==== October 21, 2013
==== Prymelia, Kultir, tasna
==== Prymelia meets the hunter Garrick had spoken of and learns of another who may wish to join her from Tasena

Who Prymelia, Kultir, tasna
What Prymelia meets the hunter Garrick had spoken of and learns of another who may wish to join her from Tasena
When There are 0 turns, 11 months and 3 days until the 12th pass.
Where Nighthearth, Southern Weyr

Prym%2011.png kultir2.jpg Tas15.jpg


A comfortable nook, this natural extension of the living room is cozily attired with overstuffed chairs and a couple of well-worn loveseats. All have been covered in various shades of green, giving the very incongruous appeal of a miniature forest hidden away inside… a grove of man-made proportion. Fish stews and spicy white-wherry chili are often kept hot on the minor hearths east and west of the main, for those whose hours defy when meals are kept. Ornate, the largest hearth towers high, rich with carving and utilitarian in fashion: it holds court by providing the weyr with rich klah, the air thick with the scent of cinnamon wafting.
On the perch are Ballygeary, Satinear, Skyslider, and Pest.
You see Veritas here.
Kultir is here.
Obvious exits:
Living Caverns Stairs

Kultir is settled into a chair, a bowl of some concoction of the new cook and a large mug of ale nearby. He picks through the odd combination of things he barely recognizes but he's decided he's going to try it. Finally, he digs the spoon in and pulls up a bite and shoves it in his mouth. There is an odd expression on his face as he chews though it clears as he contemplates the flavor and finds it to his liking.

Prymelia isn’t there to eat. Instead, with a woven basket in one hand, she’s there to work on a project, seeking peace and quiet to escape Alberon’s infernal snoring. The young man already seated and tucking into his meal flares a faint edge of recognition though she’s not quite able to pinpoint its source. Passing by him, heading toward a chair, she offers a short nod of acknowledgement.

Kultir glances up as someone passes him and nods to the woman carrying the basket. He reaches down for his ale and takes a long drink. Sighing happily at the flavor he sets it down once more and takes another bite of the odd stuff in his bowl. "Hmm, gets better with a second bite. Interesting." he mutters to himself.

Setting the basket down, Prymelia sinks gracefully into her chosen seating, flicking the young man an amused look as she turns back the cover and extracts a length of pale blue sisal. “Weren’t you at the Hatching?” She goes on to ask unfolding the delicate fabric to reveal the beginnings of a beautifully embroidered design depicting flowers and vines starting to creep across it.

Kultir swallows the mouthful he's chewing and takes a long drink of his ale before answering. "Aye. I s'pose ye could say I were." he says softly, a slight flush creeping over his cheeks. "On th' Sands, leastwise." He glances at the fabric she's working on and wonders if she's sewing or embroidering. "Did ye get t' watch th' Hatchin'?" He gets to ask his own question, taking another bite and chewing while waiting for her answer.

Threading a needle with a bright sunflower yellow, Prymelia takes up where she’d left off the night before, the needle flicking in and out with a cheerful profusion of flowers left in its wake. Glancing up when Kultir speaks, the flush is noted with sympathy. “Aye, that I did,” she says, her hands stilling when attention fits to the young man. “You’re going to stay on then?” Interest colors her tone.

Kultir cocks a shoulder and nods as he sets his bowl aside for now, it's not quite what he's wanting right now. "Sorta hafta." he says, lifting his mug and relaxing into his chair as he sips the warming brew. "Got a couple kids on th' way, got some friends 'ere … got no place else t' go neither." he says softly, keeping his gaze just slightly off her work so he doesn't make her uncomfortable. He tilts his head slightly as he looks at her and asks, "Ye fr'm th' Weyr then? What'cha do 'ere?"

An elegant brow lifts. “Have to?” Prymelia queries unsure of how a Weyr could force a former candidate to stay on. And then a soft ‘Ah’ of understanding is softly uttered, Kultir now set with an intent look for he seems far too young to already be about to fulfill the role of father. “From up north,” she goes on to reply to his questions. “Setting up a trade route as soon as I have everything squared away.” With needlework being a common activity of the women of her clan about the fire at night while the men were engrossed in ‘important’ talk, she’s well used to working on pieces while being watched.

Kultir grins at the look she gives him and shrugs slightly. "Ah, sounds like ye'll be workin' purdy 'ard then." he mumurs, pushing himself out of his chair so that he can go find some fingerfoods to snack on. His silent tread and lithe movements tell a lot about him as he moves, finally settling back down on his chair and popping a fishroll into his mouth to chew thoughtfully. "Ye got plans on where ye be goin'?"

Going back to her needlework, exchanging yellow for emerald green, Prymelia begins working on a series of twining vines and leaves. Glancing up, she suddenly discovers Kultir gone and blinks when she sees him over at the snack foods. Shards but the man could move quietly. Keeping her attention to her work at hand, lips curve about a secretive smile. “Here, there and everywhere,” the trader replies somewhat cryptically though she’s probably just teasing with the enigmatic smile she flashes when she looks up. Head bowed once again. “You move like a shadow,” is quietly noted.

Kultir washes his fishroll down with a drink of ale and blushes, ears turning red. "Sorry. I be forgettin' once't a while tha' most folks dun hear m' footsteps." he says, chagrin thick in his voice. "Tis habit. Makes m' job easier t' walk quiet-like." He shrugs slightly, his entire demeanor one of apology if he'd frightened her in any way.

Curling vines completed, her needle is re-threaded, this time with white and a series of smaller daintier flowers begin to take form. “Your job?” Curiosity lilts Prymelia’s tone upwards. “What do you do? Sneak up behind naughty children that have gotten away from their nannies?” She teases amused by Kultir’s blush.

Kultir's blush slowly fades as he chuckles at her teasing. "Nah, them kids'd ne'er sleep 'gin iff'n I did." he says jokingly since he'd never do that sort of thing to a child. He takes another long drink and settles back into his chair, the heel of one boot hooking on the edge of the seat. "I be a tracker f'r th' Weyr. Find out where th' felines den up, let th' guard know so's they c'n go an hunt 'em down. Been workin' on learnin' t' skin 'em out m'self too. Figger it be a bit o' waste to kill 'em an' not git so much as a claw f'r a necklace 'r summat."

“They’d also think twice about trying to run away,” Prymelia notes with a crooked grin. Having gone back to her needlework, what Kultir says next connects the dots so solidly that she actually winds up stabbing herself with the needle. “Ow! Shit!” She yelps immediately shoving the pierced digit into her mouth before it has a chance to bleed all over her hard work. For several long moments all she does is stare at him, the young man put under such intent scrutiny he’d forgiven for thinking she were weighing up her next meal. “Ith you!” The trader mumbles from around her finger, then frowns and plucks it from her mouth. “You’re the one he was talking about.” And suddenly lightly freckled features are beaming with open delight.

A shoulder is lifted in a shrug as Kultir nods slightly. "Yeah, s'pose ye'r right. But I dun bug th' kids no more. I like 'em, but … I got work t' do." he says. When she yelps, he looks concerned but when she just sucks her finger he settles back into his chair. At first he doesn't notice the staring but then his shorthairs prickle and causes him to frown up at her about to ask what she's staring at when she speaks. A slightly wary look enters his eyes as she points at him and asks, "Who be talkin' 'bout me?"

Eyeing her finger to ensure its not about to drop a blob of red on sky-blue sisal, the expression that crosses Prymelia’s features is one part sly and one part secretive. “Garrick,” she replies using the older man’s given name rather than his designation. “He told me about a hunter that was a candidate that might be interested in freelancing for me. I reckon that would be you then.” Smug the little smile that appears for having figured it all out. “So? Would you be? Interested in procuring good quality pelts for me in return for twenty percent of the sale price?”

Kultir had stiffened at the mention of the Stablemaster's given name, his frown deepening as his lip curled in a silent snarl before he was able to control the expression of distaste the man evoked. "Tha's a purdy nice cut f'r th' job." he says warily. "Wha's th' catch? There's gotta be a catch iff'n he din't suggest one o' his cronies." He's not about to say yes or no … not till he knows what's going on. He's got to talk to Kalea too, she'd want to know if he was going to be gone for any length of time.

Seeing that expression cross Kultir’s face, Prymelia frowns. Sure, Garrick could be a crusty old bugger at times but as far as she’d seen, it was generally not without good cause. Setting that aside, she focuses on business. “There isn’t a catch. If you’re able to not only hunt but skin and tan the pelts too, then I can cut out having to take on a tanner and offer you more than I normally could. It’ll be payment on sale though. I don’t have the marks to pay you up front.” She admits then turns to the matter of the Stablemaster. “I told him what I was looking for and he recommended you. Unless there was another amongst the candidates that’s a hunter?” Maybe she’d gotten it wrong?

The mug is lifted and drained as Kultir considers her words, lowering the mug and staring into the emptiness inside. He sighs softly and stands to refill his mug though this time he remembers to allow his bootheels to thump on the flagstones of the floor. Once the mug is full though, he doesn't return to his chair, instead he paces … his movements reminiscent of a restless feline in a cage. "I dunno why he'd mention me … th' man did nothin' but what helped hisself out when I worked f'r 'im." he murmurs, brow creasing as he keeps thinking. "I was th' on'y Candidate that were a tracker." He takes a long drink of his ale and sighs as he finally resumes his seat and looks at her for a long while "I gotta talk t' Kalea if I be gone more'n a day. I ain't takin' off f'r more'n a day … "

Seated in an armchair, a basket at her feet and a length of sky-blue sisal in her lap, Prymelia is working on embroidering a riot of wildflowers and vines across the one edge. Hands still when Kultir stands, hazel eyes regarding the young man closely as he paces. “Perhaps he saw potential in you,” she quietly returns having come to learn that while Garrick is as gruff as they come, he’s hardest on those that fritter their talents away. A nod is given to his having to speak to this Kalea, assuming her to be the mother of his unborn child. “I’ll not be heading out for anything longer than an overnight run for a while yet.” There’s a pause before hands once again set back to the rhythm of her work, “How long before the baby is born?” She asks, needing to know when she’d be able to rely on him for longer hauls.

Tasena wanders into the current conversation, not at all aware of any particular emotions until the very end, right when she's about to fill the cup she's carried with her with a small bottle of wine. Glass clinks together as she pauses, regarding the others for a moment. It's Prymelia's resumed embroidering that decides the bartender as she slowly eases into a chair, with all the air of someone getting off her feet for the first time in while.

Kultir snorts at the comment about Garrick seeing potential in him but doesn't offer any other information other than his expression which shows how doubtful the man's altruism would be. He takes a long drink as he continues to consider her offer and nods slightly. "Eh? Four more moons mebbe." he says, his voice softening and filling with pride at the same time. "An' it's babies … twins run in th' fam'ly. Least the dolphins said they was twins." He frowns and scratches his head as he ponders possibilities. "I got a couple I been trackin' … mi' be I c'n get them m'self, they's purdy close t' th' Weyr."

Long conversations haven’t exactly been the nature of her acquaintance with Garrick and so Prymelia lets the matter rest. Brows peak upwards when Kultir divulges he’s soon to be father to twins and once again, her hands come to rest. “The dolphins said so?” Having absolutely no knowledge whatsoever of the creatures, her expression is dubious to say the least. Moving on to his last, she nods. “Good quality pelts are in high demand up north,” the trader tells him. “I’d like to be able to establish a steady trade both to the Weaverhall as well as my clan for distributing.” Tasena’s arrival isn’t missed, neither is the bottle of wine she has with her. A warm smile is sent the bartender’s way when she settles into a chair. “Long day?” Prymelia asks, understanding etched into her tone.

Tasena's curious look toward Kultir is cleared up when Prymelia starts talking about pelts. The bartender takes a moment to fill her glass finally, then sets the bottle safely aside. When the trader turns her attention toward Tas, she smiles quickly and lifts her glass toward the other woman. "All around, it seems." She settles back in her chair, stretches out her legs, and crosses them at the ankles. Long day or not, she's going to let the red wine breathe for a moment, while she does the same. "Things… all right?"

Kultir was so deep in thought that he'd missed Tasena's arrival which causes a flicker of dismay to show in his eyes. Prymelia's words get a nod. "Aye, Dolphincrafter says the beasts c'n read heartbeats an' other stuff inside folks. Dunno how them critters do it but th' Healers say tis possible." he says in explanation. He takes another long drink of his ale as she continues to explain about the pelts. He smiles and nods a greeting to Tasena, listening to her answer to Prymelia.

Curiouser and curiouser. So says the dumbfounded expression wreathed across Prymelia’s expression. Lips part to say something then shut again. She’s at a loss for words on the matter of dolphins and what it is they’re supposedly able to do. “Huh,” that the quiet utter of surprise to Kultir’s explanation. Needlework now completely forgotten – lets hope its not some sort of urgent commission – Tasena is sent a somewhat uncertain look. “Uh, yes. Of course they are,” Prymelia replies. “Shouldn’t they be?” Perhaps she’s missing something. “Are you? All right that is.”

In response to Prymelia, Tasena angles her gaze significantly toward Kultir before taking a long sip of wine. "I'm fine," she then states quietly, scooting down in her chair until she can rest her head against its back. She swirls the wine gently, watching it intently. And, of course, eaves dropping.

Kultir caught that significant look sent in his direction and blinks between the two women. There's something going on here that he's just not comprehending. He takes another drink of his ale and chews on his lower lip trying to figure out just what it might be. Otherwise he simply sits and continues to ponder what arguments he can use on Kalea to let him do this job for Prymelia.

Much like Kultir, Prymelia isn’t sure what that look in his direction is meant to indicate. Perhaps there’s something about the young hunter she doesn’t know but should? Hazel eyes flicker between him and Tasena her reply almost tentative in its delivery. “Aye, we’re just discussing business. I’ll be heading out into the wilds soon and…” Suddenly she realizes she doesn’t know his name. Embarrassment for the oversight flushes across her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I don’t get your name.”

Tasena is… just going to go on drinking her wine. Maybe those significant look are just tired eyes wandering. She closes them for a moment, only to look up a second later toward Prymelia. "The wild? Not alone?" she asks, lifting her head away from the chair slightly to peer from the woman to Kultir, then back again.

Kultir clears his throat in embarrassment at the oversight and offers a sheepish smile to both women. "I be Kultir." he says shortly, nodding to both women. While he will allow them to give him their names, he won't actually ask for them thinking that people who what you to know will tell you. He cocks his head at Tasena and asks, "Ye work at th' Tavern, don' ye?" If that's the case then she may be thinking about how plastered he'd been a few days previous when Kalea and T'lvier came to drag him out and pour him into bed.

“Kultir,” his name repeated with a smile toying at one corner of Prymelia’s mouth when he too displays chagrin for the error of having not exchanged names. “Prymelia,” she says of her own. “And this is Tas. I mean, Tasena,” she hastily corrects, it being a bad habit of hers when it comes shortening people’s names. Weariness starts to creep up on her, tickling along the edges of her mind and weighing eyelids. But she’s a stubborn one this one and valiantly fights it off.

"Tasena," the bartender replies to Kultir, then smiles slightly, nodding her answer regarding the tavern. "For a little while now." This is punctuated with another long sip of wine. "Tas is fine, too. It's what people back home always used. Whatever you like, really." Wine is swirled again as she leans her head against the chair once more. "So… heading into the wild," Tas prompts, arching a brow at Prymelia.

Kultir nods when both women give their names, a slight smile curling his lips as he notices the same weariness creeping up on her as is doing the same to him as well. He drains his mug of ale and stands, stretching briefly after being a bit cramped in the chair. "Prymelia. Tasena. Well met." he says politely as he drops his mug into the dirty dish bin. "Well, ladies. I must head off to my bed, sleep has decided that it will come here and ambush me instead of waiting politly in the weyr for me." He nods once more, giving them a slight bow as he does so. "Prymelia, I will speak wich Kalea about your proposition. If she's comfortable with the event, I'll let you now when I'll be available for the overnight trips." He nods once more and turns on his heal to head out to the bowl where his dragon-taxi awaits.

Only at Tasena’s prompt does Prymelia realize she’d not answered her earlier question. “Oh jays, sorry.” A yawn is stifled. “Aye, heading into the wilds,” she confirms, “Setting up trade routes between the Weyr and the outlying cotholds. Exploration.” Slender shoulders then lift and fall in a shrug. “I don’t mind being on my own though if he agrees to my terms, Kultir here will be accompanying me. At least until his babies are born. . Got a Miner-smith looking to join me at some point to search for firestone deposits.” Watching as Kultir gets to his feet she gives a tired nod of understanding. “Good evening, Kultir. I’ll look forward to hearing your reply.” Her gaze follows the young hunter as he departs and then settles back to Tasena. “That was some affair the Weyr put on after the Hatching wasn’t it?”

Tasena waves her free hand to the departing Kultir, then sips her wine again while listening to Prymelia's explanation. She makes a quiet "ah" sort of sound, then replies, "There's a Farmer type looking to make the rounds of the cotholds, too. He was talking about it in the tavern a couple days back. Could maybe hook you up if you don't want to walk alone, once Kultir's busy with babies." She shakes her head slightly, then laughs. "I can't say I envy him. One baby's hard. Two at once?" She flashes Prymelia a grin, then drains her glass before reaching for the wine bottle. "Did you have fun at the party?"

“A farmer?” Interest perks swiping some of the exhaustion beneath the rug of consciousness. “What is he looking to do at the cotholds?” Prymelia asks, getting to her feet and wandering over to where fresh klah has been laid out. Pouring herself a mug, adding an unhealthy amount of sweetener and some milk, she returns to her seating. There’s a wrinkle of nose followed by a shudder at talk of babies. “Nooo thank you,” the trader returns folding her legs up under her. “Not in the least be interested in becoming a walking hatchery.” That her view on offspring. When talk swings back around to the party the smile that appears is strangely retiring in its origin. “Aye. First one I’ve attended. My father wouldn’t allow the unmarried women of the clan to attend either Hatching or the celebrations afterwards. Said it wasn’t becoming of a traderwoman to mingle socially with those not of our creed.”

That last causes a surprised frown to crease Tasena's brow for a moment before she utters a quiet "huh". "I can understand staying away from the Weyr due to flights and stuff. Especially gold flights. But what's the harm in a party?" she asks the trader. "Or is it the idea that all riders are these debauchers and sex hounds or something?" After a sip of the second glass of wine, she returns to the cothold topic. "I don't know. Farm, I guess. Seemed nice enough, but he might already be gone. Kept talking about getting stuff done before Thread starts falling and stuff."

Crooked the smile that falls to Prymelia’s lips at Tasena’s choice of wording when describing the rumored habits of riders. “Something like that,” she says. A lull in conversation develops as she takes a careful sip of the hot brew in her mug. “The women of our clan are meant to make good matches. Matches that strengthen the clan and open up new routes for trade. In my father’s eyes, any that lived at a Weyr and not trader born and bred, limited those options.” Clearly a view she doesn’t share given her appearance at both Hatching and after party. Another sip of klah while Tasena offers more on the farmer and it’s enough to entice natural curiosity. “I liked to meet him if he’s still around,” Prymelia notes, “might be good to have someone along who knows how to fix a wagon wheel.” Or so she assumes of one born to the soil.

Tasena has a crooked smile of her own in return for Prymelia's information about her clan's views. "Guess I'm glad I wasn't born a into a trade clan, then," she shares, amused. "Would've just been tossed out on my ass Turns ago. And the guy's name is Torulik. Accent puts him from Nerat. Just like mine," she adds with a quiet laugh. "Anyway, if I see him again, I'll pass along the interest. How soon were you looking to head out?"

A short laugh greets Tasena’s comment and finds Prymelia waggling her brows mischievously. “Why do you think I’m down here with that grumpy oaf of a chaperone instead of back home being a good trader girl and planning my trousseau?” The farmer’s name is repeated then tucked away into a mental file marked ‘Must Look Into’. “Nerat’s lovely,” the trader remarks, “I was only a little thing when our caravan passed through but I still remember bits of it.” As to when she’s heading out, her smile slips a little then quickly recovers. “I’m planning on doing my first overnighter on runnerback day after tomorrow. Heading out for longer hauls as soon as my wagon is ready.” Ahem. “Need to get things set up before Thread starts falling.” Expression and tone both grave.

"Well, you already have that in common with the Farmer, then," Tasena says, grinning crookedly. "And… yeah. I keep meaning to see if someone will give me a lift up there. Haven't visited since, uh… since coming here. Now, I mean. Not just here-Southern." Yes, Oldtimer alert. "Is your caravan near Southern now?" She starts to raise her glass to her lips, but pauses. "Wait, wagon, so… are you starting your own thing, then?"

Amusement deepens. “What? He’s running away from an arranged marriage too?” There’s a momentary bout of confusion when Tasena speaks of being new to the continent and…now? “You’re one of them?” Prymelia asks then gives reply to the query that had been put to her, tone a little distracted. “Aye, that I am. My father doesn’t think I can do it. Doesn’t think I should be doing it. But I aim to prove him wrong.”

"Well… good," Tasena declares before lifting her glass toward Prymelia. "I wish you all the luck in the world, then. If there's anything I can do, just let me know. I mean, a high and mighty bartender is proof women can do anything, right?" She's teasing, but there's a sharp edge to her smile. This new reality might be rubbing the edges raw a little bit.

Edged or not, Tasena’s words draw a smile of genuine warmth to the trader’s lips. Her mug is raised in silent toast thereof before another drink is taken and its set down on the small side table. Needle and thread are carefully stowed and then the sky-blue fabric neatly folded and returned to the basket at her feet. “One day men will come to realize that women are good for more than breeding and riding gold.” She states, sending her co-conspirator a wink.

"May it come sooner rather than later," Tasena drawls in reply with another crooked smile before drinking down some more wine. "I think any coups will have to wait another day, though. This wine is finally counteracting all the klah I had to drink during my shift." She tosses back the last of that second glass, then stoppers up the small bottle. There isn't much left in it, but she swirls it slightly and proffers it in Prymelia's direction. "Yours if you want it. If I take it back to the sleeping quarters, it'll be gone by the time I wake up, guaranteed."

Surprise etches an arch of brows when Tasena offers her the remainder of her wine. That her uncle is probably still snoring like a dragon of that there is no doubt. Which would make the wine medicinal, right? But of course! With a grateful nod of head the bottle is taken and tucked into the corner of her basket. Rising gracefully to her feet, Prymelia sends a warm smile the bartender’s way, determined to quiz her on her comment that had alluded to her being an Oldtimer. Another day though for this one has come to its end and sleep beckons. “Goodnight, Tasena. See you around soon.” Spoken before turning to the doorway and slowly making her way back to the small dorm room she shares with Alberon, tired mind drifting across everything she’d learned this evening.

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