\n\t\t\t\t\tswordfox:At some point Ebony became desensitized to the rancid aftertaste of the fluids that came up with her eggs. Either that or her body adapted to it, she couldn't figure out which.
But producing eggs on a regular, almost predictable, basis and literally laying them orally was still a pain in her arse. The only bright side to it was that her mother found a use for them as a cooking ingredient or as breakfast. And she had to admit that finding a use for them was practical; resources are quite scarce in the wasteland after all, so you used what you could get and used all of it to avoid waste.
This left Ebony perplexed when her mother came up with an idea to paint her eggs with strange dyes. "For East-err", her mother had said. Something about following an old pre-war tradition. The idea of painting those eggs sounded wasteful, but she was taught to respect her mother because sometimes the things she does are less about practicality and more about morale and bringing the family together.
So when Ebony's next unfertilized clutch started coming up she got a basket, some of her mother's dyes, and sat down to wait for her body to push the eggs from her womb up into her mouth so she could retrieve them and start painting. She hoped her mother would appreciate her attempts at painting them, even though she forgot to hard boil the eggs first.
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