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Pfft. There's no such thing as an awful start but have this awful tag! Gotta break Zyamel in here so apologies if she's a bit rusty while I figure her out.

Zyamel was pleased that the Western Candidate at least seemed amenable to a bit of conversation. Without even waiting for an invitation, the dark skinned girl sat down next to Martirae with her usual feral smile. She gave a litle snort as the girl confessed to avoiding the tears of their more emotional peers sniffling on the lower tiers. "Nothing wrong with a bit of a space, and the view is certainly divine," she stated approvingly. Whether or not she meant the eggs or present company remained a mystery. With Zyamel's history, she likely meant both. "Not sure why they get all worked up, though." It was just a Touching, and the tears always confused her. She could understand during a Hatching, but here? So an egg gave a nasty response, or none at all. Didn't they know to school their feelings? Ah, but Zyamel wasn't exactly known for being overly sensitive... at least not to anyone publicly. Her mother had taught her better.

Thankfully, the girl seemed to remember her. That first egg, the big, beautiful green and silver egg; the one they had both walked over to and touched. Her eyes danced away from Marty to look back down at the Sands, picking out the large egg even from such a distance. "It did," she stated, her pleasure clear. "An egg with good taste, I say. What about you?" Zyamel didn't always poke and pry, given Touchings could be quite personal, but she figured Marty had asked, so it was fair to question.

“Clearly, fear. Fear of having to learn patience, fear of not being liked by everybody they meet, fear of not knowing without a doubt if they are meeting theirs for the first time.” It was a lesser fear than the one Marty had built a barrier around, but they were both fear none the less.

Zyamel seemed certain in how that egg had felt about her, and Marty found herself staring after it in a mirror of the young woman’s gaze. “I wonder. It was interested for a moment,” but if that had meant it liked her, Martirae couldn't say with any certainty. “But not enough to get my hopes up over,” she stated decisively after some consideration. “I can safely say I've stood long enough and met enough eggs to not know what's worth getting excited for,” perhaps the part of her a dragon would have needed was long gone and she'd simply wait forever.

The girl arched a brow at Marti's response, but did take a moment to look back down the tiers at the Candidates who were still weeping or generally trying to compose themselves. "Fear, huh," she mused aloud, considering what the Western girl was saying. Zyamel didn't think much about fear. That wasn't to say she didn't experience it--but her response was often anger, or at least, resolve to be rid of such a feeling. Tears were something the long-haired girl hated. She hated to be found crying --and she liked to claim she never once shed a tear-- and didn't know how to handle those who found themselves in such states. She wasn't heartless, but tough love was a family trait.

Tears didn't get anybody anything but pity, and that wasn't something Zyamel could abide.

"They're going to have a mess of a time at the Hatching then," she mused, before giving a little laugh. "You can't go through life without upsetting a few people or living life in fear. What're they going to do when they're left alone? Or when a dragon spills blood? What're they going to do if they Impress and have to face down Thread?" She gave a small scoff, her judgment clear. "Guess V'mel'll really have his hands full. There aren't enough tears on Pern to stop Thread. That's why you use fury and fire." And oh, Zyamel had a lot of fury--or at least a lot of feist.

When Martirae explained her own experience with the egg, Zyamel gave a little nod. "It's always interesting to see how they respond; which ones are quiet, which ones seem to accept or understand you, and which ones flat our reject. Guess we'll find out at the Hatching, eh? No sense getting hopes up over eggs that haven't shelled. How long have you been standin'?" She turned back to regard Martirae. Part of her thought she looked familiar--perhaps she'd seen her at the Western Weyr clutch or the unaffiliated beach clutch? "I've been standing about four Turns now but have no doubt I'll meet my match one day." And if not...well. She'd deal with that once that started to become a real possibility. For now, it wasn't something she'd think about or worry about until it happened. She was too certain a dragon would need her or want her, and refused to consider otherwise. "Just gotta wait for it. The dragon's know best, after all."

Marty visibly relaxed, though it only really showed in how she sat, twisting a lock of dark hair between her fingers as she continued to observe the other candidates. Fear wasn't bad if one arranged it around their lives, rather than their lives around it. Unfortunately, as far as she saw it, many did the latter. How many candidates spoke as though their lives would be over if they lost this opportunity to be found in the bond of a dragon?

"They will find out who they are in those times or they will serve to let another show their colors. It is awfully easy to let someone else step up into the role of hero in hopes their radiance hides even your own darknesses when they're near," she waved her other hand dismissively at the notion. "I find if I'm capable of standing in a spot, I rather not wait for somebody else to come along to take it," and while she didn't consider herself anything like a hero, she preferred it over being somebody else's damsel.


Finally looking away from the hustle and bustle of the eggs, and the growing crowd in the stands, Marty turned her attention back to Zyamel exclusively. Such interest wasn't entirely uncharacteristic of her, but the lack of severe judgement that came with it was a bit more rare. "I try to not take any of them personally - that's how you break your own heart and end up with a crowd of sobbing disappointment at the feasts after," Marty had let her heart be broken once - and found she'd disliked it entirely. "I've been standing for six turns now. Long enough to know I don't want to be settled for- to not be one of those kids who wishes another's is theirs.

Zyamel idly noted the seriousness within the other girl. On the one hand, she wasn't surprised; the dark haired, dual-skinned girl certainly didn't have a lighthearted air about her. But even her words, so woven, seemed to hold a weight to them. Was she always this way, or was it just because they were in public, and that this was a serious moment? Still, she appreciated what the other had to say, and was glad there was someone who wasn't afraid to pull their punches. "Someone else will fill the void and save the day, or they'll just wind up fodder." Honestly, while she understood Candidates came in all sorts, she was both fascinated and horrified by some of the more tender hearts out there. While Zyamel dreamed of playing hero --and getting all the ladies to coo over her heroics as a plus!-- she also didn't want to see dragons and riders succumbing due to foolish mistakes or an an inability to deal with their feelings when times got hard. "I'm with you, though. I'm no damsel in distress, and I'm definitely not going to wait around. Life's too short, especially with Threadfall back." She grinned a bit wickedly, even as she turned back to regard the Candidate next to her. Zyamel had long resigned herself to going down in battle for High Reaches Weyr on a fierce green. Any other death would be disappointing.

Speaking of how life was short.... Zyamel remembered exactly why she came over to where Martirae sat. She wanted a better look, wanted to get to know the other.... and wanted to do quite a bit more than simply talk. The other Candidate certainly was pretty. She'd have to play her cards just right. "It's just a waiting game. Each rejection is just one step closer to finding Yours. Maybe my views will change when aging out looks more a reality, but right now? Nah. There's time. If I age out here, maybe I'll take a trip over to Western, eh? Seeing as your Weyr is a bit more forgiving on that front." She gave a little laugh, thinking exactly of what her mother would say about that. "Nah, even if I age out, I'll just put my talents to serving the Weyr in other ways." All those lady riders would need a little loving after a hard day's Threadfall, anyway. Zyamel would be more than happy too oblige.

There was something ironic about the fact that neither of them wanted to wait, but there they were, both playing a particular waiting game that neither of them had the power to speed up. "Life is short and there is so much to be done," Martirae agreed readily, though she almost seemed to pout as she said it. So much to do, and she could do so little of it herself as she was. It was a frustrating present, and there was so much she could say and judge those softer than herself upon - but that frustration was getting farther away from her than she wanted it to be, and she had to grasp it tightly and pull it back in. Did positive thoughts matter from this distance?

She'd pretend they did.

"I'd hope someone with a bold heart isn't left waiting long - softness pads a fall, but it doesn't hold up in a pinch," she wasn't entirely dismissive of the idea that an older candidate may find chances in the island Weyr, but there was something about the idea that Western received aged out rejects from other places that didn't settle quite right. But Zyamel was an agreeable enough person, and the retraction of the statement kept Marty from souring in mood. "It is far too long of a time frame for both of us to worry too much about aging out. Perhaps yours will be that green and silver egg. Perhaps it will be the next clutch on these sands," perhaps they'd both age out and Marty would end up falling into the same life her mother had lived. It wasn't an unpleasant thought entirely.

"Take a trip over to Western anyways, though. Even if not for a dragon," Marty seemed to realize the absurdity of this statement after she said it, half laughing. "If you find the chance, that is. It's...different, at least."

Zyamel gave a little laugh, sharp and approving, at the others words. "I'm inclined to agree," she added with a nod and a bright smile. My oh my, but she had certainly picked the right Candidate to target this day. Not only was the dark skinned girl a bit of a mystery, but she was sharp, and clever, and had some shared viewpoints. How could Zyamel think otherwise with V'mel as her father and Zheria her mother? There wasn't an ounce of softness between them... They were hardened men and women; Zheria by the cruelties of Nabol, V'mel by the rough weight of duty. Zyamel revered her mother, and honored her father; though she wasn't particularly close to the latter, and Zheria often too busy and disinterested to pay her overly much mind, Zyamel couldn't help but have strong beliefs and ideas about dragonriding and the Weyr. "Don't get me wrong, there's certainly a time and place for softness, but I guess, if nothing else, even the softest of hearts get molded into dependable riders. And some of the softer dragons out there might just need a little softer one to suit them." She gave a shrug and another little laugh. "But weeping over eggs not yet hatched still just...seems a bit much."

Especially given they were supposed to be trying to keep their thoughts controlled. No wonder Gr'del was one Candidate outburst away from having a complete breakdown. She didn't envy his position, though another part of her wondered if he needed a heavier hand, like V'mel.

"I suppose it's not wrong to want a dragon sooner than later, even if I'm not putting any stock or real hope in it seeing it's out of our hands. It would be nice if I found Mine in this clutch, or one coming up; I just can't stand Threadfall days stuck on the ground." While she worked hard on those days, doing what needed to be done, another part of her wanted to do more. She wanted to fight Thread. She wanted to be up there, serving the Weyr, serving Pern, and looking damn fine at it. She knew death was practically a guarantee but surely... surely she could do some good before then? She wasn't afraid of death, or pain. She was afraid of being useless or unable to help change the world in a meaningful way. Even if she died as a weyrling getting blooded, she at least got to taste battle.

"Maybe that green and silver one is yours," she countered with a grin. "Or maybe that delicate little pink one everyone cooed over. They might need someone to lean on a bit, yeah?" It was a little bit jest, a little bit serious. Honestly, even though she couldn't abide over emotional Candidates, any dragon was a great dragon in her book.

As for coming to visit, the girl gave another feral grin. "Oh, if the girls are anything like you, I'll happily make a few visits." And not just for conversation.

There was certainly something amusing about how all of Marty's sharp opinions seemed to be so agreeable the people she'd met in High Reaches. It wasn't as though her Western Heart could compete with the ingrained - tested and true - way the traditional Weyr functioned and break it, nor did she exactly want to. Just that what she wanted, and the root of the ideology, weren't different beasts when they were laid out side by side. "Yes. But softness that shatters away on contact...." she gestured with a hand vaguely, assuming Zyamel would understand what she was getting at. "If someone had nearly been eaten by a rampaging mother, I'd say tears were more warranted," certainly, Western had put on quite the show for High Reaches the last chance they'd gotten.

Shifting so she rested a bit more leisurely, Marty was almost the image of a wild feline, watching someone lost in her woods as she looked over Zyamel with growing interest. High Reaches certainly was full of agreeable sorts. "It is more difficult to measure how helpful of a contribution one makes when you are on the ground cleaning up loose ends left behind by someone else," to be able to have something more tangible to hold onto - that you could sit on the shoulders of a majestic flaming being that needed you - seemed like an easier way to fill that need to do....anything. "Or is it more for the glory or the thrill?"
Honestly, if there were results, did it matter?

Marty glanced towards the little pink egg, cradled up with it's father in the center of Fianth's clutch. "Perhaps. I didn't get much of a chance to say hello," she admitted. Even now, she was certain she would have missed out on that yellow and black egg that had prompted such tears if she'd not seen it sooner. "I do wonder, though, what they'll find. What they've found, even."

The flirtation was a very obvious one and Marty was a touch too smart to not see the line for what it was - and frankly she didn't mind it so. "You'll find I'm a rare flavor, but there are many others worth meeting, I'm sure," none that had suited Martirae, but who knew.

Zyamel gave a snort. "Now that was something to see," she mused aloud, thinking back of Vimiath, mouth actually over Akaris' head. She gave a low whistle, still a little impressed, and a little amused by the entire affair. "Never saw someone get so close. Eveleth can be pretty nasty when she's had it, but even at her worst, I don't think she's ever actually gotten that bad." Then again, her mother's dragon was too in control. Even while her mother was practically on her deathbed, though worried, though alarmed, the gold had still remained vigilant and in control.

"Hey, what's your name?" It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn't properly introduced herself. Now that wouldn't do at all. Besides, she wanted to put a name to such a pretty face. "Bet it's just as pretty as you are." Honestly, she couldn't go five minutes without immediately laying on the compliments. Honestly, she couldn't help it. They were a weakness, and Martirae was different than some of the girls she'd dated or dabbled with before. She was a bit aloof, a bit distant, clever, and sharp; all things Zyamel knew how to appreciate. Oh, a pretty damsel in distress was nice; and the chase was fun with those who were hard to get; but she couldn't help be pleased that this Western Candidate was not just pretty, but smart, too. Seemingly independent. Strength of character was something this girl knew how to appreciate.

"I think it's a bit of both, really," she answered with a grin, though a slightly more serious note entered her voice. "I mean...If you can't tell, I know I was born to fly. The glory doesn't hurt, and the swooning Hold girls I'm sure to corrupt, but I want to... be more than just my mother's daughter. And the sooner I disappoint my father, probably the better." She gave a sharp laugh, her humor clear. She was well aware V'mel was very traditional. He thought... seemingly little of the fighters, besides being a needed asset. She knew from a young age her desire to be on a fighting dragon wouldn't exactly earn her any praise or pride. One of the eggs had questioned her identity; whether or not she was able to stand on her own, to not ride on the coattails of her mother. She had wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but it had also wounded. Is that what they all thought? She learned from a young age NOT to throw her mother or father's weight around even though she could. She had been trouble, certainly, but she thought she had carved out her own name, her own little piece of the Weyr... But maybe... Maybe all they saw wasn't Zyamel, but just the Weyrwoman's daughter.

It was a thought that didn't sit well with her, though she was still chewing on it, still processing it. If she had to strive harder, well... So be it. She was proud of her lineage, but she was too proud and fierce to want it to color her future. Living beneath Zheria's shadow wasn't always easy, or pleasant. In fact, she wasn't even sure how the woman would feel if she Impressed a green or blue. But those were secret thoughts, secret worries she wasn't going to admit. "I just want to be part of something bigger. Save those who can't save themselves. Fight hard. Die early, I guess." Her smile never wavered, and she certainly looked as pleased as ever. "What about you? Surely, if I had to guess, you don't care one lick about glory or prestige in dragon riding."

When Marty commented about being a rare flavor, Zyamel arched a curious brow. "I like exotic things," she mused, "Maybe someday I'll get a taste." So terribly shameless.

Ah. That little formality had been skipped, now hadn't it? "Martirae," she offered with very little fanfare. The loveliness of a name was likely found in the mouth that said it - and Marty didn't possess one that simply made every word that spilled out of it sound nice. Some words did, others were more unevenly handled and chopped at times.

But what she lacked in verbal grace, she at least made up for with attentiveness - or simply, Zyamel was interesting. "Everybody is more than the sum of their parents," it was an easy sentiment and didn't quite feel right, said that way. "Rather, we can either start as what they have put into us and go nowhere, or build it into something else. So as far as I can tell, you already are only yourself," if Marty was only the sum of her parents.......she wasn't sure what she would have been. Perhaps kinder, if what she remembered of her mother was any indication. So many people had left Western, there were less and less people who even remembered her to ask anymore for the context of a woman.

Zyamel was so on-the-nose with her inquiry - or rather her observations accompanying it, that for a moment it was as though a dark veil had been swept from her eyes that had previously kept anybody from gazing through them into the windows of the soul. It was quickly pulled back into place. "I can strive be everything I am capable of being, or I can accept only what is handed to me and allow everything I have been to come to a rotting halt. I see it in the faces of people who pull into themselves as though they aren't anything anymore." She'd seen it in the face of a man who had her, but that wasn't enough.

Brows raising slightly, Marty considered Zyamel's shameless words. "Maybe you will. Not many do," though if that was because of prickling thorns, or personal preference, she'd leave to the imagination.

"Martirae," Zyamel let the name roll off her tongue, committing it to memory. Not that the Western Candidate was likely to be forgotten. Zyamel never forgot a pretty face, after all. "I was right." She confirmed with all her usual confidence. Whether Martirae thought so or not didn't matter in this instance; Zyamel knew herself to be a fine judge of such things.
At the other's statement, she gave a nod. "Fair enough," she added, disliking how close to actually being honest or perhaps vulnerable she had become. It wasn't that she was superficial, but... She was Zyamel. Showing any signs of weakness was an easy way to wind up manipulated, pushed around, or killed. And it certainly wasn't very sexy... at least not here and now in public! "Thankfully, I'm not one to sit still and stay stagnant. Going no where or living in their shadow isn't an option." Even if they eclipsed the Weyr. But that was neither here nor there. She liked a good challenge and that was exactly what that egg had spurred her to do.

If Zyamel noticed any change in Martirae's, she gave no indication. Still, her eyes watched the other with keen interest. "You're too much of a feline to just sit back and rot; there's too much fire there, too much earth and stone. You'll make your own way even if you have to till the land with your hands." She laughed again, pleased with this new Candidate. "Keep that fire. Pern needs it, now more than ever."

When Martirae spoke, Zyamel's feral grin only grew. "Anytime you say the word," she promised, quite sincere. "The night's get cold here in High Reaches... Just something to keep in mind when you come back for a more extended stay."

There was an amusment to the way Marty tilted her head in answer to the comment about her name, though there was no accompanying smile or really any indication beyond the tilt of her posture. But it was there all the same. "Thank you. And yours?" She perhaps could have found a flower-y way to ask for a name in return, but bluntness suited her just fine.

"Then it sounds like you're already far from your starting line," easy words to speak when one didn't realize that the starting line was also the finish line and that line perhaps wrapped all around Pern. Maybe she did have some inkling of just how high the bar Zyamel was climbing towards was and had simply decided that it didn't matter if the young woman was going to claw her way to it whether it was easy or not. It was certainly a refreshing state of mind and it kept Martirae in at least a pleasant mood. "It sounds like the idea never even occured to you until I said anything," did that downplay the effort it may have taken to get to this point? Not on purpose, at least.

For all of the compliment's oozed over her name, or this, or that, it was the observation made in counter to her statement about rot that really caught her. "Funny. I could say the same about you - good thing there's enough room for a lot of fire," still, for the first time an actual smile came over Martirae who was very pleased about it all. Certainly, she'd wondered if perhaps these eggs had not liked all of the barbs and hardness she guarded herself with but...it was shaping up to be well worth the visit.

"Shame, I rather am used to the warmth of Western," the suggestion was appealing - but she'd toy with that a little longer. Somehow, she doubted the Candidatemasters would allow too much time for things to be...kept in mind. "Perhaps I'll need a proper tour."

So you can see it all posted thus far!