[Hatching] I'll Make a Handler Out of You

[Dragon]

Briolette of Brown Briosk - tag Hunter, Rhaadys

Briosk huffed in annoyance as the baby who was to bond to Hunter was half-rejected by his new handler. Is yours, he told the handler gruffly, reluctance in his voice. New partner. Blood properly. Bond.

Whers could leave, he reminded himself. They weren't bound the same way as dragons; their bond was breakable. They could leave a handler who did not treat them well. Treat well, earn loyalty. Whers not dragons.

He watched as his next egg was given away and hatched, a handsome blue son. Very good.

"Congratulations," Brio noted to the handler, a smile on her face. The blue looked like the serious sort, and she hoped he would be a good match for his new handler.

[Arcane]

Hunter of Bronze Yndesk and Brown Brysk - Briolette, Open

Hunter squinted suspiciously at Briosk. So he couldn't buy an egg but if one just happened to walk into him, maternal choice no longer mattered?

But he didn't offer again. He'd wanted a baby, after all, and there was nothing about this baby that made it any less promising than any other, he supposed.

"Thank you," he said, simply and politely, "He'll choose to be loyal to me or he won't. I won't do him ill, regardless."

It was a fair assurance, for a father to ask.

And hopefully payment enough Hunter wouldn't later be asked for a favor less easily fulfilled.

He cut a slit around his arm, at about the same spot he'd sliced himself open for Yndesk, and offered the brown his blood. The brown sniffed at it, before taking a ginger, almost polite lick.

And his mind bloomed into Hunter's, somehow entirely different than the presence of the bronze Hunter was so used to carrying with him.

It wasn't like any mind Hunter had ever felt.

He wasn't sure what to make of it. Beyond that it didn't feel like the sort of

Too early or too late to cause trouble much, the wher tutted warmly. Hunter was not the sort of man people- especially babies, of any species- tutted over. He looked at his parents and assured them, Heart not as bad as tongue suggests.

But whatever he was- he was Hunter's and he was hungry. Hunter could feel the brown's ravenous growling in his own stomach.

Let's get you fed, Hunter said.

Food? Yes...food, the wher said, distracted from his social niceties, Food feed Brysk very nice Brynden.

Hunter blinked, momentarily taken aback.

But he knew what the wher meant well enough and hatching was hungry work, Call me Hunter.

[Dragon]

Briolette of Brown Briosk

The large brown relaxed slightly when his brown son stood up for his new handler. He would trust his child's judgement in this. And he didn't consider the choice of Hunter by Brysk to be stepping on Riask's right to decide; the twin, a surprise to them all (despite Briosk's earlier musings that it might be so), had chosen for himself, and that was that. Neither he nor - he assumed - Riask would begrudge him that choice.

He watched the remaining eggs with interest, eager to see what the last two held. He was proud of the clutch so far, even more so than he had been when it was first laid, and he was eager to see what these would bring.

[Fel]

Mera of Bronze Merask and Green Mesk Tag: Hunter, Wyrsil

Mera fought the urge to point out that the wherleader would do no such thing. The other woman was honest, but there was no sense arguing. Hunter had apparently laid off his attempts to buy the egg, and any further whingeing on the man's part could be safely ignored. It was the same as with children complaining about not getting pie for dinner: annoying, but it was simply better not to engage.

She turned her attention instead to the eggs and the garnet who presided over them. She still wasn't entirely certain what to think about those, even so many Turns later. They had become the norm, but did that make them normal? She wasn't sure. Still, Briask seemed to be a responsible mother, and that was what counted here.

As though trying to prove her right, the garnet carefully nudged and rolled the first egg toward the clustered handlers and Candidates, finally stopping the egg with a wordless grunt. In front of her. Mera nodded to the wher, then watched as the egg rattled and shook and finally split.

Bright, almost eye-searingly green even through the egg goop. There was no doubt whatsoever about this wherlet's color; she was green. Vibrant, neon green. And apparently feisty, as she spotted Mera's sleeve as the woman knelt toward her and immediately launched herself at it, teeth and claws sinking into the cloth and worrying at it.

"Not a toy," Mera said sternly, to no avail. She glanced up at Wyrsil, who was asking questions she couldn't yet answer. "I'll let you know as soon as I do," she said, pulling out her knife. She wouldn't be able to get to the back of her arm until the wherlet let go though.

The little green growled, shaking her head again as though she thought it prey she could hunt. If she'd nicked the skin, she might even have inadvertently completed the bond, but life apparently couldn't be that easy. So Mera waited until she tried to reposition her grip on the sleeve, then pulled her arm away, rolled up the sleeve--which was looking rather the worse for wear--and made a quick cut on the back of her forearm.

As though she'd been waiting for it, the little green immediately focused on the new scent of blood. Blood for her. She pounced at it, emerald-hued tongue lapping at it, and her eyes whirled rainbows. MINE, she told Mera firmly, forepaws gripping the offered arm tightly. Can have back when done. Maybe.

Not that the green, Mesk, had any notion of actually eating the arm. That was silly. It was her own arm. She felt the sting of the shallow cut, the warmth of her paws gripping it, her claws pressing at the skin. Hers. Besides, there was food elsewhere. She let go, hopping up with a surprising amount of grace given her distinctly roly-poly figure. Done now. Can feed. Need food.

Without waiting for a word of recognition, she trotted off toward where she could smell food. Meat. Meat all for her.

Mera gave Wyrsil a slight, almost apologetic shrug, though the other handler surely knew that wherlets had a one-track mind, and that track was food. "Mesk, apparently."