==== February 08, 2014
==== Hannah, Prymelia
==== A goldrider and a trader catch up and find a few areas of common ground.

Who Hannah, Prymelia
What A goldrider and a trader catch up and find a few areas of common ground.
When It is late night of the first day of the first month of the first turn of the 12th pass.
Where Southern Weyr, Baths

hannah_default.jpg prymelia_default.jpg


The steamy fog of the baths could be an entirely different world, transitioning from the well-lit brilliance of the inner caverns: a different world entirely, one wrought in dreams and humid fog. Steam lifts from hot waters, obscuring those who bathe within, drenching any who dare enter. Well-maintained, well-stocked, the baths offer pre-netted portions of soapsand in various scents, fluffy towels in orderly rows, and five separate spring-fed pools, all of differing temperature: from scorching hot to soothing chill.
On the perch are Lockheart, Hyzenthlay, and Eggplant.

It's not quite evening, it's not quite dusk; it's that in-between time that rests between true night and the last, lingering moments of the day. While everyone is busy eating their dinner or doing their last minute chores, Hannah has sought refuge in the depths of the baths. The steam adds a foggy cloak around her pale, slight form as it sits in a hot, hot pool of bubbling water that churns and laps against her skin. Moonlight pale hair is piled high at the crown of her head, tendrils fighting their way free to tease against flushed cheeks. Her knees are drawn up, arms wrapped around them; her shoulders rounded with what could only be the depth of burdensome thoughts. Abandoned loofa and scoops of sweetsand are still sitting to the side, on a ledge, though the goldrider seems to not be in a rush to actually bathe, rather she seems enamored with watching the churning waters.

When one has been bumped and grazed and bruised at various intervals over the past few sevens, one would prefer not to be so when finally getting an opportunity to soak in a lovely hot bath. Thus, Prymelia, fresh in from the wilds and looking somewhat like a wild jungle woman herself with hair a tousled mane of snags and clothing splattered with mud, happens to be of a similar mindset as Hannah. Peace and quiet! Tired. Exhausted really, sandals scrape across rock, grumbled mutters as she plucks bits of twigs and leaves from her hair, preceding her arrival through the misty shroud that hangs over the pools.

Prymelia's arrival only partially catches Hannah's attention at first. The goldrider tilts her head just so to the side, starts to smile and say, "Mao— " before realizing that the wild creature entering the baths is no one of the recent weyrlings. Green eyes widen as the young woman fully turns her attention to the trader, and she can't help but add a little gasp to the unconscious drop of the girl's name. "Prymelia!" Unfolding enough to not be hunched over in a cloud of thought, one hand comes to press against the side of the baths as emerald green eyes traverse the dirty, bruised, and gnarled expanse of Prymelia's form. "What happened to you?" The whispered gasp is in-line with the ghostly steam that clings to the baths, adding a mystery to their meeting. A mystery not unlike their last meeting.

The steam. It talks! Blink. Blinkety-blink-blink. Foooocus. Squint. “Hannah.” Surmised after a few more steps are taken in the weyrwoman’s general direction. Cue the self-conscious curl of lips along with the accidental drop of proper title owed the tiny blonde. “Eh. Soot was that eager to get home that he took a short cut through some bushes rather than keeping to the road.” Aheh. Dropping the small carrysack slung over a shoulder, Prymelia parks her butt on a nearby bench and starts to free muddy feet from strappy sandals. Donatien would be horrified at their state. Next to follow in swift succession are skirts, an outer bodice and blouse and underwear. All muddied enough to suggest she might have landed butt first in a puddle of mud. Save for the latter that is. “Still no Merid,” the trader comments should that be Hannah’s next query.

An eerie silence follows Prymelia's use of her name, though Hannah does not do so out of ire, but out of a sort of half-frozen disbelief in the state of affairs concerning the trader girl. "Great Faranth, I'd say that was some, ah, shortcut." The goldrider bites her bottom lip before she comment on what must surely have been a tar pit experience, to focus on the redhead. "You're definitely in the right place," the junior comments, soft humor curling between them like the diaphanous fog. "I've not seen hide nor hair of Merid either. Nor anyone who's even heard of her." Ensuring she stays far enough away from Prymelia's entrance to the bathwater, should the trader be aiming that way, Hannah adds, "I'm beginning to wonder if the girl exists." Teasingly said, but with a grain of seriousness too.

Propriety and disparity of rank and all that good stuff would suggest that Prymelia at the very least, seek out a pool alongside. But apparently she either has mud in her brains too or is just too tired to be thinking too straight as she heads right for Hannah’s pool. Still trying to comb her fingers through snarled hair, she utters a sound of triumph when a little twig finally comes free. “It was my own fault, I uh….I sort dozed off. Heh.” She for one doesn’t seem to too perturbed by her injuries, superficial as they are, save that is for a hiss when warm water seeps into open scratches. At least the trader doesn’t prowl right up into the goldrider’s personal space but instead keeps downstream of her so that any mud and foliage are drained away before tainting the dainty blonde’s water space. “I’m beginning to think you’re right,” Prymelia returns with a wrinkle of nose. “I wish I could say I’d been drinking that night.”

"You should be more careful traveling," Hannah admonishes, a touch of concern lacing the warmth of husky tones, complete with the inward draw of pale brows. Where the pale tendrils of hair stick to damp skin, the color's turned to a cream-laced honey. She doesn't seem too caught up by propriety, though the goldrider is grateful to Prymelia for taking up a space where all her muck won't head in her direction, evidenced by the brief flash of smile. "It's strange. It could simply be something so elementary as to be a girl that lied about where she was from. Maybe she's one of the mountain folk." This idea is embraced almost at once, given the way her eyes light up and her spine straightens. "Which means, she might have just gone back out to the jungles." Which isn't exactly an improvement. However, the topic of Merid is a good segue into: "Thread is so close now. How are your thread shelters coming?" Oh yes, Hannah has a generally good memory. "Did you broker a suitable agreement with Renalde for your supplies?"

Having pulled what is hopefully the last stick of evidence that points to her lapse in attention from her hair, Prymelia ducks under the water and comes up a few moments later with long mahogany tresses slicked almost down to her waist. Swiping water from her face Hannah is lent a lopsided smile for the admonishment. “You sound like T’ral.” Which apparently isn’t too much of a bad thing. Reaching for a pouch of soapsand intended for the washing of hair, she lathers up a good palm full of the stuff and dumps it on the crown of her head though pauses with eyes closed and fingers crooked into her scalp. “Mountain people?” The idea is pondered. “You may be right though I really wish I’d taken that scrap of hide off the girl before she did her disappearing act. That more than anything is bugging the crap out of me.” Because, curiosity, might well kill this feline one day. But then, Thread shelters. Freckled features pattern about a grim line. “Not as quickly as I’d like them to. We have the supplies we need but not the workforce needed to clear the bigger caves of the feline that have taken up residence in them.”

"Is he a worrier?" Hannah's smile is more commiserative than not, complete even with the roll of her eyes. "Men." That single word sums up the entire gender — no really. "But, do be careful. There are strange things afoot here in Southern. The mountain folk seem to be, for the most part, scattered about the jungles and more willing to mind their own business, but there are still some…" The concern the goldrider has would almost be maternal but for the closeness in their ages, so it must be an attribute filtered through from Dhiammarath. "Just be careful. The well traveled paths are that way for a reason." A crooked smile offered takes any sting out of those words, though the mention of Thread shelters do bring a thoughtful pause. "I am not sure what the weyr can offer in terms of workforce," here a crafty look touches on her features briefly, "at cost, but perhaps some of the Smiths or Woodcrafters could help. You could try to broker a deal with them." Deals. Always deals! "That first Threadfall…" But that thought is left uncompleted.

Amusement slips to Prymelia’s lips, with an echo of, ‘Men’ to support the goldrider’s summation. “I think he’d prefer if I took a whole gaggle of guards with me but he knows better than to get up in my face about it.” A pause in which she works her hair up into a healthy lather while considering Hannah’s next. “Aye, T’ral told me of the extra sweeps. Its why I came back earlier than I’d planned to.” But then, after ducking under the water again, an impish grin appears. “Mmm, and its off those well traveled paths that lie the true treasures of the South. Treasures I aim to find.” Ah, the intrepid adventurer. Settled into carefully scrubbing long limbs next, the trader offers forward approval for the mention of deals and trades to be made. “A hunting party of dragonriders would be the quickest and safest way to eradicate the felines in the marked areas but with Thread coming so soon…” And there her words melt away as Hannah’s had. “Are we ready?” The question is quiet and strained at the edges with concerns and worries left unvoiced but likely shared by all.

"I think most men are that way," Hannah comments, husky voice almost at a whisper as the warmth of fondness enters her tone. Not for Prymelia, for her gaze has already slipped to the waters, though her attention is brought back soon enough. "Extra sweeps?" At first, the goldrider presents only confusion before a slow 'ahhh' escapes. "Th'seus's sweeps, right?" Rubbing her hands together beneath the water, it's finally time for the goldrider to start sudsing herself up. "The jungles do hold a few jewels," though the mournful sound that echoes in her voice holds a longing for what's been denied. "There's this place with pools of the bluest water. It's amazing if you can find it." As far as the most expedient way of dealing with felines, Hannah can only tip her head in acknowledgement. "You could seek an audience with Q'fex," her jurisdiction doesn't include Q'fex's riders, "I am sure some adventurous spirit," like her! She has one! "— Would love to go into the jungles fighting felines for a price, of course." Cheekily added, humor dims to Prymelia's very real question. Allowing silence to descend to where only the sound of water splashing and gurgling invades while Hannah weighs her answer carefully. "I think we are as ready as we can be, yes. The first 'Falls won't be easy, but we'll survive." Conviction rests in her voice. Though the unspoken settles between them: they have to.

Prymelia catches that telling tone of voice used by the weyrwoman and a smile appears. “Th’seus is the same way?” Perhaps a personal question but then the trader does try to make it her business to have her ear to the ground for any and all gossip no matter how relevant it may or may not be. “Oh. I’ve been there!” The trader exclaims rinsing herself off and starting on the necessary bits of bathing. “Its beautiful. T’ral tried to build me a hut out of palm fronds.” A soft laugh marks the utter failure that turned out to be. The laugh morphs into a crafty chuckle on the topic of prices to be paid. “I’m sure I’ll be able to think of something to offer the Brave Hunters,” the title given an impish air of importance. Men and their testosterone and all that good stuff. Using the silence that follows to finish up with the bathing part of things, Prymelia slips to an underwater ledge and submerges herself until only the tops of her shoulders show. “You’re an Oldtimer,” statement not question, “and you survived back then. Knowing that you did, lends a margin of comfort.” Soberly given.

"Th'seus would probably chain me to my weyr if he had any kind of say in it," Hannah comments ruefully, but with fondness nonetheless. "And with just cause, I suppose." Shhh, don't tell the bronzerider at the ground being given, however small, to his cause. "Isn't it beautiful?" she queries, leaning back to relax against the stones of the bathing pool. "I'm sure the Brave Hunters would like that." The droll humor that curries favor to the husky tone of voice comes with the slight roll of her eyes, but all in goodnatured fun. "I am. I came from a time before everyone else." It is no secret that Hannah is one of the few Oldtimers to have seen Thread, and certainly the youngest by far as the venerable Jesha is the average age of Threadfighters from Oldtime. "We did." She lifts her gaze, to levy a thoughtful, serious look upon Prymelia. "Not everyone will, and it won't always be as horrible as the first fall, but we will survive. We just hope that our loved ones will survive too." And that is something that weighs heavily on the goldrider's mind.

A quiet chuckle greets Hannah’s first. Yup, Prymelia gets that but is in return grateful for not having the same type of restrictions leveled on her by bonding with a rather large and golden lifemate to impede her free spirit. With eyes having slid shut, letting the warmth of the water soak into tired muscles, she rolls her head to one side and cracks an eyelid, putting the goldrider unto silent observation for a few moments. “I hated it,” she tells the petite blonde, “the waiting to hear news of who was coming back and who wasn’t. When I heard that one of the weyrlings’ dragons had been badly injured…” Remembered fear and panic clutches tight about her chest enforcing another short spell of quiet while the trader grapples it back under control. “Running about on the ground helping to set up the triage stations like a fowl with its head cut off felt so…inadequate. I think…I would rather have been up there, knowing firsthand what was going on and able to do something.” Bared shoulders ripple the water about them in an awkward shrug. “I’m glad you came to help us.” Gravely spoken and imbued with genuine gratitude.

"Being there was no better…" Hannah's whispered response comes with the unconscious touch to her neck where only the faintest of lines might linger from her threadscore, light as it was. "… In the chaos it's hard to see, hard to know, until the last burrow is seared out of the ground and you return to tally the injured." A look of understanding is given to Prymelia, certain the girl is speaking of concern for T'ral. "It was a harrowing time. And that's to be our life for the rest of our lives. We could always use more folk on the ground crews if you don't want to be sitting in the weyr, waiting." By her tone, the goldrider understands the importance of action. And not just triage action. "Thank you." A smile touches the corners of her mouth, though it's bittersweet in nature it is also sincere. "I'm glad I came forward." Into this strange time.

“It must have been terrifying,” Prymelia quietly agrees. “Especially because there was no warning.” Hazel regard tracks the path of Hannah’s hand then quickly flicks away again, not wanting to be seen as staring. Faranth knows very few came away from that encounter unscathed. But its what the goldrider says of groundcrews that really captures the trader’s attention. “Groundcrews?” Contemplation thereof brews a patch of silence. “All the traders should have training to that effect. Not only in service to the Weyr but also if we happen to be caught out on the road. If we’re already down on the ground, time will be saved.” Wandering groundcrews. Despite the solemn topic a quick smile greets Hannah’s. “Everything to a purpose, my father always says.”

"It was, but you harden yourself to it after a fashion." Hannah's answer is firm, but gentle as she slowly (and reluctantly) stands and makes her way out of the baths. By the prune-y nature of her skin, she's been in the baths for a while now. "Yes, ground crews. You can buy flamethrowers from the Smiths, but if you do have your traders trained, make sure they get trained well." This admonition is seriously given, with an intense look from the junior as she pulls a towel around her slight body. "They're dangerous pieces of equipment, but yes. You could join the weyr's ground crews if you're waiting on T'ral to return." From one woman to another, Hannah understands this. "Good advice. I need to get back, but do be careful Prymelia. And see about those dragon hunters from Q'fex or one of the wingleaders." With another kind smile and little wiggle of her fingers, she ends the night on a light note. "I think I'd better go find out scrapes Th'seus has gotten himself in." Because Th'seus is the most impetuous of the pair. "Good night." It's here that Hannah exits, stage left.

Buy flamethrowers. Not if a trader can help it. Already the wheels are turning in Prymelia’s mind to come up with a way to benefit all concerned without marks having to change hands. “Yes, ma’am.” Agreement is easily given on receiving the proper training. “I’ll be sure to do so.” While Hannah is making her departure, the trader apparently doesn’t appear to be and if anything, looks like she’s settling down to soak for a bit longer. However, her gaze does track the other woman’s movements and agreement given on seeking out the Weyrleader with regards to a hunting party. As to the goldrider’s last on wrangling Th’seus from whatever recent scrape he might have gotten into a soft chuckle mingles with the steam, “Good luck with that.” A hand dripping water lifts and waves, a sleepy smile following after the weyrwoman and then Prymelia sinks back into quiet introspection for another good half hour before heading off to track a certain bluerider down.

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