==== November 15, 2013
==== Prymelia, Arlemond
==== In looking for Aaron, Prymelia meets a Stonecrafter new to the Weyr.

Who Prymelia, Arlemond
What In looking for Aaron, Prymelia meets a Stonecrafter new to the Weyr.
When There are 0 turns, 8 months and 21 days until the 12th pass.
Where Craft Complex, Southern Weyr

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Craft Complex
Expansive and airy, this space, now adorned and decorated with the pride of well over a hundred crafters. A vaulted cavern encompasses two levels, fit with clever skylights from innovative smithcrafters that illuminate tapestries displayed from the bannister of the second-floor: Healer purple, Harper blue, the yellow of the Farmcraft — all the colors and all the crafts are upon display, proudly. The lower level is given to tables and chairs and a hearth stocked with klah; it is brightly-illuminated and a place to study and congregate socially both. The upper level is given to residential rooms, lending the whole atmosphere a pleasant, if somewhat supervised, aura.
Arlemond is here.
Obvious exits:
Miner Wing Harper Wing Healer Tunnel Bowl Apprentice's Wing Herder Tunnel Smith Wing Rooms


It is night and steady rains fall across the weyr. Arlemond has just come in and is stamping his feet in the mudroom to shed the water and muck. He pulls an oilskin over his head and gives it a shake before hanging it on a common peg. There are a number of these skins hanging, for use by anyone in need of a skin. He emerges from the mudroom with an armload of round tubes -hide cases- and a portable writing desk. Quite a lot was hidden under that oilskin. He looks around the two story cavern curiously, the look of someone taking in details of a place. The look of someone new.

Thud, thud, thud, creak. Thud, thud, thud, creeeeak and a soft curse followed by a muted grunt and then a CLANG when something heavy gets dropped against the wall of the mudroom. Plucking the oilskin cape from her shoulders, Prymelia follows protocol and hangs it up on a nearby peg. Aside from looking a little rain bedraggled and her feet being covered in mud (she really needs boots for this weather), the young trader has lost some of the pensive air she’s been wearing for the past couple of days. “Hello?” She calls out entering the airy cavern, not initially noticing Arlemond’s presence. “Aaron?”

Arlemond had been headed up to his rooms and leans curiously around a wall to see a strange sight indeed. A young woman rolling a wagon wheel. Thud, thud, thud, creeeak. His brow furrows and he vanishes to prop the rolls and desk along a wall before reappearing, brow still furrowed. He reaches out to take the wheel (and stop its further advance). "I believe the Weyrsmith," he's very deliberate with the title, whether Aaron requires it or not, "Is in his office. I'm no metalsmith, but maybe I can help?" He looks to the door as if expecting someone. His eyes flick for a knot and finding none return to the young woman's face.

Prymelia blinks when suddenly someone steps out to stop her progress with the wheel and hazel regard does the once over. Okay, make that a twice over because for an older man, he’s not half bad looking. Ahem. “Oh,” an odd angle of disappointment shapes the brightly garbed trader’s mouth. “Its okay. I’d rather not disturb him. I can come back in the…” Her sentence cuts off at the offer of help. “I snapped a spoke and the rim buckled,” she explains with a huff of frustration for the damaged wheel. “Got stuck in a rut coming back in. Prymelia,” she goes on to add and extends a hand in greeting then realizes its streaked with mud and quickly snatches it back again, embarrassed. “Haven’t seen you around here before,” stated with yet another once over because him she would have remembered. And then a tentative smile appears when she tacks on, “Trader.”

He looks more closely at the wheel, noting the damage, just as she's described. He glances at the door again and then at the extended hand, which is snatched away. He makes no offer of a hand, but inclines his head in a bow, "Arlemond, Stonesmith," Sr. Journeyman Stonesmith and Sir to a Trader with no knot. "Well met, Prymelia." His voice is a rough, gravelly baritone, most of the sonorous notes rattle. He purses his lips at the wheel, "How soon do you need this fixed?"

Only as the older crafter is providing his name, do hazel eyes alight on the knot at his shoulder. Blame it on soggy brains. Entirely the weather’s fault. Mmhmm. “Stonesmith?” The Sir, is yet to make an appearance. Prymelia’s head cants to one side, interest peaked. “Haven’t met one of those before.” The widening of her smile marks her happy to have discovered someone new and with what she deems to be a fascinating craft. There comes next a wrinkle of nose followed by a quick shake of head. “No rush. Aaron…The Weyrsmith,” she’s trying, “gave me a spare but I’ll need this one mended before I go out again. Say,” her flighty mind hops ahead, “you wouldn’t happen to have a daughter around fifteen or so turns. About so high,” she holds her hand up to more or less indicate Merid’s height, “blue eyes and hair that’s sort of a dirty blonde color, would you?” She’s getting desperate here folks and determined to prove the girl hadn’t been some weird figment of her rather over-active imagination.

It had been a long time since he'd done work like this. Arlemond hrms, studying the wheel. A distracted, "Yes, come to renew the weyr," in response to her querying tone. He turns a look on the young woman, eyebrows raised, "No, I don't suppose Traders have much call stonecraft at that." Is it a joke? Or… a fact? He's not giving any real cues. He nods, "I'll see that this gets added to the work list… Prymelia?" He takes the wheel with both hands rolling it between them, studying it still. He looks up, surprised by her non-sequitur. He shakes his head, a faint narrowing of eyes that relaxes when the girl described does not match his own daughter, "No, I do not…" He cocks his head, considering Prymelia. Young women, flighty as they are, often had surprisingly relevatory insights, "While we're asking impertinent questions," he shifts his weight to another foot, "What area in the weyr is most unsettling?"

Renew the Weyr? Interest goes almost off the charts. Creativity, no matter what form it arrives in, is creativity and something Prymelia most certainly understands and appreciates. A soft laugh greets Arlemond’s comment about traders and stonecrafters. “Well no, we don’t but that doesn’t mean that the work of a Stonecrafter isn’t appreciated. Your work could still be here in like a hundred turns. That’s…” arms lift and then fall back to her sides, “pretty incredible.” A grateful nod of head marks the journeyman’s offer to ensure her wheel is seen to. “Thank you, Sir.” There it is the mark of respect due. And then her mind bounces to the question she’d put to him. Mahogany brows quirk toward one another and she nibbles at her lower lip for it seems that no one, no one has seen the girl, let alone knows her. The return of that gravelly baritone forming words, jerks her out of ghostly introspection, amusement trickling across her features for being named impertinent. “Unsettling? You mean like…spooky or ‘Don’t go there it’ll fall on your head’?”

He excuses himself momentarily to rolls the wheel to the side, scribbling a note on a hide and tucking it into the spokes. He returns with a slight bow to resume the discussion. He smiles reservedly at her appreciation of the Craft, he’s a sucker. His brows quirk up at her prognostication for the durability of stone, “More, if it’s well done.” He looks at her, no real expression on his face, “I’m interested in the first place you thought of.” Why you thought of it will be revealed. “Why don’t we sit?”

Following Arlemond’s path and return, open surprise etches across the trader’s face. A journeyman is asking her opinion on something? Hazel eyes widen but she gives a quick nod nonetheless and following the Stonecrafter’s prompt moves toward a nearby table. Waiting until she’s given the cue to sit – he is a journeyman and she does have some manners – Prymelia quirks a quick smile. “The Archives Library,” she states not having to give it much thought. “It has this lovely skybroom growing through the middle of it but there’s this hole in the roof and…Thread is coming.” Need she say more?

Lovely skybroom, but there’s a hole in the roof. Thread. He nods. 100% of those surveyed favored keeping the skybroom while fixing the hole. “So I saw,” he comments, bemused. He’d been more than a little displeased that the current solution seemed to be tarps and buckets. This would bear discussion with the Weyrsmith. He sits back, arms resting on the chair, “Okay. Where is the safest place in the weyr?”

The safest place in the Weyr? An unexpected memory pops to mind and for a few moments Prymelia is left speechless. “Uh…” fishmouthing while she tries to gather herself and provide Arlemond with answer. “I’ve not really poked around in the Weyr much. I prefer to be outdoors but I guess I’d have to say…the residential dorms?” It had all seemed pretty sturdy to her while she’d been a guest there. “Or maybe the living caverns?” Unsure of quite what it is the Stonecrafter is after a slightly perplexed expression settles about her features.

Arlemond is content to listen, watching the young woman deliberate. He leans to one side, propping his chin on one hand, staring into the middle distance, “Hmmm… Residential dorms and Living Caverns.” There’s a striking impression that he’s recording her answers in some way. He smiles neutrally at her admission of a preference for the out-of-doors and looks up from his contemplation, “I’d expect a Trader would find the caverns confining. What will you do come Fall?”

That expression of bemusement continues to linger when it appears Arlemond isn’t going to explain the reason for his queries. Prymelia wants to know!! But first she answers the next question put to her, a faint light amusement flickering in her eyes. “I’ll continue to trade. I can’t afford not to,” she states. Slender shoulders then lift and fall in a shrug the ever present fear that winds about her at thought of Thread, concealed beneath a veil of nonchalance. “We’ll take shelter in caves if need be.” A small pause forms in which the young woman puts the Stonecrafter under contemplative study. “You know…someone with your particular skill set could be helpful in identifying their levels of safety. I gather,” a knowing smile appears, “that’s what all the questions have been about?”

Arlemond listens and nods. The vast potential wealth of Southern was a hot topic up north. It wasn’t surprising to find Traders down here eager to be the vangards of tapping into that wealth. “What is your clan?” it’s unlikely he’ll know it, still that is an important thing to Traders, and he asks. “The questions? Oh, no, not about caves in the outer areas. Not initially.” He looks around the two story cavern, and gestures with a spread of fingers, “When I’m on a new site, I like to get a sense of the place. People sometimes know more about their environments than they may realize.” He studies Prymelia for a moment, “And insights can come from unexpected places.”

“Flynn. Currently trading out of Igen,” Prymelia answers slightly less brightly than she might have done before unsure of what her standing currently is with her clan. Setting personal concerns and troubles firmly aside, she instead focuses on what Arlemond is saying. “I can see why you made Journeyman,” the young woman states with a smile, “You’re a very wise man. Though I’m probably not the best person to ask given that I live in a wagon and really only come into the Weyr for a few meals here and there and to make use of the library.” Self-sufficient. That’s her. “You might want to talk to the weyrlings though. They’ve been pretty much Weyrbound since they impressed.”

“Igen? Not Southern?” He cocks his head curiously. Being thought wise by a slip of a girl is no great accomplishment, but he’s not immune to the charm of youth. “Outsiders see with their eyes, instead of their hearts. You learn different things from each.” Full of platitudes this one. He smiles, standing, “It’s late. Can I walk you to your caravan?” A Weyr is no place for an unaccompanied young woman to wander at night. This was definitely seeming like a poor place to bring the girls.

“Igen,” Prymelia confirms not about to explain that she’s walking a very fine line in terms of being yanked back up north. The supposed platitude Arlemond offers will find him set with a long look that might suggest the young woman is carefully cogitating the wisdom contained therein. “Aye,” she eventually agrees on what can be learned from those around you and appears about to say more when suddenly he’s making a most gallant offer. Dark brows arch in surprise, amusement flecking hazel eyes but she’s intrigued. “Are all stonecrafters such a gentlemen?” She asks standing when he does, flashing the Journeyman a warm smile.
He harumphs at her, correcting. A gentleman? Not exactly. “I’m a father. And you’re unaccompanied.” And this is a Weyr. At what age did women gain sense? Rayla had never seemed this… yes she had. He sighs to himself and offers Prymelia his arm.

Amusement deepens at the Journeyman’s comment. If he had any idea of just how far from ‘sweet and innocent’ Prymelia is, his fatherly instincts would probably kick in and he’d more than likely pack her on a dragon and send her back to her own. Now there’s a horrid thought. A light shudder ripples through the young woman who tucks a hand into the crook of the arm presented and offers up a guileless smile. “And when will your wife and children be arriving?” She asks allowing him to guide her out into the night and back toward her wagon.

Pausing to reclaim raincovers, Arlemond rumbles, "I'm not certain. It depends on the scope work here." He opens the door for her, looking with some consternation out at the rain, "I'll have to complete my survey before I can gauge if they should join me or not." The two duck into the rain, Arlemond paying special mind to the flow and overflow of water running across the bowl. If he is surprised that her 'caravan' is one wagon, he keeps that to himself. He bids her a fair evening and slogs back to the Craft Complex.

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