Clutch 20 Hatching

If it had to be admitted, many of the Destiny employees were halfway surprised to see Brio show up at all, when the time came that Urnaess announced her children were near to hatching and the usual summons were made over the station-wide intercoms. For all that it had been his flight that the ship had "sponsored", as it were, he had become so scarce and rarely-spotted afterwards that the clutch was far more Urnaess's, in their minds, than his. He had been horribly inattentive to his temporary mate, and even if he'd had a revelation of sorts towards the end of Urnaess's three-month sojourn in Alpha Bay and tried to improve his behavior, there were those among the staff who remained unimpressed and privately (or not-so-privately) scornful of the fiery hybrid.

At least Dr. Schroeder himself was not among these. A man of his age was quite used to the follies of youth and inexperience, after all, and Brio Nerano was neither the first nor the last to have a delayed awakening to the demands of responsible behavior. Brio certainly seemed eager and attentive enough now, perched on the mossy floor and toying with the fifteen tiny, hatchling-sized necklaces looped around one of his fingers. There was a Chyrith tradition, from Brio's father, of something called "Sire-Piercing", where the father of a litter pierced the ears of his children to show he was proud enough of his offspring to claim them as his own. The piercings were of a sort Schroeder had not seen before: silver and ridged in a spiral fashion that made them look very much like screws twisted in a circle.

The good doctor had been perfectly accommodating when Brio had finally expressed his desire to keep up the tradition with this clutch, but a flash of intuition had struck the man. After informing the parents of what he wished to do, Schroeder had taken one of the eggs up to his labs for a quick, harmless test.

It proved, as he'd expected, that Urnaess's get were acid-blooded as she was. Perhaps not wholly as caustically as a full xenodragon's blood would be, but enough that any piercings would only be melted away should Brio try to affix them. Hence, then, the necklaces. Tradition had been forced to adapt, and each pair of piercings had been soldered to a silver chain instead, for Brio to put around his children's necks. The chains would have to be lengthened considerably as each kit grew, but Schroeder figured it was better than nothing.

The hatchlings themselves, finally bursting free of their shells, were very much their mother's children. Though they had their father's furry body and paws, their bellies and tails were ridged with glossy carapace and their faces were domed and eyeless. They hadn't inherited the almost-insectlike "feathers" she possessed, but the same yellow-orange gradient still marked the wing-leather of a good half of them. The kits were red and blue, with a few purples, and marked with orange or white in boots or thigh-stripes or a combination of the two.

Their eyelessness didn't slow any of them down from finding the bond or sponsor each wanted. One dusty blue with orange markings even took off at a cackle, stumbling over himself and faceplanting into the moss a couple times yet somehow never slowing. He, in fact, proved the only real disruption of the hatching. Ignoring the candidates, the little fellow instead seemed set upon taking flying leaps at his siblings, bowling them over as each tried to get where they were going and then bounding off again with a wild laugh.

Brio, further attempting responsibility, hopped up and tried to corner the blue devil, but the youngster was as slippery as a minnow. "Not m-me! N-not for you!" he whooped with inexplicable glee, his stumbling, leaping bounds at last depositing him behind Dr. Schroeder.

The half-Chy eyed his son uncertainly, as the blue hopped around Schroeder's feet and chanted "gotta n-not-grampa!" to himself.

"Guess this one's staying here," Schroeder chuckled easily, even as the blue seized his labcoat in his teeth and tugged like some kind of oversized puppy. Then, just as suddenly, the blue let go and bolted off again. Two of his sisters, sitting unbonded with the attendants at the feeding tables, appeared to have caught his nonexistent eye.

Brio just looked confused, head turned to watch the tussle that broke out when the blue pounced upon a larger red sister. He could then see, however, that the gathering around the tables was growing, and figured he'd better pass out the piercing-necklaces before they all started leaving, so he wouldn't have to try and chase them down before they reached the doors. Picking himself up again to do just that, he spotted Urnaess with one of their children at her side and wondered, too, which one of his sons or daughters would be sticking with him.

He found them over by the tables, as it turned out, after he finally got the one spazzy blue to hold still long enough to get his necklace on, then turned towards a pair of nearly identical siblings. Brother and sister they were, and bonded, each red with orange carapace and markings, but in slightly different shades and alternate patterns.

"You're both sticking with me?" he asked, pleased, once their necklaces were on.

Even though eyeless, the two seemed to share a look. "I almost had them put my name with that Frux guy," the male, Calibanio, admitted lazily, "but me and her are a team."

Portiass, the female, nodded more brightly. "It wouldn't do if you and Frux ever split ways, so you get us both."

"Besides," Calibanio drawled, "we don't think we'd get along with him much."

"Stick-in-the-mud," Portiass agreed, snickering.

Brio could share the sentiment and laughed. Maybe in the back of his thoughts he heard a little voice warning him that there was something conspiratorial about the little pair, something suggesting that these two would put his newfound sense of responsibility to the test...

...or maybe not.

Since their mother is named after Uranus, all of the hatchlings are named after the planet's moons, which, in these cases, are named for characters from the works of Shakespeare.