==== February 16, 2014
==== Melian NPCd by Kyara, Renalde, Prymelia, Lian NPCd by Prymelia
==== The sand in the hourglass has finally run out and Prymelia’s father arrives in Southern to fetch her back to Igen.

Who Melian NPCd by Kyara, Renalde, Prymelia, Lian NPCd by Prymelia
What The sand in the hourglass has finally run out and Prymelia’s father arrives in Southern to fetch her back to Igen.
When It is late night of the twenty-fifth day of the first month of the first turn of the 12th pass.
Where Southern Weyr, Headman's Office

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HEADMAN'S OFFICE
A large desk made of carved wood stands in the middle of the room. Neat piles of papers, each looking to have a specific purpose sit in orderly lines upon it and a line of writing utensils sit ready to be used. A large administrative chair of dark leather, looking not particularly comfortable, sits behind the desk. Behind the desk a wall of bookcases and cabinets stand, slowly being filled with the day-to-day records of the hall. Across from the desk a large fireplace sits awaiting a log to burn against small breezes. One large comfortable chair sits off to one side, easy to converse with, and even easier to ignore if need be. To the left large double doors open onto a small living area complete with bed and wardrobe with an expansive view of the Southern ocean.


Last minute reports have the headman staying up past his typical bed-down time. Trade records in one pile, notations of supplies used, etc. Everything is colour coded, placed in the correct spot, and marked. Nothing gets lost in this bastion of order that Renalde has set up. Somewhere in the corner his fierce cat stalks a bug across the floor.

At this time of night most have either turned in or are in the process of doing so. Not so for a trio that now grimly make their way toward the Headman’s office. “I’m telling you, he’ll be asleep now,” Prymelia’s voice can be heard. “Its late. We shouldn’t disturb him. We can come back in the morning.”

"And give you a chance to slip away somehow?" a low, gravelly tenor clips in reply. "No, Prymelia. The sooner it's done with, the better." Quick upon the end of those words, a sharp rap sounds upon the Southern Headman's door. "Headman Renalde," comes the voice once more, this time a bit louder. "A moment, if you would?"

Renalde hears the voices in the hallway long before they actually tap on his doorway. He considers the time for just a moment, the shakes his head. Business never waited for him to get that good night's sleep. He stands and goes to the closed door to open it. The trio which greets his ice-blue eyes is not quite what he has expected. "Trader," the older gentleman is viewed from top to bottom before he looks over at the pair behind him. Dryness clouds his words, "I trust this is nothing which could have awaited the morning?" Don't be fooled by the apparent mildness, Renalde is at his most renalde-ness tonight.

At her father’s counter, Prymelia goes quiet though it doesn’t stop her from shooting him a tight look. Whereas the tall young man with the short growth of beard merely flicks his sibling a bored look. Her heart all but sinks when it turns out that Renalde is after awake after all and not only that, still at work in his office. “Headman,” the young trader woman’s greeting is far more subdued than normal, lips wetted in a tell of nervousness. “This is my father, Melian, Wagonmaster of the Flynn clan out of Igen.” She refuses to look at him. “And my brother, Lian.” Him she sends a scathing look.

Melian gives a small bow from the waist once his daughter introduces him to the Headman, and he gives a shake of his head. "I'm afraid not, Headman," he replies, a shade apologetic. "We've come to take Prymelia back to Igen, and I'm afraid it has to be now, lest she decide to find a way to avoid what's been long established." The look he lands on her is cool, not unkind - but brooks no argument as well. "Her time here has reached it's end, I'm afraid."

Renalde gestures the trio into the room, closing the door behind him. The wagonmaster is offered the chair as Renalde sits himself in his own chair, hands folding together to listen to the man speak. "That leaves me in difficulty Wagonmaster Melian. Your daughter is an asset to the weyr."

Lian, arrogant prick that he is as the potential future Wagonmaster of the clan, claims the other seat, so that Prymelia is forced to stand between and just behind the two men. Renalde is flashed a grateful look from out of a paled face. “I told you, I have contracts, father. With the Weyr that I need to fulfill.” This is her last hope in convincing her sire to allow her to stay without the awful consequences that have been dangled over her head.

"Prymelia is a capable girl and an asset wherever she plys the trade," Melian concedes with a nod of his head, though there is a certain stiffness to his tone. "However, there are familial obligations," and at that, he slides a pointed glance up and back to settle on his daughter, "that take precedence over business. Particularly when business can be continued seamlessly." His attention returning to Renalde, the Flynn patriarch sweeps a hand toward his son. "My son Lian will remain here to see that the rest of Prymelia's contracts are fulfilled, as well as see to any further business that Southern Weyr might have need of from the Flynn clan." All bases are covered, it seems.

Renalde doesn't look at Prymelia. He knows how things work in this culture. "You expect your son to be able to step into our Southern jungles and not have an issue?" Renalde turns his chair just slightly to look at the son of the caravan leader. Every arrogant look is taken in and examined… and the young man found wanting. Prymelia should be familiar with that look. "The weyr's contract is with your daughter alone Wagonleader."

At the reminder of what awaits her back in Igen, Prymelia blanches further, her hands twisting together before her until knuckles whiten. She says nothing at first, conditioned to submission to a male figure of authority as she is. That is until her contracts are so easily handed off to the smirking Lian. “No! You can’t do that!” Snippets of the fiery temper and determination that are both her downfall and saving grace, come blazing to the fore. “Those contracts are mine. I worked for them. Not him. You can’t just take all my hard work and…” Renalde’s return cuts her off and finds the young woman fitting him with a pleading look. If anyone has a chance to save her from a future of drudgery and boredom, it’s him. With a flick of hand, Lian dismisses his younger sister’s ‘petulant’ tirade. “Aye, its all been a very nice game dear, now leave the men to discuss men’s business and start planning how many sons you’re going to give old man Dargle.” Smirk. And then features morph, displaying a cunning intelligence. “I have trained with the best in Ista, Southern Boll and High Reaches, as a hunter and tracker. I’m fairly sure I can handle your jungles, Headman.”

A heavy fist thumps the arm of the chair, and Melian pins his daughter with a fiery gaze of his own. "Aye, you worked for them, but for us, girl!" he returns with a raised voice, though the tension in it indicates that he really is trying to keep a lock on the explosiveness he's rather reknowned for among the clan. "Business is fluid as necessary. Or did you forget that little detail." Turning back to Renalde, he reaches into the worn leather pouch at his hip. "Regardless, I'll have no further argument over it, with all respect. Here." He produces a small hide, rolled and tied, and slides it across to the Headman. "That's the written agreement between me and Dargle for my daughter. A contract of its own, also to be honored. Prymelia leaves with me, tonight, no further questions. Lian will stay and is quite capable, for all his cheek." A bit of a scathe accompanies that last, and Melian gives a firm backhand to his son's shoulder. "Mind yourself, boy. You're trained, but you're not invincible."

"While you sit in my office wagonmaster," Renalde's tone is even, though the ice that coats it is clear to anyone who even half-knows the Southern headman, "you will know that your authority ended the moment you stepped on to weyr land. I would hate to have to get the weyrwoman involved." Renalde's own threat is dangled out there- his meaning clear. Whatever importance Melian might feel he has is absolutely nill in the eyes of the only authority that maters, Renalde's. The documents are taken and unrolled upon Renalde's desk so he can inspect them. The silence will stretch on unless one other others chooses to break it. Finally, Renalde will look up. "You have an obligation to meet Prymelia." Is there a hint of pity in his voice? Surely not.

Prymelia jumps at the bang of fist to chair arm and while she doesn’t say another word in her defense, defiance rings clear in hazel eyes. Lian, is ignored for the worm that he is in her opinion. But when that piece of hide comes out and is handed over to Renalde, she finds herself reaching a steadying hand to the back of the chair her father occupies. “There’s…a contract? Already?” Breathing shallows and her vision swims in response to the threat of a panic attack. But it’s to Rendalde that her attention fits as he reads for surely the wily Headman will find a loophole, right? When he glances up and declares the contract valid, much as it infuriates her, moisture wells up and slips silently down a cheek. “So that’s it then.” Husky tone flat and frosted with ice. “That piece of hide decides my fate.” Looking from one to the other of three men, she gathers whatever dignity she might have left for being sold off like a piece of livestock. Finally her gaze returns back to the Headman. “Tell T’ral…” but her throat closes and rather then give her father and brother the satisfaction of seeing her cry, she cuts off whatever she was going to say and dips a short curtsey. “Headman. It’s been an honor.” Skirts swirl as she whips about and stiff-backed, marches herself out of the office and into the hallway.

There's a subtle clenching and unclenching of jaw that goes on at Renalde's threat, but the Flynn wagonmaster manages to hold his tongue, miraculously. That is how much faith he has in what he's just produced from his pouch. "There has been for a while, Prymelia," he states evenly. "And as with all things in a trader's life, yes. The contract binds." He doesn't even have to tell her to go pack her things, apparently, because off she goes. Perhaps he catches a glimpse of the tear, and his gaze lingers momentarily on the door after her exit, but… "Headman Renalde," he intones as he takes back that fateful roll of hide, "thank you for your time. And for working with my daughter." So many other ways he might have voiced that, and that's the one he chooses. He rises, gives another bow, and nods at the son he's leaving in Prymelia's stead. "A good night to you."

"Wagonmaster Melian," Renalde rises as the wagonmaster does. "The weyr's contract was with your dauther. Your son has done nothing to prove himself to this weyr and I will not have incompetents making it harder for the riders to protect us. If I see you or your son on Southern soil come morning," he pauses to make sure the man is completely listening, "I will have the guard throw you out." Ice cold eyes book no argument as Renalde stands as still as a rock. "I am sure you understand. Good evening gentlemen."

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