Who: Jet, M’tan, Safiye, B’den, Kyramith, Sirhyth, Vesoviath, Quazenth
Where: Court of Shadows, Honshu Territory
What: The ‘gifted’ eggs hatch. It’s chaos.
The thrumming of dragons has drawn a crowd of hand-selected, not truly ‘Searched’, candidates to the Sands of the Court. Though Sirhyth and Kyramith both weighed in on the mental fortitude of those offered, neither may have had the spark of a true ‘search’ dragon. Most of those gathered were older in age, as the Court has few teenagers in their midst. They harbor the young, the old, and the middle-aged to staff and run their home. As Sirhyth calls his joy and Kyramith holds fast to an egg that suddenly spills out a golden daughter, M’tan curses and looks to those who they have selected. “We may have been ill-equipped for this venture,” her curses, rubbing his hands through his hair and letting a litany of swear words pass his lips as he watches more dragons spill from eggs. One blue, large enough to be closer to a brown or even a smaller bronze hatchling, bursts from its seems and careens head-first into a woman in her twenties. She screams as her legs breaks and she buckles as her arms go around the little blue to soothe, “No, no–,” she sobs, “it’s not your fault.” M’tan dashes to her side, ignoring the gold, to help organize care for the woman and her new dragon.
“They can’t have known that there was a gol—“ Jet starts to say, her voice layered with heavy disbelief even as she tries to convince herself that Honshu cannot have been aware of what they allowed them to remove from their Sands, only for the young woman’s scream to make her flinch. “Get the Healers,” she demands of one of the older members of the Court on the fringes of the gathering there to observe the Hatching. “Now! Don’t make—“ Between delivering that order and scanning those assembled for anyone else who might be useful, she fails to see Safiye move step by slow and steady step towards the eggs as if in a thrall, and only when her daughter drops to her knees in-front of the tiny gold does she lift her voice again, her desperate denial drowned out by Safiye’s joyous, “Her name is Vesoviath!” as slender arms reach to hug the little queen with the emerald claws to her.
M’tan watches as the bluerider and her dragon are escorted off of the Sands and towards an Infirmary that at least will hold a baby dragon. He scrubs at his face for a moment and curses how little he planned for the addition of dragons and turns in time to watch Safiye declare her gold’s name. “//Fuck//,” he curses and looks towards Jet. He doesn’t immediately get to his mate’s side as a hatchling struggles to get out of an egg that’s shell is too thick. He turns and begins to help break the hatchling free of it’s egg. He’s sweating by the time the bronze is freed and panting in the crumble of eggs. A tall teenager strides forward, kneeling beside the tiny bronze as his sides heave from the effort. “You don’t need to be frustrated,” he soothes the bronze, “you’ve come into the world. It doesn’t matter that you had help.” He pauses as he looks up at M’tan and widens his eyes. “Quazenth spoke to me. I have a dragon talking to me, sir.” M’tan can’t help but laugh as he claps the boy on the shoulder and rises to signal those who have been assigned to take the new charges towards their rooms forward. He makes his way towards Jet and looks for Safiye.
From the last of the four eggs, a pale green who looks to be larger than the gold in Safiye’s arms breaks free and skitters to press herself to Kyramith’s side and regard those assembled through large eyes that whirl through shades of yellow. The one she’s chosen soon moves forward to claim her, picking her up to take her from the shadows and into the light, leaving only Safiye pressed to Kyramith’s chest with her arms still tightly around her new lifemate, who huddles close, sparks of rainbows still present in the facets of her gaze. Cautiously, Jet starts towards them, meeting M’tan on the way, and crouches down in-front of her, one hand on Kyramith’s paw solely for comfort. “…Safiye…” she says quietly. “Are you… sure?” Her daughter relinquishes her hold on Vesoviath a little, but she nods, turning tear filled eyes unapologetically to her and to M’tan. “I can’t hear or feel any others. Only her. She’s mine.” Jet swallows hard and murmurs, “And she’s a… Safiye, she’s very small for her colour. We need to make sure she’s okay.” For her part, Vesoviath creels and pleads, << I’m hungry, >> with a touch of silk and gossamer wings, her request broadcast beyond her new rider.
It is Sirhyth’s shadows that move to surround Vesoviath in a cocoon of love and affection. << You are all hungry. Food is coming for you. Let yours hear what she must from her parents. >> He moves to close the distance between he and Kyramith, adding his bulk to further hide the little gold and her partner from speculative view. M’tan places a hand on Jet’s shoulder as he considers the gold and his daughter. “She is yours,” he tells Safiye with a proud smile, “and you are hers. She is lucky you were here for her.” He steps back, looking to Jet and reaching for her hand. “We’ll have to consider… what this means for the Court. How qualified we are to train a gold I cannot say,” he murmurs softly to Jet.
Kyramith leans down to touch her nose to Vesoviath’s, as careful with her as she has been with the eggs, yet she reserves comment, watching and waiting while Jet tries to cycle through exactly what to say. Both are prevented from words, for buckets of meat are promptly handed to the new riders not in the infirmary and Safiye immediately starts offering small pieces to Vesoviath, who sits happily and practically in her lap. “Honshu would never have given us a gold, if they’d known,” Jet murmurs, stepping back. “Unless their intention is to gain information from the inside.” Watching their daughter’s new lifemate, she gives a subtle nod towards her and tugs at M’tan’s elbow. “Look.” As Vesoviath’s wings shift, there’s a shimmer of the same metallic green to match her claws, faint though it is. “…We’re going to need to find a dragonhealer who wants to stay here. The blue, the bronze, Vesoviath… Maybe it’s only the green who is what we might expect.”
“What’s wrong with the blue?” M’tan wonders, suddenly unsure at their entire venture as he gazes around at those who have stayed to whisper excitedly about the Court’s ‘first’ Hatching. “The bronze’s shell… Vesoviath…,” he pauses, looking at Jet with narrowed eyes. “Is it possible they gave us only eggs from the blue and the gold clutch?” He takes Jet by the hand and moves her away from Vesoviath as the boy and his bronze move to share the bucket of meat Safiye is using to feed her gold. “Didn’t expect any of this, did they?” he wonders as he hunkers down near her to offer bits of meat towards Quazenth. “I’ve never been to a Hatching of any kind. When M’tan told my mom to have me stand, I thought he was foolish. What’s a boy like me got with the business of dragons?” He looks down at Quazenth with a smile. “Guess they knew something I didn’t.”
“He’s twice the size that he should be,” Jet says quietly. “Bigger than Vesoviath. Then, all of them are bigger than she is. We need a dragonhealer. If she’s not going to live, then–“ The reality of contemplating that awful future aloud makes her pale, a hand instinctively moving to the curve of her bump both in the absence of being able to hold her newly-Impressed child and as nausea unexpectedly rises. “Maybe Honshu didn’t know which were which, in the end. Their Senior pays no attention to them. But… a blue siring a queen? I didn’t know it was possible.” Vesoviath briefly lets her attention shift from food and to Quazenth instead, reaching her rounded muzzle towards his side to snuffle at him, yet her need to eat soon draws her focus back to Safiye, her hands nosed at in a plea for more. “…I wasn’t meant to do this,” Safiye murmurs. “I didn’t… I didn’t //mean// to…” Vesoviath’s eyes take on a hint of worried yellow. “No, no, that’s not what– I love //you//, I just wasn’t expecting… you…” she hastens to say.
“I’ll leave and fetch one,” M’tan tells Jet, moving to rest his hand over her own against her bump. “You should go and rest. Safiye can handle Vesoviath for now. I imagine I should’ve found a dragonrider willing to be their Weyrlingmaster or babysitter. I don’t know.” The strain of the reality is wearing on M’tan’s features as he shoves his fingers through his hair and exhales slowly. “We can handle this,” he mutters to himself more than anyone, leveling a look at Safiye and the boy alongside her. “She’s so young,” he adds as an afterthought and then moves to kiss Jet’s cheek. “I’ll return later. Sirhyth will keep in contact with Kyramith.” He strides off then, moving to grab and speak quietly to the two people he’d selected for their skills to help with the weyrlings for now. B’den looks to Safiye with a shrug as he wraps a casual arm around Quazenth’s neck to tuck him against his chest. “Figure no one ever feels like they’re meant to do it,” he supposes, shrugging and looking to Vesoviath. “Surprises are hard for us to handle, little one. She’s happy to have you.” He looks to Safiye and then glances carefully over his shoulder to where her mother is standing. “I imagine they’re happy you’re following after them. And gold too. Pretty grand!”
“She’s too young,” Jet declares, though it’s a weak insistence. “I should stay.” //That// is countered by Kyramith, who shares her, << Go – I will watch over them, >> with both her own rider and Sirhyth’s. It’s with reluctance that Jet surrenders Safiye to the care of those who begin to make their way towards the new weyrling group, watching her while trying not to draw too much focus, until she has to turn away and leave those others in command of the situation, heading up the steps back to the main building as M’tan departs. Vesoviath pauses and takes a moment to blink at B’den when he refers to her as a gold, but it’s a instant soon subsumed by her moving to cuddle closer to Safiye, leaning against her on the edge of sleep. “I… I don’t think they’re happy with me,” she tells B’den, but her voice is not so heavy as to be worrying very much about it, her focus on the baby dragon in her arms. “But if she wanted someone else here, she would’ve chosen them. So… It had to be me. Same with all of us. We were meant to be here.” Under Kyramith’s watchful gaze, the three uninjured weyrlings are encouraged to move from the makeshift Sands to the building meant to serve as a barracks, with the exception that the Court’s version leaves each which their own room. In the absence of a Weyrlingmaster, the green remains in the building with them, unwilling to leave them without the presence of an adult dragon for these early hours, and though she may seem to merely sleep the time away, there is not one moment when she is not truly on her guard.