Editing Airs of Whitsun

{{Whitsun}}
{{Quality
|ID = 141174
|Icon = eggspeckled.png
|Description = Even in the Neath, time moves on. This too shall pass.
|Quality type = Randomizer
|Discrete = yes
|Lower = no
}}

{{Airs table
|Level 1 – 4 = A shriek of laughter. A quartet of urchins are struggling to raise an egg to the rooftops.
|Level 5 – 9 = "—Aardvarks!" "...Do they even lay eggs?" "Well, what else could come out of these?" "I think I see your point." The Whitsun eggs have turned Londoners a bit funny.
|Level 10 – 14 = A flurry of whistles. An elderly constable chases down the street after a youth hauling three eggs in a hand cart.
|Level 15 – 19 = Good god! Is that girl's hair on fire? Quick! Get some wat— Ah, no. It's just the pet perched upon her shoulder. Although – the pet is on fire! Quick, get some—
|Level 20 – 24 = A dowager shuffles past with an unfashionably large bustle. Could she be smuggling an egg?
|Level 25 – 29 = A pack of Young Stags run past screaming. They are incoherent, yelling such things as "Two heads!" "Those teeth!" and 'Help!"
|Level 30 – 34 = Two burglars hurtle from a flung open front door. It is unclear whether they flee the egg held aloft by the burly house-keeper, or the arms of one capable of menacing with such an item.
|Level 35 – 39 = A debutante considers her reflection in the gleaming glass of a haberdashery. Glancing over her shoulder, her fixation is surprising. The reflection is unflattering, positively bovine.
|Level 40 – 49 = A debutante feigns a swoon when several Specials stride past hauling a trove of eggs. Her companion does not catch her.
|Level 50 – 59 = Several urchins have gathered in a back alley. They have hoisted an egg over a small fire. Are they trying to cook it, or hatch it?
|Level 60 – 69 = A speaker near Hangman's Arch has drawn the ire of a crowd. They are using chicken's eggs to express their opinion of his thoughts on larger eggs.
|Level 70 – 79 = All eggs are whisked indoors, or concealed with tarpaulin or sheets. A dark liveried carriage of the Shuttered Palace passes by.
|Level 80 – 84 = A Spite restaurant is advertising 'London's largest omelettes'. Uncharacteristically wise, Londoners are not being drawn to visit.
|Level 85 – 89 = An old crone shuffles past. Her hat whistles jauntily in your direction. She makes eye contact with you – and maintains a mischievously neutral expression.
|Level 92 – 100 = A performance in the Singing Mandrake ends in violence. A poet asked whether the crowd wanted an encore, or whether they had had 'an oeuf'. Chairs were thrown.
}}