen to your wisdom that has come with such an ancient age." With a grin, she lets her arm drop. She twists in her seat to take a look at the Weyrleader, nodding in response to his bet. "Shall I jot down that number for you, Weyrleader? I think Nikoth has more in 'im than that, myself."

"I'd say that one was a bronze." Amaris adds her opinion to those discussing the imperial egg. She begins to shift in her seat, trying to get a better look at the eggs and parents. "Odd shape for an egg." She says with her head bent down and seemingly talking to her dress. Her odd actions are explained a moment after however when a small brown firelizard pokes his head out, gazing up curiously at her. "I'd say twenty three eggs." She says to the crowd this time as the firelizard emerges fully and takes a perch on her lap.

There's a loud, disgruntled noise from Nikoth before A'son responds to Fayre. "Oh yes, you can put that number down. Even if my friend doesn't agree with me." A 'look' is sent in the direction of the bronze dragon. "Though I appreciate everyone's high expectations of him." He grins a little, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in the seat.

Xielar eyes Amaris for a moment, asking her, "I thought you didn't like firelizards! Or was it just the invisible variety, Amaris?" He looks from Amaris to the sands and then glances back to Fayre and Noemie, looking at them grumpily. He appears to be less talkative now that age is now involved in the conversation. "It -is- a pretty egg though," Xie finally admits of the last egg clutched.

Fayre smiles politely at A'son before turning back around in her seat and jotting down his bet. "I'm sure he must be quite proud," she says of Nikoth, presumably. Amaris' brown firelizard distracts the young woman from her gambling charts and she grins at the little fellow. "Cute 'lizard there. My green one is perched on the ledges, I think." She scans the dragon ledges for a moment, but shrugs when she can't pick out her firelizard's form among those gathered there. "Would you like me to write you down too, miss? I'm afraid I don't know your name." She shoots a bemused look at Xielar and remarks, "I didn't know the word pretty was even in young boys' vocabularies."

Up on the ledges, one rangy bronze lands with a loud thump, all his weight at once, and an awkward-sounding snort when he pulls some of that weight off his right leg. He doesn't greet the other dragons so much as he acknowledges them with a glance, one that summarizes every last one of 'em as subpar, one that goes unchecked while his rider is too busy trotting down the steps toward the galleries. A few minutes later, N'thei arrives in the gallery-proper.

At her name being called Amaris twists her body in the direction of that familiar voice. Catching sight of Xielar she grins widely. "Pan was from a wild clutch, those aren't the same as the ones here." And the brown flit croons curiously as his name is called, eyes whirling up at his human. "How have you been? It feels like ages since I moved to Igen." At Fayre's compliments to her pet however she turns to her. ""pressed him not too long ago, glad I did too." She adds happily and at the mention of betting she nods her head quickly, her eyes peering at the charts in Fayre's hands. "What's been placed so far? Oh, and I'm Amaris." She adds as an afterthought.

"I know that he's proud. You don't have any idea how proud he is." A'son responds to Fayre, eyes slipping off to look at the bronze in question. He rolls his eyes. His eyes actually stop at a position where they're staring skyward, flicking down onto the sands for a second before he twists around in his seat. Anyone watching his sort of weird behavior would get the distinct impression that he's searching for someone in the stands behind him. Then of course N'thei appears within the gallery, his eyes fixate onto him and he lifts a hand up to catch his attention.

Xielar blinks a few times at Amaris, asking the younger girl, "You moved to Igen? Didn't I see you like... a month or two ago?" He pauses and then looks to the others before glancing back to the sands, canting his head to the side as he studies the eggs already clutched by the weyrwoman's queen. N'thei doesn't seem to get acknowledged, but considering how many people are seated in the galleries, it's not likely without reason. It's only when A'son lifts a hand in N'thei's direction that the dock worker sees the High Reaches Weyrleader. But again, his attention swivels back to the sands.

For those who don't know him, N'thei just looks like someone who burns the candle at both ends too often, despite taking the trouble to shave some time today and wash up and all. The wave works, one Weyrleader spots another, and he's on his way to A'son with the comment, "He has a point though, probably not Aerianth's fault." At that, he offers a handshake to the Reaches-turned-Istan while a blanket glance summarizes those around the man. "Reaches duties." His effort to restrain a laugh is visible.

Griere has arrived.

"Amaris, right," Fayre mumbles softly, hastily writing down the young woman's name and guess. "Pleasure to meet you. How's Igen treatin' ya? The dry heat must be better than the sticky Istan weather we get here, eh? Not that I don't love my Weyr, o' course." Her eyes catch on High Reaches' Weyrleader, but she simply offers the man a polite, curt nod--she doesn't know him beyond his knot, after all. She turns back around in time to see the latest egg make its arrival and she flips back to her chart page to write it down. That poor betting book is getting a lot of use and abuse.

Satiet walks up from the hatching grounds entrance.

Satiet has arrived.

A'son laughs and puts his hand out to N'thei, giving it a shake before he points to the empty spot next to him. Apparently he has an invisible bubble around him as there are a few empty seats in his general vicinity. "I put a bet down of twenty. Though I'm assuming less, intervals being what they are and all. He'd go haywire out there if I said it outloud." His arms slip back into being crossed over his chest, and his eyebrows lift as the eggs continue rolling on out. "Did you sit through the whole thing both times or...?" He asks, glancing to the other bronzerider.

Xielar shifts on the tier he is seated at, lifting a bit to look at the newly clutched egg. "Oooh," he manages to say. "I like that one." Xielar looks to be about to say something else, but a boy roughly the same age as Xie races up the steps to the galleries. "Xielar!" the boy huffs, trying to catch his breath. "You've got to come back to the docks! Yarrick says he won't slap you again with the yellowfin! We need more hands for the crates coming..." And with that the other boy runs back down the stairs. Xielar watches the departure of the other teenager and rolls his eyes. "Dodrion can be -so- dramatic," Xielar tells Fayre and Noemie apologetically before getting up and leaving the galleries. "See you later, Fayre!" And one last comment to Amaris, as well, "And good luck in Igen, Amaris!" And with that, the dock worker's steps fade into nothingness.

Xielar walks to the hatching grounds entrance.

Xielar has left.

"Pan?" Noemie asks, turning towards Amaris as she hears the name of the firelizard. "That's my sister's firelizard's name-- he's a brown, too! Funny, isn't it? I'm Noemie, green Naijath's. I've been to Igen once or twice... it's a nice place, so different from here." And then her attention's caught by the newest arrival to the sands-- "Brown!" She declares, then debates, "Or blue, maybe? I'll have to think some before I make my real bets. Later, Xielar!"

"I wanted to see another land." Amaris begins to explain her sudden departure. "I've been here all my life, I wanted to get out. So when Fyra's mum was shipping her off to Igen I snuck onto Saynth and went along. When they found me I talked them out of sending me back, I'm being fostered by Fyra's aunt now." While she explains her version of her departure from the weyr her eyes continue to scan the sands. Pan next to her walking up and down the empty bench space near her. "Oh, it's very nice. I got Pan there. The weather is much hotter though, you feel like it's swallowing you up sometimes." She expalins to Fayre, watching with a brief wave as Xielar is called away. "Pan is the best name for a smart flitter." She beams to Noemi. "I'm Amaris and I think Igen is rather different, but in a good way."

"Is this the third or fourth time?" Satiet asks of Griere, the intonation of her inquiry implying a conversation that's spanned longer than a chance meeting in the bowl to the galleries. Dressed in a simple shift dress of a pale, summer blue, the raven-haired woman picks a careful path up the stairs in little kid heels; the vision of a lady out to fashionably lunch. The cool alto continues, subtly teasing, as pale eyes observe the galleries, a slim hand reaching out to catch her balance on the railing, "Eight turns without and she's become marvelously prolific."

"Ambitious." N'thei does the two-handed shake for A'son, sure sign of friends; or trying to break his hand. Whichever. He takes a seat to A'son's left, snorting through his laughter at the question; "Why would I? Why would you?" While everyone else may be riveted to the sands, he gives them barely a passing notice, remarkably disinterested for someone who's come all the way from the north to watch this spectacle. "We came to pay our respects. Consider them paid. --I notice the warmth they all feel toward you, how's that treating you?" He looks pointedly at the bubble of around the A'son, now around the both of them.

"I named my 'lizard Jaida. Haven't met another one named that, but maybe there's another one out there. Quite a little coincidence, though." Fayre nods in agreement with Noemie, making the note 'brown?' in her book beside the description of the latest egg. "Yeah. Kinda looks dull coloured but sturdy, like a brown. Maybe? Not that browns are /dull/. They can just kind of look it. Sometimes." She glances around, wary of any nearby brownriders. She's not being insulting! Really! "Maybe you and I should bet together, Noemie. Since I'm an oldie at it and you're just breakin' into the fun. We seem to agree on most of it so far, neh?" She drums her fingers on her knee, contemplating. "Igen sounds nice. Don't think I'd trade the lush jungles here for a better kind of heat, though."

The fourth," Griere replies, her eyes on the sands more than her steps as she arrives at Satiet's side. "Though, well..." comments on how this particular time is different seem to have already been covered between the two weyrwomen and the Istan doesn't feel the need to point them out again. "I really have no idea what took her so long to start rising--not that I minded personally, but it did cast a shadow. She seems to have gotten over it." Her brows lower and finger rising as she takes a quick count, but then her attention returns to Satiet. "How many times has it been for Teonath now?"

"It's good to expand your horizons," Noemie agrees with Amaris. "Sometimes I get that 'swallowed up' feeling here, with all the humidity. But the dry heat can do it, too." As for the eggs, "I'm sure there have been brightly colored eggs hatching browns, but the duller ones make the most sense, don't they? I think that's a great idea, Fayre. We can go in evenly, and split the winnings at the end? As long as the bulk of them are spent at the Sandbar." She cranes her head slightly to see Fayre's scribbling. "You make it look easy to keep everything straight. I don't think I could."

"People leave me alone for the most part? Which is better than you would expect most of the time." A'son smiles, but it's far closer to a grimace than anything else. "I don't know. I thought maybe that's what you're supposed to do? Plus, I don't know if Griere will give me one of those looks or not if I leave. Things have been relatively calm in that area, so I'm not looking upset them if I don't have to. Even it means sitting out here in this hideous sun all day." That sixth sense, likely dragon-aided sixth sense that has him looking over his shoulder. He catches sight of Griere and Satiet but remains in position for now.

"I don't think I've meet one named Jaida before, but to be honest I wasn't much interested in them till I 'pressed Pan." Amaris says to Fayre, watching as the little flit is now busy with watching those gathered in the galleries. "I'd say blue for that egg." She adds for the black, white and read egg. "I've seen lots of dull eggs that end up being bronzes and greens. I usually think browns come from eggs with brown on them." She observes, watching the sands for the next arrival. "I like traveling, not that I got to do it much. Staying in one place too long is boring." She adds to Noemie, her brown eyes scanning the sands and the gold.

"Three," is the Reachian weyrwoman's response, that's quickly followed by another number, one that's punctuated with a dazzling smile of congratulations backward to her companion, along with a few, choicely disjointed phrases, "Five. So far. For you. That is." The slender fingers of one hand play along the railing as the slight woman continues to make her way to a more prime location to observe. For the matter of how this particular time is different, Satiet's pale gaze tellingly seeks the stands, pausing briefly at A'son before the once-Reachian is dismissed with a light toss of her dark curls. "She rises regularly every four turns. Good afternoon," addresses that cool voice politely to a few faces close by: Fayre, Noemie, Amaris.

Incredulity; "Supposed to do?" N'thei chokes on his chuckle this time, shakes his head with disappointment at A'son the way one would at a child that hasn't lived up to his potential. "Let me convey a little wisdom here." Lowered voice, the abrupt press of a flask toward A'son's hand conclude everything N'thei's learned in his esteemed tenure. Neither account for the trick of a smile that gets away from him after a short look toward Griere and Satiet.

Fayre chuckles heartily and flips back to the beginning of her betting book, holding up a few of the very first pages to show Noemie. They're a mess of chaotic scribbles and arrows connecting lines of text to cramped-in letters on other sides of the page, and overall are just plain illegible. "Wasn't all that neat when I first started out. Gave me a headache just trying to read what I wrote. Was a real problem in terms of payin' out and collectin' bets." She snaps the book closed for now and nods enthusiastically. "Shucks, Wingleader. You read my mind. Split the winnings and have a party in the Sandbar! My idea of a dream come true." Back on the topic of firelizards, she remarks to Amaris, "Y'know, it's a wonder all the dragons keep their names straight. Who knows how they each manage to come up with a unique one."

Griere's eyes move as Satiet's do, a cool glance across the stands to see the pair of Weyrleaders; her lips move, a litle press, but that is all. "I had five, too," she confirms. "Oh," as Aerianth settles in again to welcome another member to her clutch's number. "Six." But the counting is left behind. "I haven't found any particular pattern yet, to her rising. It seems to be growing more regular, but with four clutches, I can't say I have much to judge by at this point. The first two were quite close." And for Fayre, Noemie and Amaris, Griere gives a bob of her curly head. "Afternoon."

Noemie looks carefully over at Fayre's book, shaking her head with wonder. "I'm not surprised! Makes sense you'd have to figure out a system. Great minds think alike, it sounds... it's settled, then. Bet, win, party." She grins widely, a smile that's turned towards Griere and Satiet as they pass by. "Good afternoon, Weyrwomen," she greets in reply. Back to Fayre and Amaris, on the topic of names, "I suppose that's one of those things we'll never really understand. And I kind of like it that way, wondering but never fully knowing. Kind of like how they choose who to Search."

Amaris barely catches Satiet's and Griere's greetings, being so absorbed in the newest addition to the clutch. "Green for that one, or maybe blue." She tells Fayre, pointing to the grassy egg. "Hullo." She offers the weyrmwomen, giving a bit of a head nod before turning her attention back to the topic of firelizards and dragons. "It is odd, I mean, how do they /know/? There have been so many hatched and so many more on the way. And they all end in 'th'" She seems to ponder this for a while but she's roused out of her thoughts at the sound of her name being yelled out. "I'd best go, Rupa's probably bored of the clutching and we're not allowed out of her sight while here." And with a grin she waves to Fayre. "Good luck with the book!" And she sets off at a fast run, bumping into a pair of bronzeriders as she exits the cavern.

The word "Six," is repeated, a nodded confirmation attempting to mask the slide in her gaze back to catch a second sight of the Weyrleaders paired together. But only a glimpse, her attention drawn elsewhere quickly. It's near the pair of women and child that Satiet finds a place to perch herself, slender legs crossing neatly at the ankle as she does so. Though there's an expansive area left for Griere, the other woman scoots to one side a little, an invitation for Ista's senior queenrider to sit by her. Not entirely oblivious to other conversation happening around her, the raven hair falls to one side, her head tilting towards Fayre in particular. Inquisitive arcs rise above her bright blue eyes, "You gamble? A bookie?"

"By mother or father?" A'son asks with a lift of his eyebrows, a look that isn't surprise crosses his face when he looks to the pressed flask. He briefly shifts his attention from N'thei to the two women and then out to the sands again. "And yes, supposed to do." Leaning in towards the other he too drops his voice to convey something not meant to be overheard in its entirety.

Amaris has left.

A'son mutters to N'thei, "... her fault that... it?... to be... own poor behavior.... way,... to... up... I can."

Fayre waves a polite goodbye to Amaris. "Hope you get to visit again soon!" She nods at the green-looking egg and makes the obvious guess. "Green for that one, I think. Your dragon should be happy about that one, eh Noemie? Maybe she can help us bet, too." She starts a bit at Satiet's question and she shyly glances down at her betting book. "Er, well, technically. I have a book and I take bets, so I figure that makes me a bookie. But I'm not an evil one, really. I'm quite nice. Ista's duties, by the way." She adds politely, eyes lingering on the Weyrwoman's knot for a moment.

N'thei would sit in a crowded room and expect to carry on a semi-private conversation while looking frequently toward the pair of goldriders like they'll never figure out what's being discussed. What helps is that he and A'son have the pariah-luxury and there's no one particularly nearby to pry into lowered remarks. He mutters to A'son, "/Your/... Pshh.... yourself if... you're wasting... ruddy time... That's... I'd say... already..."

With a fluid smoothing of her skirt, Griere sets down on the seat beside Satiet, perched lightly on its edge, all the better for when she leans forward to glance down the row and hear Fayre's response. It gets, as expected, a slow lift of the Istan goldrider's brow, a skeptical sort of look. But her oh-so-generous spirit bids her to ask, "Are the bets going well for you?" with a light blink of lashes.

"Goodbye, Amaris!" Noemie calls after the departing figure, then readily agrees with Fayre. "Green, yes, Naijath thinks so, too. She says she's happy to help with the guesses, but honestly, she's been wrong plenty of times before. And there's nothing wrong with making-- or taking-- a few bets," she adds, glance shifting from Fayre to each of the Weyrwomen. "It's tradition, after all. Don't you think?"

Egg-watching is a likely excuse for people-watching, which in turn is a likely interruption of the half-finished meal Satiet seems to randomly recall, an aside shifting her weight on the bench towards Griere, low words, while heard, meant for the Istan goldrider, "When you have the time, could you have your cook write that recipe for mango steamed fish? The way it flakes off is delightful." That said, the raven-haired woman's attention refocuses onto Fayre and her explanation of evil or not, growing amusement curling her lips crooked. "And here I thought the mere reputation of gambling made one evil. Surely. Our duties to your Weyr," the latter spoken to the assistant headwoman and wingleader, with a sidelong glance for the Weyrwoman.

A'son unscrews the top to the flask handed over earlier. He holds it up to N'thei in a silent offer. He mutters to N'thei, "Didn't... like an unusual... in circumstances.... it's not... in... across... he... concerned... threatening... night... flight... taking care... woman.... know,... one... crazy..."

Fayre's shoulders slump a bit in relief when Noemie backs her lack-of-evil up. "Well, can't say for certain if they're going well yet, Weyrwoman. Taken a fair number for how many will be laid, though. Most are putting the number up pretty high, considering we're not in a pass and all. Lots of faith in you, Aerianth, and our new Weyrleader pair." That's polite conversation, right? The assistant headwoman firmly shakes her head in response to Satiet. "Oh, no no, I don't think the reputation of gamblin' makes you evil. Do I come off that way? Even Xielar was bettin' earlier, and he's only just turning sixteen soon." A tinge of pink rises in Fayre's cheek and she hastily continues, "Not that I'd take marks from a kid or anythin'. Honestly." She almost misses the next egg in her babblings, but the movement catches her eye and she scribbles down the latest entry.

"Mate, I'd give my thumbs for an unwelcome neighbor to be the worst of my troubles right now." N'thei makes every effort to impress the lack of gravity on his Istan counterpart, to slant his gray eyes dismissively back at A'son's woes. He tosses his fingers at the offered flask just yet, you-first and bottoms-up, tries to care that there's another egg now. Five? Six? Fourteen?

N'thei mutters to A'son, "... hand'... want, this V'lano.... ought... have... than that."

"I'd say entrepreneurial, not evil," Noemie says, "Although certainly the two can exist together. Of course, I feel that I can vouch for our good assistant headwoman's character." A quick glance at the newest egg, and she's quick to declare: "Brown!" She sounds quite a bit more confident than before, as if getting the hang of the whole thing. "Not exactly dull, either, is it? Look, there's even a splotch of purple."

"Certainly," Griere returns in the same quiet tone, a side conversation with little bearing on anything else. "I can send some mangoes, too." And for the gambling, Griere can only let out a long-suffering breath with a glance back at Satiet. She does remark, "Surely the betting goes hand in hand with any clutch. Another game of chance to fill the time. I suppose for some people it is more exciting to watch them crack when they have marks riding on what's inside." She shrugs a bare shoulder.

"And the worst of your troubles are? I thought you were just sort of shooting the breeze over there, letting Shanlee handle most of your problems?" A'son asks, not seeming to be impressed by these troubles N'thei may or may not be handling on his own.

A'son mutters to N'thei, ""I... that. He's a bit of a girl ,... like... You know,..."

"Purple," teases Reaches' weyrwoman, though a second later, Satiet corrects herself with a more honest conjecture. "Blue. The egg with a purple splotch, mark me down a half mark for blue." Blue, which purple is still a variant of, sort of. With the promise of recipes and mangoes coming her way -- her Weyr's way -- the slight woman gets to her feet slow, a casual drop of her hand to Griere's shoulder perhaps her version of a hug, "It was good seeing you again. I imagine I'll have to visit far more frequently now that you're Weyr-bound. One or the other. I'll look forward to the day when neither of us are stuck." Departing much as she arrived, her good-byes are even voiced the same, a chin drop and polite words, "Good afternoon," are sent to the broader audience of women.

N'thei barks short laughter, his head tossed back momentarily while a guffaw gets the better of him. "Hah! So I am, so I am. Nothing like a pretty greenrider doing your bidding to ease a man's mind, I admit it. --But no. I go from here to Crom if that tells you anything." Satiet stands and he looks, eyes-on-strings, then shakes his head and commits to lingering that much longer.

N'thei mutters to A'son, "... such... give... he threatens... Shells... by..."

Fayre shuts her mouth for the moment and dutifully marks down Noemie's guess along with Satiet's. "Well, can't be too evil if you're participating in it, eh miss?" She says in a hopeful, nonchalant tone. "Could be brown, could be blue. Not quite sure myself." She glances at the two Weyrleaders for a moment, eyebrows raising at all that juicy gossip the two must be making. But no! She must focus on her gambling duties. The assistant headwoman lapses into silence for once, focusing on her charts and scribblings.

A'son's eyebrows lift up in surprise. "Right, Crom. I thought I'd heard through the grapevine it was settled? Though, that place being run by who it is, I guess it's not as settled as news would like it to sound? I hope you're going down there to Lord Crom up in his own jail." Evident disdain for that particular man seeps through his voice with no regard to who hears it. Then he laughs, leaning in to say something again in lowered tones.

Griere has a nearly indulgent smile as Satiet makes her bet, indulgent or conspiring, it could be either. Her eyes follow as the other weyrwoman stands, brows lifted expectantly before a more gracious expression crosses her face, the practiced hostess smile whether earnest or not. "It was. Thank you for coming. At least you were bound during your finer weather. This is a rather miserable time of the year to be stuck on the sands here." Idle, pleasant small talk. "I look forward to your next visit," with a polite dip of her own chin and another quirk of a smile before Satiet heads off.

Fayre has left.

A'son mutters to N'thei, "Doesn't stop him... my... though,... it? He's... snake."

Rori walks up from the hatching grounds entrance.

Rori has arrived.

Satiet walks to the hatching grounds entrance.

Satiet has left.

"Could be blue," Noemie considers, giving the 'more than a stick' egg another glance over. "The way I see it," she muses in response to Griere's words, "Life itself's a game of chance, isn't it? Betting's a way to acknowledge it." A fancy point of view for one so new to the game, but there it is. "Farewell, Weyrwoman," is her polite reply to Satiet as she takes her leave. And then the latest egg makes its way onto the sand. "Now /there's/ an egg. I'm not even sure if I have a guess."

That little boy who jittered earlier excitedly, pipes up in his childish voice, "It's gonna be rainbow colored!"

N'thei shakes his head, traipses his thumbnail across his lower lip a second while he contemplates; "No. No, and I wish I was. I'm going in the hopes he won't meet with me." He starts a shrug, twinges the corner of his eye, and settles to raising just the left shoulder on-second-thought. Now, talking of Crom, he does hold his fingers expectantly toward the flask. The lowered words that follow, the tone that accompanies them have the distinct ring of a joke at A'son's expense.

N'thei mutters to A'son, "... were... sharding... think twice before... so... my... alone... stuff. But... have..."

"I already have." A'son says, holding the flask out to N'thei. "You know that your Weyrwoman has left you behind, hmm?" He gestures with his heads towards the spot Satiet had been occupying. "You're going there and hoping he won't meet with you? Is there any good that would come out of that, something I'm missing?" Switching his attention briefly from the other Weyrleader to the sands he says, "Oh, eight eggs. So we're maybe close to halfway being through. I hope."

Griere looks over the eggs again, this time with a faint wrinkle of her nose. "One does have to wonder if there is some fathomable reason why eggs are the colors they are," she muses blandly to Noemie. "But after all this time, all these bets, you'd think someone would have found a pattern." She sighs quietly and gives her curls a shake, a quick hand brushing the sheen of sweat from her forehead.

N'thei answers the question about Satiet's departure with a look, a bland one, is he really asking? Only after that lands does he put the flask to his lips. After a brandy-exhale; "Tithe's halfway to Telgar. Far as Crom's concerned, I'm coming to appeal to reason and have it turned back to the Reaches." Oh-eight-eggs, he glances sparingly toward the ninth. "Go be a good-little-boy and keep your Weyrwoman company. I'll come back another time and see the tally."

"Plenty of people have claimed to have found one, but if there was a pattern that held, we'd all know it by now," Noemie says, continuing her own idle musing. "But there's quite a bit of fun in blindly guessing. And you can't go just by the color of the shell, or, well--" she notices the newest arrival on the sands just then-- "what could you guess for a white and grey egg?"

"Tithe is halfway to Telgar. Not High Reaches? With another winter approaching? Another game?" A'son's face tightens, and were loyalties at question it would be fair game where his still lay. "Are you going on your own?" He asks, his eyes briefly going to touch on Nikoth as the dragon waits patiently on the sands with Aerianth. "I'm not tied to this weyr with a chain, you know." He casts a quick look in the direction of Griere, perhaps seeing if she's far enough away to not hear.

N'thei puts his flask away almost absently, touches the weight of it in his pocket while he commits a slow nod. This time, when he lowers his voice, there's no merriment about it. He mutters to A'son, "... not... meet with... I'm... it.... to... tithe-train... dragons..." He offers another handshake to the Istan, a courteous smile over the sudden businesslike shift; "If you're really not tied here, which I doubt." He looks pointedly at Griere. "Come with us. Like old times, hopefully with fewer bars."

"I would guess a dragon," Griere says, watching the eggs instead of the rider beside her. "But I suppose that isn't the point of... guessing." She sniffs, hands on her knees now as her gaze drifts up to the ledges, out across the sands again, across the galleries, to A'son and N'thei making goodbye-type handshakes.

A'son gets to his feet, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. "It's getting cold there now, hm?" One of the shoved hands his removed so that he can shake N'thei's. "I'm sure I spared one of my long sleeved ones in the frenzy to get cooler clothes." There's another slow glance towards Griere before he leans in to put a hand on his friend's shoulder, another whisper before he breaks away and walks towards the Istan Weyrwoman.

A'son mutters to N'thei, "... might... little. But... a... between... and a shackle. Let... We'll... had your... last... I still..."

Noemie laughs heartily. "Well, yes, you'd hopefully win that particular bet." She rises from where she sits a bit reluctantly, eyes on the sands and that newest, ghostly egg. "It seems I'm being sought after by my family. Good afternoon, ma'am, and my congratulations to Aerianth on such a fine clutch." She passes A'son as she makes her way out, a polite nod of her head to the Weyrleader.

Noemie has left.

N'thei, grinning; "It's always cold up there, mate. Forgot already?" He nods sparsely in answer to the low words, a look like gratitude, then he's trotting down the steps at a brisk clip to meet Wyaeth out in the bowl. Nary a greeting in sight for Griere, so impolitic.

N'thei walks to the hatching grounds entrance.

N'thei has left.

Quick steps bring Rori into the galleries, a basket overflowing with fabrics hung over her arm. Her blonde curls have been pinned back from her face, offering a better view of her jubilant smile which is not obscured by wayward locks for once. A full minute passes as she stares out over the sands, noting the dragon and the visible eggs, before she turns to view the available seating. She selects a seat near the bottom of the stands, where she can sit and spread out her materials. The basket is set on her left side and she extracts a length of plum cloth with a needle stuck between the matching stitches, at the ready. Picking the needle up, she tucks it between her lips and begins to straighten the slightly-wrinkled fabric, her eyes lifting to the sands between light tugs.

A'son laughs, shaking his head as he makes his way through the stands. Excusing himself here and there brings him to the point where he's near Griere finally. "Does it look like a good clutch to you?" He asks, standing in the row of seats behind her, his hands pressed into railing as he leans over. He notices the newest arrival, seeming perplexed as she dumps all of her work onto the ground in front of her.

Griere knows A'son approaches, a quick glance sees him coming but she turns her attention back to the sands instead of watching him draw near. "Well, the eggs are coming at a good pace. Well-shaped. She doesn't seem to be laboring too much." She twists to glance back at him and a hand beckons him to come forward, over the rail, around, whichever he deams suitable; she doesn't specify. "Does it look good to you?" His look toward the blond girl with the spread of belonging turns Griere's attention to the same, she cocks a brow but nothing else yet.

Carmen walks up from the hatching grounds entrance.

Carmen has arrived.

Flashing in the light from the cavern, the needle plunges into the plum cloth and with a subtle movement, is inserted back out the other side. This procedure is repeated as Rori begins to sew neat stitches along the hem, her eyes solely on her work. One might wonder why she even came to the galleries when she is obviously occupied. She blows out a breath, and quite suddenly, turns around in her seat, looking up at the Weyrleaders with an apologetic smile. "I don't mean to intrude, but I couldn't help but overhear." Smoothing the soft fabric between her fingers in an absent, self-conscious gesture, she inclines her head to the side, towards the sands. "I've only been here a couple of turns, give or take, and I'm certainly no expert on clutches.." Here, her gaze slides back over the eggs, "But it looks good to me." Never mind no one even asked *her* opinion on the clutch.

He opts to come over the railing as opposed to walking around it, much to the annoyance of an elderly woman two seats away from Griere. "Young'uns. Climbing o'er things, think yous can act like animals just 'cause of yer dragon!" She mutters loudly before moving away from them. A'son drops into the seat, allowing his legs to stretch out, not seeming to be disturbed by muttering, angry woman. "I think it looks good. Colorful, at the very least. Do we stay here the entire time?" He asks as his eyes go out to the sands. "That egg is red." He states, pointing to the newest one. "Really red. Is that healthy?" He's distracted then by Rori, who he looks down at from his new sitting spot. "Well, all you women seem to agree that it looks good. Anyway."

Ambling in from the main gallery stair, Carmen moves quietly, climbing to a rather empty spot near, but not to near the weyrleaders. Brown curls are pulled back today, though allowed to spill down her back. She's dressed no more senisibly than usual, preferring her filmy skirts and bright sleeveless tops to anything even remotely practical. Little green Sham is curled around her shoulders, watching the goings-on with as much avid interest as her mistress tries to hide.

"Very leaderly," Griere murmurs as A'son arrives beside her, quiet and low for his ears only, or mostly, as the case may be. "No, you don't have to stay. She can manage with or without an audience. How was your visit?" she wonders, idly, for all appearances. Her hands, flat palms together, tuck between her knees now. Rori's input lifts Griere's chin. "Thank you," she says simply.

Pan flies up from the hatching grounds entrance.

Pan has arrived.

"You're welcome," she murmurs, her usually vibrant voice subdued as she replies to the Weyrwoman. For his effort, the Weyrleader gets nothing but a rising flush in her cheeks, and Rori turns back around, bending her head as she plies the needle. Seven tidy stitches follow their predecessors, following an imaginary line, before the seamstress looks up again, keeping her gaze exclusively on the eggs.

"You think so? I thought it showed off my athletic abilities quite well." A'son replies in turn, smiling a little. He looks towards the exit and then back to her once again, "My visit? It went well, I think." His reply is vague and not lending to further explanation. Carmen's entrance may have been quiet, but it doesn't go unnoticed. He watches her and snorts, looking out to the sands again. It's only a matter of time before he looks at Rori down below again, "What's your name?" He asks as he leans forward to watch what she's doing.

Rolling her eyes at the Weyrleader's snort, Carmen crosses her legs and leans forward, folding her arms over her thigh in one of her more comfortable 'waiting' postures. Sham leans in to nose at her jaw, wriggling with an abundance of energy and a desire for play. "Easy, dearling," Carmen murmurs to her green, reaching one delicate hand up to stroke the warm hide. "We'll take you out later, hmm?"

"You think?" Griere asks A'son, though she watches Rori's back for the moment. "You and N'thei are friends, yes?" But after saying that, she blinks once, twice, little flickers of thoughts. Her gaze turns to the bronzerider, sizing him up anew. Whatever realization she's come to, she doesn't voice it, but she does, at last, sit back a little in her seat, almost... relaxed. Almost.

Rori shifts the fabric across her lap, revealing a long sleeve with a slim cuff as it slips off her leg to dangle dangerously close to the floor. She hurriedly folds it back under the rest of the cloth, taking care not to disturb her stitches. Given the amount of plum cloth, everyone can safely assume the article she's working on it a dress and a luxurious one at that, with all the promises of being something fine. Looking over her shoulder, she says shamefacedly, "My name is Rori, sir." But her eyes flit from the bronzerider, to the golderider, and skip briefly past to Carmen. A flicker of something indiscernible passes over her features, and she diverts her gaze to the Weyrleader, awaiting his response guardedly.

"Absolutely. I'm amazing. I could run the entire length of the weyr without losing my breath. You'd be shocked." A'son says dryly, not seeming to be serious in this vein of speech. It's her next question and her own subsequent reaction to it that results in him turning to fully to look at her. "Yes, we're clutchmates." He answers simply, his dark eyes searching her face before turns away again. "Oh, Rori. Well met. You make uh... clothes for people to wear?" He asks, his tone of voice polite curiosity.

"Well met, sir," Rori says, braving a small smile for them both. "I'm a seamstress here and yes, I do make clothes for people under that position. They usually put me to work making full garments, but occasionally I get stuck with the mending." Pulling the fine plum fabric to the side for his perusal, she declares with a bit of pride and a touch of humor, "No so today." She angles her body to the side, so she can speak as she sews, her eyes needing minimal contact with the needle to perform her task. "Were you interested in something particular? A new shirt, perhaps? Trousers? A hat?"

"Very well spotted, Weyrleader," Carmen observes, shaking her head. "Of course, she could always be making clothes for people to eat, couldn't she?" A musical laugh then, pleasant to hear but not altogether real. Turning to the seamstress, Carmen grins wickedly. "Try all of the above dear. After all, we can't have the weyrleader running amok in cutoffs and ripped tops now can we?" She smoothes her skirt. "Just wouldn't be proper."

"Oh, no. Not really. I was just wondering if you were making clothes or sewing a blanket or something. You know. I guess there are people around who make blankets for a living." In A'son's defense, there is a lot of material there. It could have been a blanket! An annoyed look is shot in Carmen's direction. "I haven't recieved my apology, so you're lucky I haven't asked anyone to pick you up and escort you out of the weyr yet. I can run around, causing amok in whatever clothes I feel like wearing. You're all lucky I'm even wearing pants right now." Apparently A'son has decided that Griere is not next to him and not in a position to beat him.

Tzivya walks up from the hatching grounds entrance.

Tzivya has arrived.

Caitlyn walks up from the hatching grounds entrance.

Caitlyn has arrived.

The artless seamstress cannot hide her disappointment, but returns to her sewing, further extending the line of stitches. Rori comments idly, only partially concealing her hurt - she interpreted his denial as an affront to her skill, and it is quite obvious. "*Seamstresses* do not make *blankets* for a living. We make beautiful clothing for people who want to look thus," she says, lifting her chin unconsciously. All the rest is ignored, save for the comments by the woman farther up the galleries, and Rori bestows a disdainful stare on that one. "I think you, of all people, shouldn't be reprimanding the Weyrleader. You should become friends with a tailor *immediately*." Her piece said, she lowers her eyes to the fabric and her needle, quickly executing a few more stitches.

Caitlyn yawns hugely as she stumbles up into the galleries, rubbing absently at her eyes. A mug of something in her left hand dribbles and sloshes over the sides when she bumps toes against rock, causing the woman to grumble and cuss softly.

Tzivya makes her way into the galleries at a trot, her hair damp and clothing obviously hastily pulled on. Her eyes dart around the gathering crowd, looking for a familiar face. Seeing Carmen, she moves in that direction and offers a wave, "Hey there, sunshine!" She calls out as she approaches. "Did I miss.. Ohhh!" Ohh, shiny! There's an egg and the greenrider is momentarily distracted by it.

Griere, meanwhile, has been quiet, but her eyes are quick to track the conversation in between her glances toward the sands. Rori's final remark earns something of a smirk on the weyrwoman's lips and she lifts a brow over her cool gray-blue gaze as she turns to see what, if anything, Carmen will reply with.

"Oh yes, I'm quite lucky indeed Weyrleader," Carmen spits back, more venomous than usual. "After all, it was pure good fortune that your cutoff of business and a demand for an apology not only closed off a corner of our market but caused my betrothed's family to pull out, not wishing to make an alliance with an out-of-favor family." She moves her gaze to watch the colorful pile growing on the Sands. "And of course I should consider myself most lucky to now be the /former/ heiress of Jatkan's vineyards." Griere's look is missed, and Rori's comment ignored. "So yes, Weyrleader by all means, have me carted out, add the topping to this perfectly wretched day."

"I didn't mean it /that/ way." A'son starts, "Just you know. You have a lot of stuff there. To the unobservant eye, like mine, it could be anything. Like, you know, a blank- Oh nevermind." He leans back in the seat, though he has to stifle a laugh at her comment to Carmen. Not a twitch of compassion crosses his face, he lifts his shoulders and asks, cooly, "Would you direct me to where I can send a letter of congratulations to your former husband-to-be? I'm sure he's more than enthralled to find himself not looking forward to a future with you."

Caitlyn turns as Tzivya follows in on her heels, the bluerider giving her a thick smile filled with leftover sleep. Upon hearing Carmen's ranting at A'son, her brows draw inward, and her body posture stiffens. Eyes slide quickl yover the prickly once-heiress, taking note of the new face of Rori in the stands, as well as A'son and Griere. "Hello Weyrleader, Weyrwoman," she murmurs politely, then simply nodding once in Carmen's general direction. "Ista's duties..." is tossed off to Rori, then Cait takes a likely seat to view all those eggs out there...already counting.

"Carmen's been freed?" Tzivya asks, dropping uncerimoniously into a seat near the vintner in question, where she can offer her own input on the subject. "How lovely! Weyrleader, I've always wanted a feral feline as a pet. Can I have her? I promise to keep her in my weyr, feed her, and clean up after her. She won't be any trouble!" She glances back over a shoulder at Caitlyn, offering the woman a sunny smmile. "And hey you!"

"Well," Griere adds in along with A'son's retort to Carmen. "Certainly she can't be held responsible for her own poor behavior." And that sweet tone in her voice that has a bit of edge? Yes, that's sarcasm. "Hello Caitlyn," she returns aside to the bluerider.

Rori is furiously plying the needle to the fabric, meting out her frustrations on the blameless dress, but she does it precisely, with all the care of an expert weaver. Mumbling under her breath, she shoots a dark frown at the woman named Carmen, shaking her head and setting her curls to bouncing. But she seems content to continue sewing the hem, which is completed in a thrice and she pulls the fabric forward, laying the square-cut neckline on the top. Delicate rows of stitches in a range of purples edge the neckline, but it definitely looks unfinished. A small quirk appears in her brow as she pauses over her latest task to look at the Weyrleader, still clearly aggravated with the man. "You're eye is *truly* unobservant then, sir, if I may say so. No blanket has even been so fine."

Carmen moves as if to retort, but with barbs coming in from all sides, she judges it better to say nothing, give them no satisfaction. Lifting her chin and setting her shoulders proudly, she continues to keep her gaze forward, ostensibly watching the eggs and queen with little to no outward sign of distress. Little Sham picks up on it though, attuned to her bonded as she is, and leaps down into Carmen's lap, wings spread and eyes whirling red and yellow, hissing and creeling 'threateningly' at those assembled. Message clear; You pink things leave Mine alone!

From the sands, Nikoth rumbles loudly with annoyance. His bronze head swinging in the direction of his rider and the others that occupy that niche in the stands. A'son rolls his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose, "Really, Nikoth. The last thing I'm afraid of is some firelizard." He gets to his feet, "Griere, I'm going to take Nikoth off to the lake. I think the heat and the crowd," A look to Carmen, a quick glance to Rori, "are starting to get to both of us." He looks over his shoulder to Tzivya, "If you want to keep that thing in your weyr, well, that's your own choice. But I doubt that Headwoman would want her working here, she's not particularly useful."

Caitlyn can't help but chuckle richly at Tzivya's words, leaning forward to lightly nudge the greenrider's shoulder with her finger. "You and that incessantly happy face..." she smirks, then winking slyly at her fellow rider. That smirk filters over to A'son - becoming a grin - awarded to the bronzer for his successful ribbing of Carmen, and then alters into a slight twist of lips at Sham's protective hissing. As another egg is deposited by Aerianth, Cait makes pleased sounds at its appearance, looking over its coloration and design. "Bright ones this time..." she notes to nobody in particular.

Aerianth draws some sand here, pushes some there, collecting her clutch into a neat circle. She pauses, a wing spread over the eggs, and a moment later settle down protectly beside them with one last added to their number.

"Pets are rarely useful, unless they are firelizards." Tzivya replies, giving A'son a cheeky grin. "And she has one of those, so it's a win." Caitlyn's comment gets a laugh from the young greenrider and she turns her head to peek over her shoulder. "It's been a good week, Cait, a very good week, and it's left me in a happy mood. Is that so wrong?" She winks at her friend, grinning more. "How're you and Kintryth? I've been meaning to track you down and catch up, Balinne keeps reminding me not to forget the people who matter."

Too discomfited and frustrated with the whole situation to endure it any longer, Rori begins to collect her things, sliding the needle back between the stitches and folding the dress away in her basket. She grabs the handle with one hand, smoothes the skirt of her dress with her other hand, and gives the Weyrwoman a little nod of her head. "Good day, ma'am, sir," she says by way of farewell. With little fanfare and plenty of embarrassed flushing, the seamstress exits the way she came.

As the last eggs arrives and Aerianth seems ready to nap alongside her ovoid babies, Griere breathes out a relieved exhale, and gets to her feet after A'son, but instead of following right away, or replying to his remarks, she walks over to Carmen and stands before her, stiff and prim. A slim finger lifts. "One more word of disrespect toward my Weyr and you will not set foot here again." Her command is quiet but absolute. "Do you understand me?"

Rori walks to the hatching grounds entrance.

Rori has left.

Sham flaps her wings twice, puffing herself up to make herself appear even more deadly. I am too scary! Carmen ignores her and the rest of them, but Griere's appraoch makes that impossible. Looking livid, Sham moves forward, only to be caught by the Bitran and restrained against her chest, one hand making soothing strokes along warm hide. Once the flitter seems less murderous, Carmen looks up at the Weyrwoman. There's blatant fury in her quicksilver eyes, righteous anger of those who feel they've been wronged instead of in the wrong. Her pale face is flushed and one can just /see/ the hundred nasty retorts hovering on the tip of her tongue. But Carmen isn't stupid. She's stuck here until something happens, and better to sleep in a cot than on the ground. So, looking as though she just swallowed bile, the brunette Bitran forces a smile onto her face. "Of course, Weyrwoman," is answered quietly, almost sweetly--even with a hint of that edge she finds so often in Griere's own tones. "I understand you perfectly."

"Don't try that on me," Griere answers back for that mimic of her own feigned sweetness. "Not again." And with that the weyrwoman's chin lifts lightly and she turns to give a polite nod to the riders nearby, her own silent farewell before she sweeps down from the galleries and out to the sands to spend a few moments with her lifemate. Then she disappears down the tunnel to her ledge.

"Oh, we're decent. Lots of work, but you know how *that* goes." Cue a large sigh and an eyeroll from Caitlyn in response to Tzivya. More grins follow for the ribbing words which spill from the greenrider's lips, and Cait murmurs, "Nah, go ahead and have a good sevenday. Just send one of them over to *me*, if you'd please." Mock shock and embarrassment touch her features, prompting Cait's next words, "I *matter*?!? Why Tziv, I didn't know you cared." Grin. Griere's remonstrance to Carmen brings a crisp smirk to the bluerider's lips, quickly hidden behind an artful, if false sneeze. A wave to the departing Rori, and then Cait once more lets her eyes rove to those eggs...and the last one the queen lays. "She looks...relieved. Guess that's it." Carmen's edgy words are simply ignored.