==== October 13, 2013
==== Prymelia, Aaron, Donatien, Sori & Daren
==== Having gotten herself turned around within the Weyr again, Prymelia meets Aaron, Donatien and Sori and does a bit of catching up with Daren too.

Who Prymelia, Aaron, Donatien, Sori & Daren
What Having gotten herself turned around within the Weyr again, Prymelia meets Aaron, Donatien and Sori and does a bit of catching up with Daren too.
When There are 0 turns, 11 months and 27 days until the 12th pass.
Where Smith Wing, Southern Weyr

Prym%2010.png aaron.jpg Dien1.bmp Sori-Icon.jpg daren.jpg


Craft Complex - Smith Wing
Smith Wing
And here, architectural integrity fails: chunks of the ceiling litter the floor, and in the gloom only spinnerwebs are visible in the high, arched emptiness above.
Aaron is here.
Obvious exits:
Craft Complex Rooms

Already in the early morning the beastly heat has begun. Cloudy, humid, and 90 degrees, the heat hangs over the Weyr like an oppressive blanket. The Smith's finally called it quits about 20 minutes ago, shutting down their new smelting furnace for the day and fleeing the heat of the forge. They'd been up and at it since well before dawn, and their work day is half over. The apprentices and most of the journeymen have scattered to repair and maintenance projects indoors, leaving the Smithy empty but for one lone figure, that of the hulking Weyrsmith. He sits at one of the workbenches towards the front of the area, a sweating bottle of beer by one elbow, and one of the craft's famous microscopes in front of him, examining /something/ in detail.

Having not yet acclimated to the cloying heat of the Southern continent, Prymelia has taken to rising before dawn in an attempt to beat it. Unsuccessful of course for the moment Rukbat begins its rise from the horizon to the apex of its ascent, she’s a wilting mess. Mahogany hair becomes misbehaved twirling every which way and no matter how hard she tries, escapes the confines of the bandanna she wears and sticks to her neck and face. So why, one might ask, would she venture toward an area hotter than the ball of fire beating down upon her from the sky? Simple. She’s lost. Again. “Oh for Faranth’s sake!” The willowy traderwoman groans and then she spots him - The enormous one with the enticing bottle of beer at his elbow staring intently at some or other strange contraption. A sly grin that can only mean one thing – trouble – curls into place and ever so quietly Prymelia alters her course and begins to angle in on the Weyrsmith from the side where the beer sings out to her.

Aaron is rather intent in his studying, but at that exclamation from a female voice, he looks up at the sound, smiling at the appearance of a potential customer. "Hello there, ma'am!" he calls in greeting, picking up the beeeeeer and taking a swig. Yeah, it's way before noon, but he's already been up and at it for five hours, give him a break. ;) "Anything I can help you with, or are you just here to complain about the noise too?" he asks good naturedly enough.

She’s been seen. Drat!! The sentiment expressing itself in the pout of lips and frown that crinkles Prymelia’s brows together. But maybe she can sweet-talk the brew away from him? Worth a try. “Complain?” Hazel eyes latched to the beads of moisture collected on the glass as Aaron lifts it. “Oh no, not at all. In fact, I find it rather soothing when I’m trying to sleep. Its like being curled up against a great big purring feline.” Shyeah right. “As for helping me, you can tell me where got that,” she adds in open indication of the bottle. Screw trying to wangle the beer from the man mountain, she’s thirsty now!

Aaron chuckles, sliding off his stool and pulling a ring of keys from his pocket. He drains the last of the beer as he walks, setting the bottle down on another workbench, then unlocking a cabinet. Condensation rolls out of it as he pulls the door open, and he reaches in to grab two more bottles before locking the cabinet back. "I got it from myself. This is my own little brew. A side project, if you will," he says as he pops the caps off, then walks back to offer the Trader a bottle. "Your reward for that stellar lie, m'dear. I'm Aaron, by the way, and I don't think we've met?"

Watching intently. Okay, she’s openly staring as the Weyrsmith drains the bottle – all gone, so sad – Prymelia’s eyes go wide at the coolth that slips from the cabinet. Maybe, if she curled herself up small enough, she’d be able to fit in there. The idea of being surrounded by tantalizing cool air almost mesmerizing so that when Aaron next speaks she’s a little startled. “Huh?” Blush. “Your own?” From dreamy expression to startled, to the widest grin she’s worn since arriving on the continent, the traderwoman reaches for the bottle being offered. “Well telling you it sounds like some kind of sharding awful rock monster giving birth wasn’t going to win me any points, now was it?” Reverently the bottle is taken, a sigh of deep appreciation as its cool slick surface is held against her throat. “Prymelia,” her name, “And you sir, are my hero!”

Aaron sketches out a mockery of a bow, chuckling as he takes a sip of his fresh beer. "Well met, Trader," he says with a quick glance at the knot. "Aye, it's my own. I brew a little, and I distill a little, though there's not much call for harder spirits in this bloody heat." He pulls a kerchief from a pocket, wiping the sweat from his bald head. "Eh, that would've been one of the kinder descriptions that I've heard of the smelter, though they amuse me. People seem to think that their goods just spring forth from the earth, ready to use." He chuckles, shrugging. "So, you're new to our lovely little home down here then? I haven't seen you around before."

Prymelia isn’t wearing a knot though her brightly hued attire likely gives her profession away. Unless of course its spilling from a trunk in a bar. Then amusingly, you’re mistaken for a whore. Cracking the cap, humor lights hazel eyes for the bow and then it’s down to the serious business of taking the edge off of her thirst. Coming up for air with a sigh of deep appreciation, she flashes Aaron a grin. “If you can produce enough of this I’d be happy to take it about the cotholds for you.” In her non-existent wagon. As to her being a new arrival, she wrinkles her nose slightly. “Recently in from Igen,” she explains. Another drink of beer followed by a contented smacking of lips. “Clan Flynn,” she adds as if that’s supposed to mean something. “And hey, if all this fardling noise is what will keep Soot in shoes then its all good by me.” Because her opinion counts.

You know what will bring a man to tears? Being chased from his bed by the sound of a smelter. Dien shows up, looking a little ragged, a little hang-dog, only slightly aggrieved, but he covers it manfully with a little smile, probably because it's too early in the morning for a big smile. "Hey, Smith, think you could keep it down?" he calls over the sound, but he's grinning a little, a teasing twinkle in the eye. A little nod to Prymelia and for a moment his eyes rest on her before shifting back to said Smith of loud-makings.

Aaron is psychic or something, then. :P "Well, define enough, and tell me how much you could get for it, and maybe we can work something out. I have the capacity to turn out as much as you want, in multiples of fifty gallons, every six sevenday or so," he says with a wink. Oh yes, this is a man that knows his booze. "Ahh, another refuge from Igen, good to have you. The noise will make it /cheaper/ to keep him in shoes, assuming that's your runner. This'll let us locally produce iron, instead of having to ship it down from up North." The cobbler's arrival is met with a grin and a chuckle. "See, at least he's honest about the reason for his visit," he says as an aside to Prymelia. "Want a beer, Dien? Or is it too early for you to partake?" he asks, gesturing towards the cabinet with the keys still hanging from the lock.

Hazel eyes sliiiide in the direction of another male voice, Donatien given an open once-over, a hidden smirk curling about the cool lip of the bottle raised to her mouth at the complaint voiced. Not having expected the sort of answer Aaron gives her, Prymelia is surprised by it. “A couple of crates on commission and see how it goes?” She replies, hedging her bets for she hasn’t the marks to spend taking on more cargo than what she already has. A nod of bandanna’d head marks correct the assumption that Soot is her runner and then a husky chuckle spills when once again she’s called out on her earlier lie, the familiarity between Weyrsmith and newcomer peaking interest. “There are those in my trade that would argue that honesty isn’t always the best policy.” She of course isn’t one of them. Mmhm.

Donatien is not about to turn down the beer because there's still a ringing in his ears he'd like to forget, "Not too early, since my day started far too early," he gripes, though with a grin. The trading talk between Prymelia and Aaron gives Dien time to go procure his own beer, crack it open for a sip, and slowly meander back. "As good as ever, Weyrsmith," Dien tips the bottle in acknowledgement and then looks to Prymelia, "Please pardon my rudeness, miss. My name is Donatien. Cobbler, new to Southern Weyr." The cobbler's mostly-unstained hand is held out, palm up, to the trader woman, "Well met."

Aaron grins at Prymelia's response, nodding. "Two crates of 24 bottles. I need at least two marks per crate, and I'll need the empty bottles back. Glass isn't cheap, after all." He grins at the woman's honesty, too, chuckling. "Aye, this is true, though a reputation built on honesty, I think will take you further then any other." Dien get's a laugh for his complaint, though it's a friendly. "Aye, it was an early start, and it likely will be for the rest of the summer. Once it cools down we can start later in the day, but with this heat… I'd prefer to keep my apprentices away from the Healers, ya know? They get crabby when I send too many of them over in a go." He watches the introductions taking a sip off his beer. "Isn't everyone fairly new down here? I mean, I've only been here, what, eight months myself."

Cobbler? Shoes! And boots! And beautiful sandals! And, and, and…Prymelia is smitten. A man that can keep her in shoes. Or more to the point, she’s smitten with his trade in much the same way she currently is with Aaron’s hobby that’s now slipping happily through her veisn. “Prymelia, also new to Southern Weyr. Very pleased to make your acquaintance.” She’d croon and bat lashes but that’s not her style. Not unless she’s trying finangle something out of someone. The hand extended is taken and shaken with a firmer grip than her willowy frame might suggest. Back to Aaron and amusement toys about her mouth, “Unless you want to get slapped its generally not a good idea to tell the woman with the wide rump that yes, the skirt she’s trying on does indeed make her arse look big.” Wink. And then it’s on to business. “Two marks a bottle with empties returned. Got it. Will you want a breakage deposit before I head out?”

Donatien rubs one hand along his unshaven cheek in dismay - perhaps he didn't feel safe, holding a sharp edge so close to his face on such little sleep, "I'll have to get out my earplugs again," he says mournfully. Prymelia's reaction to Dien's career choice gets a slight knowing grin and only the most miniscule puffing of chest: don't worry, guys, he's seen this before, and knows how to handle it. "Prymelia, new to Southern." And before anyone starts gagging at Dien's reaction, he straightens, taking his hand back and sips his beer. It's a man thing. Or something.

Aaron chuckles softly, subconsciously pulling himself up to his full height with a soft smile. "I haven't been slapped by a women since my ma slapped me when I was 11," he says with a chuckle. "Aye, but I take your meaning. And no, two marks a crate. A twelfth of a mark per bottle. You're new hear, so I'm pretty sure you've not got the marks to handle a deposit on you. Broken bottles will be a quarter mark a piece, I don't care if they come from you or those that buy 'em," he explains with a grin. Dien gets a chuckle from the Smith, and a nod. "I told you you'd need 'em. We have some really nice ones for sale, if you'd like," he says with a wink. Nothing like creating your own market, right? "Are we still on for that appointment this afternoon?"

Given the chance Prymelia would be likely to point out that day old stubble lends a man a roguish air, however, her opinion doesn’t count in this instance. Instead she flips Donatien a smirk. “Or just drink enough the night before so it don’t matter,” she offers because waking up with a hangover to that din would totally be better! Amusement deepens the pattern of her mouth when he repeats her introduction verbatim. Ah men, such delightful creatures. When Aaron goes on to correct her on the price he’s asking, a smile forms about the bottle lifted to her lips. Drink, swallow, catch a droplet of ale with her tongue and then: “What sort of head ups will you need to get the order together?” She queries, curiosity sparking at talk of appointments.

Donatien raises a slight eyebrow at Aaron's talk of being slapped and he chuckles, "I wish I could claim to the same record," but then Aaron is definitely a specialized case. Prymelia's suggestion gets a little smirk, "But that much drink is detrimental to other… evening plans," if ya catch his drift. Slowly, Dien's sipping comes to an end as the bottle empties, and Dien looks around and grabs a stool from under a workbench, pulling it out and slowly easing himself onto it. Ahh, this is the life.

Aaron chuckles softly, shaking his head. "I'm thinking that the noise is going to have a few people curtailing their drinking habits as it is," he says, grinning. As to the lead time for an order? "I've got a dozen crates of it hidden in my office. I can go get you two right now, if you'd like." Yes that's right, kids: lots of booze. Because what's the point in doing a small batch when you can do a big one for the same time investment? Dien's explanation of his self limitation of his boozing gets a chuckle. "That just means you're out of practice, old man," he teases with a grin. He hooks a stool out from under workbench and settles down too, gesturing to Prym if she'd like to as well. "So, Daren told me that you've, what, claimed him for your clan now?"

Prymelia is not about to cop to how many times she’s had a switch taken to her derriere because she’s all innocence and light don’t you know? Laughter, low and husky greets Donatien’s remark followed shortly by a soft tsking sound. “The trick is to combine the two, cobbler.” Oh aye, she caught his drift alright. Hazel eyes take on a knowing gleam and lips part but before she can deliver further taunt, Aaron is offering to fetch her crates then and there. “Oh. Uh. No, no, I’m not leaving for a couple of months yet. Got a few things I still need to get squared away.” Such as a wagon. Moving on. Following the invitation to sit, she gracefully folds herself onto a stool, tucking her legs to one side. So ladylike. And whers aren’t really photophobic. “Daren? You’ve met him?” My but Aaron is just full of surprises. “Kid looked like he needed someone to look out for him,” she softly states looking strangely uncomfortable for having shown evidence of having a soft side.

Donatien snorts at Aaron's diagnosis, "Hardly." Oooh, is that an admission? "I've just been around long enough to know what works and what doesn't." Ahh, then there's Daren as subject and Dien is happy to put away the size competition (because what they say about big feet? Yeah, little correlation, no causation). Prymelia gets a wide grin, but Dien's not about to make any promises. "That seems to be a kind thing to do, taking young Daren into your care." No judgment in his tone, Dien just tips his empty bottle to the woman.

Aaron ahhhs softly, nodding as he settles onto his stool, taking a last swig from his beer and setting the empty bottle down with a happy sigh and an empty 'klunk'. "I'll have a fresher batch by then, I'm sure. Got some fermenting right now, actually." And there's not a chance of him telling about his hiding place for the fermentation to be at the right temperature, nope. The three of them are sitting around the workbenches chatting, Aaron's keyring hanging from the cabinet that he's known to keep ice and beer in. "It is," he says, nodding in agreement with Dien. "Boy was completely lost when he showed up here," he says with a shrug that could have a thousand meanings.

Flirting is a veil worn easily by the traderwoman carefully gilded in distracting colors and twirled with apparent expertise. But take it away and try to scratch the surface and she closes up tighter than a clam plucked out of water. While Dien’s comment might be well intended it earns both he and Aaron little but a distant smile along with a twitch of slender shoulders. “He’s got what it takes, he just needs someone to believe in him.” She remarks happier to talk about the adopted teen than what had driven her to claim him for her clan.” A pause before an attempt is made to switch the subject. “So tell me, Donatien, what brings you to Southern?” Spotlight on the Cobbler!

Donatien nods with Aaron's assessment, thoughtfully saying, "He does seem a simple sort," and oops, let's poke the momma bear, "In that he has no hidden agenda." An eye cants to Prymelia with a little grin: he saw what you did there, and felt the chill in the room. But now, on to more fun topics: himself, "I requested my posting to Southern, to enjoy the beautiful weather and company, and make boots for a new class of Weyrlings." he says simply and then a nod to Aaron, "And I confess, to taste the liquors of a warmer climate." Not to mention, see what they can lead to later, but he's not going to confess /that/ part.

A quiet whisk whisk whisk is heard from a broom being industriously applied to dirtied floors. Someone has to do the sweeping, and since it's Sori's turn she's deligently doing just that. Aaron's mention of fermentation gets a soft chuckle from the apprentice as she continues with her chores. Nothing to see here, just a boring apprentice doing boring apprentice type stuff and with an annoyingly chipper attitude too. Given how early she rolled out of bed, most of her fellow apprentices are simply glaring at her as she works. Fortunately for her, she's decided against whistling. Far too cheerful is Sori for having been up and working at such an early hour.

Aaron has settled into his usual comfort, even with new faces. It's the attitude of someone that knows he's effectively king of his little domain, and is quite happy there. The giant smelter has finally cooled enough that its outer metal shell is no longer pinging as it contracts. He's just nodding in agreement with both Prymelia and Dien, chuckling. "Aye, he seems to be a good lad. Just needs some help with… life." Dien gets an Eye, though. "You /requested/ to be sent down here? Huh. Few and far between, you lot. I… fled, I suppose, after a bit of a… dispute with the MasterSmith." Sori's industry gets a laugh, and a shake of his head. "Sori! Have you met these fine folks yet?"

Poke the mama bear indeed for no sooner are the words out of Donatien’s mouth and Prymelia’s fixing him with an icy look that bespeaks dire consequences upon his person. That is until he slickly hauls his butt out of hot water with the next sentence. Smooth. Real smooth. Still giving the Cobbler ‘the eye’, the redhead’s temper cools to a simmer and she forces her attention to the reply given to her question. “Boots for Weyrlings? Oh come now, Cobbler. A man of your turns has to be good for more than booting a bunch of wet-behind-the-ears riders?” Aaron’s remark cools the last of the simmering coals of temper and Prymelia chuckles and shakes her head. “I smell a yarn there, Smith. And you know how we traders just love a good telling.” Hazel eyes then slip toward the apprentice to whom their attention is drawn interest once again coloring the traderwoman’s expression for every new person is a potential customer in the long run. In doing so, she catches movement off to her side. Instantly lightly freckled features soften and warm. “Hey kid,” the greeting fond as she pulls out a stool next to her, “come sit with us.”

Sori stops to look up from her work, and then blinks as the fact there are visitors to the Smithy sinks in, "No sir," she answers, though she doesn't quite stop. There's that one last pile of dirt, and debris that needs picked up and it's only after this is accomplished that she sets broom the broom aside. The dustpan is leaned against the broom, and Sori moves to stand near Aaron. There are glares from the few apprentices who remain, glares that are ignored. Mostly, one of the younger apprentices gets treated to Sori sticking her tongue (sp?) out at him as she passes him, "Hey, Daren," because she at least has met him.

Donatien nods to Aaron, "I decided I wanted warmer than Bitra or Benden," he says, one hand unconsciously rubbing at his left knee. The man's tale of how he came down earns an impressed look, "I'd heard that Southern was taking Old-time crafters, but craft-upstarts? Well," Dien muses, "Why not?" Prymelia's eye bounces off the wall of Donatien's wherry-may-care attitude: he's been glared at harder by scarier women, for saying worse, "I boot any and all who require it," the Weaver says easily, "I prefer Weyrs for the variety of footwear I get to make." Daren gets an inviting nod as he joins the crowd, "Morning, kid." But you know what's going to interrupt a quiet rest day for a Weaver? His apprentice, Arnaut, who wanders in, looking just as haggard as Dien did half an hour ago. It's the frustrated look on Arnaut's face that has Dien sighing and rising to his feet, "If you'll excuse me, gentle people… and Aaron, I should go see what my apprentice needs to tell me." As Dien makes his way out, he gives a courteous nod to Sori, possibly in thanks for not whistling.

Aaron chuckles at Dien's need to depart, shrugging. "It's happened often enough to me. I'll be seeing you in a few hours anyways!" he calls after the man, then rolls his eyes at Sori sticking out her tongue. "Ignore them, Sori. You know better." Daren gets a smile and a nod of greeting, then he responds to Prym's request for a story. "Oh, I was a terrible heretic," he says, trying not to laugh to hard. "I took in female apprentices," a finger is pointed at Sori, "I gave away craft secrets to any that asked," the finger goes to his office window, through which the shelf of books and scrolls is clearly visible, "and I wrote a very public letter to the MasterSmith telling him to pull his head from his ass." There's a slight pause, and a roguish smile. "In retrospect, that last one was a bad idea. They finally let me back into the craft, though," he says, lifting his shoulder knot with one finger, "when I showed them a couple of the secrets the Oldtimers brought forward with them. They want me to go back to Telgar, but this is home now, and I'm staying here, for the most part."

Daren's shy smile warms a little as he slips onto the stool and perches there, feeling like a skinny, half-plucked wherry-hatchling. "Hello." he replies to Sori, searching his memory for her name and having to pause before he remembers. "Sori … right?" Mel, of course, get a shoulder rub as he leans over on the stool and Aaron a warmer than usual smile and another nod though a disappointed look follows after Donatien as he leaves.

With Sori greeting Daren, Prymelia puts her under closer inspection, it warming her to know that despite his social awkwardness her adopted brother has clearly been making friends. Dien’s reply gets no response though she does turn her head, expression unreadable as she watches the Cobbler leave with his apprentice. Cogs are turning in that wily mind of hers. Back her attention goes to those still gathered her mouth tilting about a wry line at Aaron’s confessed heresy followed by open laughter at the letter written. “Ah, to have been a crawler on the wall when that was read. My clan could learn a thing or two from you,” she says then casts a look to the sky and back down again, “but I hear you. Here is home now.” Determination crosses her features for that. That Daren feels comfortable enough to offer a gesture of familiarity and that in public, gratifies the traderwoman more than she’d expected it might. “You on a break?” She asks, tone devoid of chastisement.

Sori's eyes are dancing away with mischief as she settles herself into a familiar pose of work, and listening at one of the work benches. Before her is a pair of boxes, in one is a diminishing pile of knives and in the other is a growing pile of knives with gleaming edges honed to razor sharpness. Wetstone is picked up, and the apprentice starts to work on the next blade in the pile, "Rimer'll be back next seven," she mentions. There is an edge of ice to her voice. Trouble? Who knows, and don't bother asking Sori she won't answer.

Aaron returns Daren's grin, chuckling softly. Prym's laughter gets a big grin from the Smith, along with a chuckle. "I've still got friends in the hall. I'm told there was much consternation and throwing of things, though I'm rather glad that I wasn't actually there for it." He rolls a smiling eye at Sori's tone, chuckling beneath his breath. "Aye, he will, Sori. And if he's not, I'll send a rider after him, okay?" Because what fun is making booze if you don't use it to bribe riders. "Or, better yet, I'll talk Katarina into taking me after him."

Daren shakes his head at Mel and says, "Restday. Finished my Harper lessons." His voice is low but rather proud of himself since he'd finished another book today. Green-eyed gaze roams to Sori, the box of knives earning a somewhat nervous look which the expression on her face increases. Otherwise the boy simply listens, happy to be around some people he can relax around … people who don't generally frighten him wherryless.

Knives. Lovely shiny new knives. Sooo pretty. Right up there with shoes! Such a strange girl she is. The name Rimer means nothing to Prymelia but as ever when a name comes up and there’s emotion of some kind attached to it, she files it away for later inspection. Toying with the empty beer bottle, tilting it to one side and twirling it between her fingers on its rounded edge, a short smile greets Aaron’s telling of the reaction his letter had gotten. “You still got family back there?” She asks, interested to know what the big Smith might have left behind to forge a new life for himself on the wild Southern continent. To Daren’s reply, her eyes tell of unspoken pride for the Harper lessons mentioned verbalization given to it being a rest day for him. “You wanna ride Soot today?”

Sori doesn't look up from the sharpening of the knives. One after another is slowly, and methodically sharpened before being placed into the box of completed knives, "Let him suffer," the girl all but snarls. Oh boy, there's trouble there. Maybe it's just because the boy up and vanished without so much as a good-bye? Maybe there's something else there? Given that Sori's taking extra care with the sharpening of the blades, there is certainly something there.

Aaron nods to Daren, grinning at the kid. "Good for you, lad. Don't wait to long to get started on the next one, though." Wouldn't Aaron mke just the most terrifying foster father ever? Prym's eyes on the knives get noticed, and Aaron pulls his own from the sheath hanging on his belt. It's a wicked thing, sized for the Smith's giant proportions, the blade easily seven inches long with a deep belly in the front half of the knife. The total effect is to balance out the thick pommel on the hilt, and give the blade a decent recurve. He sets it on the bench and slides it to Prym, grinning. "Some of Sori's work, this is. Careful, it's a mite sharp." His favored apprentice gets a look, then he sighs. "Sori… I'm not supposed to know this, but he didn't have a choice. The MasterSmith sent a dragon and took him, out of the living caverns, to be questioned. About me, alright?" Turning back to Prym, he shakes his head. "No family in Telgar. Bunch of family in Ista, where I'm from." And his living arrangements down here? Well, that's just complicated.

Daren brightens at the offer to ride Soot, just like a small child offered a sweetstick as a treat. "Oh yes, please. But I have a new set of lessons this afternoon, so I have to be back for those." he says softly, very nearly grinning at the offer. The boy's head swivels toward Sori, her words evoking a slight frown as her words confuse him a bit. The grin returns as he nods up at the big man. "I got a new book today … a really real storybook instead of just baby sentences." is offered before talk returns to the knives. The sight of them make Daren feel … odd. Nervous because they are such dangerous objects but … also a bit of longing since he's never been allowed to even touch one. His glance goes to see how Prymelia is responding to the glittering, deadly steel blades.

Sori blinks at Aaron for a moment, then goes back to her work on sharpening the blades, "One of my better pieces," she comments of Aaron's blade. Obviously, or the big man would have made her make the blasted thing over again and without explanation Sori's moved her boxes so that she's closer to Daren, "Blades are sharpened like so," and she demonstrates with the one she's working on. Three quick passes of the wet stone to the left side of the blade, followed by the same number on the right, "You keep the pressure steady, and you shouldn't need to press too hard," she looks at Daren, "Would you like to try?" because she's right there, and going to watch him very closely.

As one who generally plays her cards close to her heart, Prymelia recognizes another attempting to do the same. For a good few long moments hazel eyes regard the smith apprentice with interest. It’s only when Aaron extracts his personal knife and slides it in front of her that she realizes she’s lost in thought and staring at Sori. With a blink she gives herself a mental shake and focuses on the fine craftsmanship of the blade offered up for inspection. “You made this?” She asks directly of the apprentice, lifting and then balancing its weight across the fingertips of both hands. “Its beautiful! My brothers would trade their souls for a blade like this.” As would she but does that need to be said? The conversation between Smith and apprentice is of course swept up and secreted away as she sets the knife back down again a nod of head given to the placement of Aaron’s family. “And none here with you?” Yup, she asked. Daren is then given an affectionate bump of shoulder against shoulder, “Its too hot now so how about we go for a ride on the beach after lessons and watch the sun go down, aye? I’ll bring a picnic.”

Aaron grins to himself at Sori's blinking, nodding. "Aye, that's why I kept it for myself /and/ paid you for it, Apprentice," he says with a chuckle. He nods approvingly as she moves over to show Daren how to sharpen the knives, knowing that she'll keep an eye on the boy. He doesn't answer for Sori, more then happy to let her do that on her own. "Oh, there's a couple people here with me that have a special place in my heart." A few more sevens, and she'll know all about the cook and the brownrider if she keeps her ear in the gossip stream.

Gossip is more often than not, the lifeblood of a trader’s existence, a good trade living or dying by information picked up along the way. Glancing sidelong as Sori moves closer to Daren and proceeds to explain to him the ways of honing a blade, she’s heartened by the interaction and leaves the teen to his own devices. Attention going back to Aaron, a quick smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes accompanies a nod. “Sounds like you got it all figured out.” Standing the empty beer bottle upright, Prymelia unfolds herself from the stool and stands. “Its been a treat,” she says, her smile more genuine now. “But I best be going before you’re having to deal with my uncle. Thanks for the beer.” To her adopted brother. “I’ll see you at the stables just before dinner.”

Aaron takes his knife back with a grin, slipping the huge blade back into the sheath on his belt with exaggerated care. "Mmmm, not quite everything, but I'm getting there," he says with a smile. "You let me know when and where you want that beer, and I'll make sure there's some for you to take. You take care of yourself, alright?" And with that, he's left alone in the quiet of the Smithy again, as Daren and Sori have wandered off and the rest of the apprentices have scattered before Aaron finds them something to do.

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