==== February 10th, 2014
==== Kultir, Coora, Prymelia, T'ral
==== T'ral and Kultir run into each other and hack out ideas for a gift for Kalea. Prymelia can draw! And Coora may have some juicy stories about the Weyrwoman…

Who Kultir, Coora, Prymelia, T'ral
What T'ral and Kultir run into each other and hack out ideas for a gift for Kalea. Prymelia can draw! And Coora may have some juicy stories about the Weyrwoman…
When It is afternoon of the fourth day of the first month of the first turn of the 12th pass.
Where Southern Weyr

kultir2.jpg prymelia_default.jpg t-ral_default.jpg


baths.jpg

Baths
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.


Kultir steps almost silently into the baths and groans softly as he is hit in the face by the steam from the hottest pools. Snagging a pair of clean towels from the cabinet near the door, he moves around the hot pools to find one of the coolest the cavern holds though it is also one of the smaller, shallower ones as well. Dropping his pack on a bench near his chosen pool, he strips off his filthy, green begrimed clothing to be draped over the end of the bench, his boots getting kicked out of the way beneath it. With a soft sigh of relief at the cool water enveloping his body, he sinks into the pool and sets his bag of soapsand on the edge.

A wadded up washrag arcs through the air at Kultir's head, "Hey!" T'ral's voice cracks out. "Get your own pool, grubby." The grin on his face belies the complaint. "You look like hell." T'ral doesn't look much better, just cleaner. His shoulders, neck and face are all bright pink - burnt.

"Hey!" Kultir yelps when that washrag smacks him in the side of the face. Pulling it down, he laughs softly as he recognizes T'ral's voice. "Thanks, needed one of those." He peers across the pool at the older man and raises an eyebrow at the pink burn across the other's upper body. "What the shells have you been doing to get burnt? I thought all the smart folks were under cover during mid-day so that didn't happen." He was in the jungle at mid-day so while he's sweaty and grimy, at least he's not burned. Ducking his head beneath the cool water, he ruffles his hair to cool his scalp and loosen his sweat-dried hair so that it can be washed more easily. Sitting back up, he reaches for his soapsand and pours out a handful before working it into his water-darkened sandy brown hair.

The bluerider shrugs, "Looks pretty bad, eh?" He ducks under the cool water and comes up, blowing out a breath and slicking hair back with both hands. "Agility exercises. No shelter big enough for dragons." He settles back, wincing at the rough stone on tender shoulders, "Healers are making that by the gallon." He gestures at a bottle filled with a clear, gelatinous paste. "Hey. Get clean and we can go to the Archives and get that tapestry description down. I've got about a little more than a half-candle before my shift at the infirmary."

"Not too bad, though it could be a lot worse. At least it's just pink and not red." Kultir nods as if he knows what the rider is talking about, figuring agility exercises work for humans so why wouldn't they work for dragons too. He glances at the bottle and ahhs softly. "I can imagine they are. Some folks have no choice of whether they are outside at mid-day, I suppose." Scrubbing at his hair a little more, he finally ducks once more to rinse off the suds so that he can begin on his body. Tilting his head curiously at the man, he frowns and asks, "Tapestry description?"

"That's what the 'prentice Healer said," T'ral snags the bottle and tramps up the stairs to the bench and cubby where his things are. He wraps a towel around his waist and sits, unstoppering the bottle and sniffing it with a grimace. Eyebrows go up, "Not so bad. Just, kinda clean smelling." He tips some of the paste out onto his palm and starts patting it out along insulted skin. "The tapestry. The one you want to commission for Kalea."

Kultir chuckles softly at his own forgetfulness and nods. "Sure. Sorry, it's been a long day and I've slept since we talked about that." With that impetus, the cleaning doesn't take long as the tracker sluices the sweat and dirt from his body with a rapid scrubbing. Ducking back under the water, he holds his breath as long as he can as he soaks in the cool water before he has to rise to the surface once more. Standing, he squeezes the water from his hair and steps easily up the stairs to snag one of his towels to wrap around his waist before the other is taken to dry himself off. Glancing at the bluerider and eyeing the burn across the other's shoulders, he asks, "Need help getting that on your back?"

"Got a memory like a dragon, Kultir." T'ral grins. His grin falters a bit. "That'd be nice, sometimes." He sighs, rubbing the paste in and at Kultir's offer looks up, blinking. "Uh, yeah. There's a bit that's hard to get." He stands and gestures with an arm awkwardly twisted to show Kul- "Ow." Awkward twisting leads to thumb-gouging. "So, right there. Where I'm probably not bleeding, but should be." He hands the bottle to Kultir.

Kultir takes the bottle and pours out a small amount onto his calloused fingers to lightly daub over the burned area, not rubbing it over so that he causes as little pain as possible. "Yeah, well … I remember talking about it, just hadn't thought you would have time is all so it kinda caught me off-guard." The younger man peers critically at the burned area to be sure the ointment is covering all the reddened skin and nods satisfaction as he hands the bottle back. Wiping his fingers on his towel, he begins to dress himself in clean clothes he pulls from his pack though the boots have to go back on.

"Thanks." T'ral takes the bottle back and sets about drying and dressing in earnest. Though he's due on shift in a short while, and that will entail another wardrobe change, he doesn't spare any measure of getting put back together. Except his hair, his hair's always been more or less hopeless. Pulling the crisp white shirt that he'll be sweating through shortly into a smart tuck he bundles his belongings into a satchel. "Ready?"

Kultir nods as he stands to stomp his heels into his boots and stuffs his dirty clothing into the pack. "Ready when you are." He moves carefully around the pools to the entrance, his steps barely scuffing against the stone floor. He gnaws his lower lip as he considers how he had thought to have the tapestry laid out, hoping he can articulate how he wants it to look.

Slinging the satchel over his shoulder, then immediately wishing he hadn't, T'ral squints hard, croaking as the satchel strap digs into his shoulder. "Sooo-" Ow. "What were you thinking Kultir? Images, ideas. Words?" He bares his teeth at Kultir, Doesn't hurt at all. See. Smiling. He treads quietly behind the tracker, headed out into the anteroom of the baths and out into the hall to the Archive.


archive_library.jpg

Archive Library
Where once books reigned supreme, this open space is now dominated by a stalwart skybroom reaching to the sky through a broken ceiling. What was once evidence of collapse is now ornately carved with engraved ivy, matched by a clever contraption of stone that allows the gap to be closed in inclement weather. A small garden occupies the space around the tree-trunk, all manicured bushes and flowering shrubbery enclosed by a grated gutter. The walls are lined with bookcases, while a spiral staircase leans on the western wall to wind upwards to the second level. Tucked in the corners and scattered in the main areas are tables and chairs, cafe-style, and comfortably worn overstuffed armchairs. It is the perfect place for individuals to gather, to enjoy the offerings of the food-cart or a spirited conversation.


Kultir strolls into the archives, peering at the bluerider curiously. "You probably don't want to do that, it'll just take your burn longer to heal." He speaks with a little authority, as evidenced by the dark bronzing of his own skin due to multiple burns he got when he was first in the southern climes with his white northern skin. Settling down at a table, he heaves a sigh and scratches at the back of his neck in thought. "Well … I wanted a pair of green dragons facing each other at the top and maybe a blue dragon in the center of the bottom with wings outstretched." He looks up at the older man and gnaws his lower lip as he thinks a bit more. "I also wanted a … kind of a family tree sort of thing in the center. I've got the list of names and relationships at the weyr."

T'ral cocks a wry brow at Kultir. Ya think? says the brow. He snorts and sets the offending satchel next to a chair across from Kultir. He's about to settle when he holds up a finger, "Be right back." He scarpers off to get some hides and writing implements and snags two drinks from the beverage cart on his way back. He sits, eyes already unfocused as he imagines the scene Kultir is describing, "I don't draw, but I can rough this out." He doodles a thumbnail, "Like that?" He winces at the drawing, squinting and leaning close, "Ah. Pretend that's the blue dragon's tail." He gives Kultir that bared-teeth grin again as he draws some of the lines a little more heavily. "Yeah. Tail."

Kultir laughs softly at the wry look and snort, shrugging his shoulders. He watches the bluerider as he scampers off and then returns, accepting one of the drinks as the other settles in the seat across from him. Tilting his head slightly as he looks at the small drawing and nods slowly. "Yeah … the blue here should looking over his shoulder kinda so you can see his ridges. The greens … they don't have to be flying, maybe climbing on rocks or … or maybe lounging like on a ledge?" He sighs softly and shrugs, willing to let the other man have more artistic leeway than he'd normally allow.

T'ral sketches several crude thumbnails and purses his lips, scowling at the wings of a lounging dragon, "That's totally wing," he blinks. Sorta. Moving on. That's why you did lots of thumbnails, right? "Seems like you have a pretty good idea of what you want." He's finishing off a fourth thumbnail, brows furrowed in concentration, "I thought you didn't know what you wanted."

Kultir gnaws his lower lip and shrugs. "Maybe I do. I just know a little about how I see it in my mind … it's the getting it down on a hide or parchment that has me stumped. I can't draw anything and my writing is still not the best." He sighs softly as he looks at the small pictures the other has drawn and nods. Tapping the sketches, he asks, "Do you think someone could make a tapestry out of one of those? You know, kind of an idea of what I want it to look like and then make it?"

T'ral laughs, a merry bark, and scrubs a hand through his hair, smudging silverstick on his forehead, "Ah, heh. Kultir. I don't draw either." He points at the hides: Exhibit A. "You can draw things. Here." He gives Kultir the stick and a fresh hide. "Just draw rectangles, about as big as the one's I've been doing. Fill the page." T'ral does the exercise too and finishes well in advance of Kultir, "See. They got a lot better." He grins, wincing at one of the wobblier rectangles, "Oh, except for that one. What happened there?" Rhetorical. Eyebrows go up, "Now do circles. Fill up the rectangles with the biggest circles that will fit inside, without overlapping." When that's done, "All right. Normally we'd spend a seven doing that over and over. And," he sighs, "Over. But in the interests of time…" he flips the hide and draws out a bunch of recatangles again, "Okay. So, now, draw circles or rectangles -or triangles- where you want things in your scene. They can overlap."

The two spend some time furiously doodling geometric dragons.

T'ral and Kultir are busy at hides doodling what appear to be thumbnail sketches of dragons made out of rectangles, circles and triangles. T'ral stops at one point, wincing at the page, still smiling, "The key is not to care that they're terrible. Because," he points at one, the pose is sweet, a dragon with a triangle head tucked under triangle wings, "That one is good. I think that one might work for the left side." He peers at Kultir's page, "Who are all these dragons anyway?"

Coora steps into the room quietly, her eyes flicking around the perimeter immediately. Coora is new to the Weyr and is simply exploring the ins and outs of her new home. "Hello," she calls gaily to those in the library. A quick sweep of her hand down the front of her dress smoothes wrinkles and clears the dust of exploring for her introduction.

Kultir accepts the silverstick doubtfully but follows the Harper-turned-rider's direction as best he can, his rectangles and circles a little wobbly though they do get better the longer he tries. Once that first side is filled, he follows T'ral's example and flips the hide over to begin again, adding the triangles last time. He glances at the pose the older man points at and nods, smiling at the pose. "I like that one. Can you make the other one with it's head up and … I don't know, kinda …" He frowns as he tries to find a word to describe what he wants the other to look like and shrugs. "Kinda noble like? You know what I mean?" He returns to his drawing attempts and rather likes what he's making. At the bluerider's last question, he chuckles softly. "The two greens are Peorth and Celvynath and the blue is Sardrinth. Dragons from Kalea's and my families."

Prymelia, is not quite so new to the Weyr. Not any more that is. Flicking the new face a polite smile the mahogany-haired trader, with a bunch of gay flowers in hand utters a quiet 'Hello' and starts toward a tall stack of books with the reference of 'Flora and Fauna' written a plaque above them. Clearly on a mission of sorts, she seems oblivious to the dragon doodling going on at a nearby table, let alone the identity of the doodlers themselves.

T'ral nods at Kultir's direction and starts a larger 'composition' with the pose the tracker had identified. "Yeah, I think I know…" he trails off brow knitted in concentration as he sketches. Poorly, but with authority. He pauses, scratching at his chin leaving behind more silverstick marks and looks up. A smile lights his face and he pops to his feet, "Coora! Afternoon, ma'am. Kultir, meet Coora. Coora, Kultir." T'ral, the Weyr's greeter. "Kultir is a tracker. He keeps us in hides and game. Coora is a new rider in Serval." T'ral shrugs at Kultir, "You know what we do." We do awesome, that's what. "First time in the Archive?" T'ral's grin is broad, "Something else, eh?"

Coora nods at Prymelia, her attention moving to the big tree. "Why is there a tree in here?" Coora questions, her lips spreading into a big smile as T'ral makes his companion known. "Nice to meet you, Kultir. What are you working on?" The brownrider makes her way towards their work area curiously.

Kultir glances up at the new arrival and smiles a little shyly as he nods a polite greeting. "Well met, ma'am." He colors a little at the introduction but manages not to stammer or relapse into that horribly thick accent of a couple Turns before. Looking back down at his attempts to draw dragons on the hide, he shrugs. "T'ral's helping me work out a tapestry design I want to commission for my mate. A family tree sort of thing." The young tracker gnaws his lower lip as he sketches a bit more onto the third attempt of rectangles, circles and triangles.

Tucking her skirts between her legs, Prymelia carefully catches the flowers with her knees and pulls out a book. A flip of pages and it gets put back. Three times this occurs until on the fourth, the book must come close to what she's looking for as with book open and in one hand flowers retrieved with the other, she meanders over to the table where Coora, T'ral and Kultir happen to be, lips moving silently as she alternates between reading and glancing at her specimens. Bump. Yup, she misjudged and just walked into a chair. Blink. Aheh. People. And ones she knows at that, save for the older Coora that is, hence the sheepish expression that patterns across freckled features. "Hi." Hazel eyes skip from to the other before settling on one in particular. "Mind if I join you?" That's put out to the trio in general.

T'ral scratches at his jaw, "Ah. It…?" The bluerider cocks his head, "Some time while the Weyr was abandoned that skylight broke and it grew up in here. When repairs happened, I think everyone had grown so fond of it, we just kept it." He squints at the shelves beneath the tree, "I do worry about sap ruining those books, though." He winces at the sketches, grinning, "We're both pretty hopeless at drawing, but," he shrugs, "It's a good exercise to get ideas from here," he taps his temple, "To here," he taps the paper. Cocking his head at Kultir, "You have riders in your family, I didn't know that." His eyebrows go up, "Are you going to stand again?" Prymelia makes her presence known with the wooden hoot of a chair leg bumped against stone. T'ral's own grin becomes sheepish, "Prymelia. Of course, sit." He scrambles to pull out a chair and pauses, "Prymelia, this is Coora, she's a new rider in Serval. Coora, this is Prymelia, a Trader here at Southern and my… ah…" he blinks, he's never made any sort of introduction of Prymelia and finds himself tongue-tied. My what? Girlfriend is… insufficient. "My heart. Er… sweetheart." His ears go red and he pulls the chair out. "Join us, Coora?"

Coora ooohs at Kultir, nodding. "That sounds wonderful. How's it going so far? Those dragons going to be the only thing on it?" Coora leans over the table to get a better look at the drawings the two have managed. She lifts her head to nod at Prymelia, giving the younger girl a smile again. There's a little giggle at T'ral's awkward introduction, but the smile for Prymelia grows wider. "Nice to meet you."

Kultir glances up at steps draw closer but he's not fast enough to keep the Trader from bumping into that chair. "Afternoon, Prymelia. I don't mind." He looks askance at the other two curiously. He smiles when they both agree and then turns to answering T'ral's questions. "Yeah, quite a few actually." He shrugs slightly. "If they ask, yeah, I'd Stand again. Wouldn't be so hard this time I don't think." Falling silent, he smiles up at Coora and shakes his head. "I haven't gotten past the dragons yet. Maybe some ivy and some stars … other decoration type things. Besides the names, of course." He chuckles softly as T'ral stumbles over how to introduce Prymelia to the older woman, remembering all too well that kind of trepidation when he was first 'claimed' by Kalea.

With T'ral offering further advice to Kultir, Prymelia's attention falls first to the hides and then skips up to Coora, amusement glinting in hazel eyes when the bluerider finds himself tongue-tied. "Well met, Coora. And welcome to Southern." Her gaze skips to the hunter next as she takes the chair so politely pulled out for her, "Hey, Kultir, how are you? And the twins and Kalea?" Apparently she's quite happy with the manner in which introductions were made.

Coora's on her own for a chair. T'ral heads to the beverage cart for juice. It's too hot for klah and none of Yules' iced-klah has made it into the Archives that T'ral can see. He returns, setting juice before the newcomers, running an eye over Prymelia's books and the flowers she's gathered. He takes his chair and looks expectantly at Kultir, listening for the descriptions of other things on the tapestry and reports on the family. Silverstick held lightly in his hands, he's not really sketching any more. A thought occurs, "Prymelia…?" he blinks, "Can you draw?" T'ral turns his silverstick smudged regard onto the Trader.

Grinning up at the Trader, Kultir's eyes shine with pride though he skips how he's doing and jumps right into his favored topic, kids. "They are doing well. Twins are growing like weeds. Still look alike but I figure as soon as it's time for Rikus' first haircut we'll be able to tell them apart." He chuckles softly, including himself in not being able to tell his kids apart. He glances at the flowers she clasps in her hand and raises a curious eyebrow. "What's the flowers for? Oh, hey … did you get the basket I left on the steps of your wagon? Wanted to make sure you got the pelts and feathers before I left on my last long hunting trip."

With the book open at a botanical sketch and description of a flower similar to one of those in the small bunch she's set to one side, Prymelia flips an amused look onto Kultir. "I'd imagine it would be fairly obvious when it's time to change diapers." T'ral then earns an extension of that amusement either for the smudges of silverstick he's wearing or for the question put to her. "Aye, I can draw, just thought I'd first see if there were any record of these before I add them to my journal." She has a journal? Attention skips back to Kultir and lashes flutter a few times. "No, I never got it!" Cue the sad face followed swiftly by a scowl. "I'll be it was those little horrors of Greman's. They were running around wearing feather bands a while ago."

Coora pulls out a chair and plops herself into it. "That sounds really nice, I'm sure your partner will love it." Coora may not know the person, yet she's enthusiastic about both the project and the recipient's reaction. She settles into her chair, draping one hand across her lap and resting the other on the table. "Twins? Faranth, I haven't had one yet and here's a young'un with two!" Coora's face is set in an easy grin, showing no hard feelings.

To Coora, "Rikus and Kalira are some of the first children born here at Southern." There were others, of course. "Well, since it was re-established." T'ral may have also found Prymelia's journal the other day. His ears flush. Not that he read it! Eyes wide, he slides a hide and silverstick at Prymelia, "Here. You draw this then. It'll take me all day." He peers at the sunlight slanting in through the skylight, "And I've got a shift in a quarter-candle." His eyebrows go up, "Where are you from, Coora? And… when?" Is she an Oldtimer?

Kultir scowls at the information that she'd not gotten the basket he'd left for her, his eyes darkening with anger that someone might make off with something that didn't belong to them. "Greman, huh? Well, I might just have to have a talk with this Greman." There is a flicker of the old angry Kul that he's tried so hard to leave behind but this sort of injustice brings back to the surface. Drawing a deep breath, he clenches his jaw and sighs that breath out slowly as he tries to calm himself once more. Turning a much more calm look on Coora, he nods and laughs at her comment. "Yeah … they run in our families. Lea's mum was a twin and my granda was a twin." A soft blush colors his face as he thinks about Kalea's reaction and nods slightly. "I hope so. She's a greenrider with Lynx … you might see her around."

Nodding at T'ral, Coora adds, "That's pretty exciting. Moving to a new Weyr and promptly having your children." Coora's face grows serious at T'ral's question. "I came forward from Ista Weyr. I've been at Igen the last few years, but I decided to try my hand here at Southern." Coora is casually vague about why she left Igen, picking up Kultir's topic easily. "I don't think I've met anyone from Lynx yet… What's her name?"

Prymelia catches that telltale flush of ears and narrows a look at T'ral. There are pictures in there!! Of avians and flowers and shrubs and insects and all the strange things the trader has come across in her travels. Where did your mind go? Automatically she takes the silverstick handed to her though her brows are arched in query. "What am I drawing now?" Attention flips between hunter and bluerider but lingers on the former, apology in her eyes. "If you speak with Greman, tell him I'd like my underwear back. The little buggers nicked it right off the line." Pre-teen boys. Such fun. Interest curls about her expression at Coora's reply to T'ral's question but is quickly swiped clean away at mention of Igen. Lips purse and attention sets to setting aside the book and flowers to reach for a fresh piece of hide from those Kultir has with him.

T'ral glowers, "I saw those little rats chucking pebbles at Soot. Chased them off. If I'd known they'd stolen stuff from you, I'd've thumped 'em good. Or, you know, set my father on them." He grins. The Headman was VERY good at setting wayward youths on the straight and narrow. "Ista, Z'bor's from there." Z'bor is a new greenrider in Serval, "You should compare notes on what's changed." At Coora's vague mention of Igen, T'ral's grin falters and he looks at Prymelia. Under the Trader's narrowed look, he blinks. Pure innocence. Hey. Private things are private. If he'd really looked, he'd have known she could draw. Right? Moving along. "Ah, two green dragons," he flips through the thumbnails that he and Kultir had worked up, selecting a few to point at, "Here and here. And a blue dragon here," he gestures at Kultir, "Stars, vines… the family tree itself." He shrugs at Kultir, "Anything else?"

Kultir chuckles softly and nods at Coora. "I suppose. We hadn't really planned on it but … you know how it goes, sometimes it just happens." Shadows of the past flicker through his eyes as he remembers the hectic pace it had been and how it had seemed they were being censured for having kids at all before he's able to shake that off. "Her name's Kalea, green Ryadranth's. She came forward from High Reaches Weyr." His eyes flick back to Prymelia as that scowl returns though he adds an eyeroll as well. "Yeah … I'll be sure to include that. Those were some of my better pelts too." When she takes the silverstick, he peers at the bluerider waiting to see if the older man will describe it or if he should. When the man gives the basic description he shrugs slightly. "I don't think so. I don't want it too busy, you know?"

Coora repeats after Kultir, "Kalea. I haven't met her but I'll remember her if I do." Her attention shifts to T'ral, "from *now* Ista? That would be interesting. Lendai is my clutchmate, assuming you know her." It's not like there are so many goldriders that one wouldn't know of any given one.

Anger ignites amber flecks in hazel eyes at mention of pebbles having been thrown at her beloved runner. "Oh really now?" Prymelia's tone shades that deadly quiet that suggests BAD THINGS for pre-teens boys are already being plotted and will probably involve runnerdung and their faces. Attention flickers back down to the hide with the trader giving a short nod of head for what it is she's being asked to draw, her expression oddly tight behind the partial screen of long hair slipped across her bowed face. But when she glances up at Kultir, shadows have been banished from her expression. "Who will be weaving the tapestry for you?" She asks sliding the drawings closer that T'ral had indicated. Just as she's begun to make the first few marks, Coora reveals her connection to the Senior Weyrwoman. Brows arch and a crafty little smirk appears. "You must have some really good dirt on her as a weyrling." Because that stuff's gold in a trader's eyes.

T'ral's eyebrows raise at Kultir's recollection. He chuckles to Coora, "Yeah, he was meeting himself coming and going for a while." T'ral's eyes widen in alarm at the wrath in Prymelia's eyes, "Little pebbles. Flies bother him more. Not that it's okay. I put the fear of Thread in 'em." He looks warily at the young woman, "But I should have put the fear of you in 'em." He nods at Coora, "Yes, greenrider, Ozriath. He's brand new." At her revelation T'ral blinks. Ears going red at Prymelia's suggestion. Lalalalalala. What happens in weyrlinghood stays in weyrlinghood. "Uh." T'ral blinks, straightening. "Lendai is our Weyrwoman, ma'am." Coora gets ma'am'ed partially because she's older, but also because she's getting splashed with reflected, wary deference to the Weyr's mercurial and enigmatic senior goldrider.

"She's just a bit of a thing too but kinda quietlike … doesn't like to draw attention to herself." Kultir continues to Coora before turning his attention to the Trader. "I don't know yet. Just want to get the idea drawn out so that when I get the marks I can do some looking around for a decent Weaver who can do it for me." Sighing softly, he watches with fascination as Prymelia draws the first few lines of the small pictures and smiles as he imagines how it will turn out. Glancing up when the goldrider is mentioned, he gnaws his lower lip a bit hesitantly but the woman doesn't seem any different than most people he's met. At least she doesn't seem to be anything like the Senior Weyrwoman. Sliding a glance at T'ral, he offers that evil mischief look he'd given the older man when they had been Candidates together, amber eyes sparkling brightly. "I'll put the fear of the jungle in them." He winks at the bluerider and rumbles that low imitation of a feline's growling cough that he learned so long ago.

Coora blushes and giggles. "I have to remember that she's the weyrwoman. It's been a while since I have seen her, though Sidaaeth has been so happy to see Tali again." Coora shrugs casually, unconcerned by her friend's elevated rank. "I'm just a brownrider, I don't encounter the leadership often, though I did meet the Weyrleader to transfer."
Prymelia, has thus far, not personally met the Senior Weyrwoman, though has been inordinately impressed by the beeyooootiful swathes of pink the stylish (?) goldrider has seen fit to deck the Weyr with. Anyone who has the temerity to do that gets her vote! Although disappointment initially greets Coora's lack of dirt dishing between her giggle and T'ral and Kultir's offers of revenge on the little thieving squirts belonging to Greman, the trader's mood lifts and she sends the hunter a look for his accurate mimicry of a feline. "Jays. You're frighteningly good at that! I bet you could have even Renalde needing to change his shorts." Cue the wicked flick of eyes T'ral's way. Oh yeah, bad things going on in that mind of hers. As she's been talking, so a picture has started to grow. With the dragons at the center, vines are starting to twirl along the edges with stars spilling from the topmost corners. Harper trained she is not, but her efforts are at least passable.

That cough Kultir sounds sends a chill down T'ral's neck. "Uncanny." He rubs the back of his neck, silverstick smudges there too now. He watches Prymelia at work, the image he and Kultir had been discussing coming to life under her hands. He chuckles at Coora, "Did she always like pink?" That's safe, at least, right? The thought of T'ral's father soiling his shorts is met with a scowl. Thanks. Thanks for THAT, Prymelia.

Kultir's smile widens as Prymelia comments on his mimicry and shrugs. "I don't know about that … I probably wouldn't have the nerve to do it around Renalde." A soft blush colors his cheeks though his eyes brighten as he watches his idea come to life under the Trader's more skilled hand. Laughing softly, he glances between T'ral and the two women and shakes his head as an idea blossoms in his mind. "Between us, we could put the fear of life into the little brats."

Coora shivers dramatically at Kultir, "Whoa." There's a quick nod to T'ral as Coora stands from her chair. "Yes, Lendai has always liked pink. I think the weyr looks great!" Coora grins, smoothing the back of her skirts. "Well, it's been lovely spending time with you all, but I think dinner is calling my name." She gives a little wave and pushes her chair in, prior to heading for the door.

Glancing up from adding a piece of twirling vine, Prymelia catches that scowl coming from T'ral and flips him the sweetest of sweet smiles - You're welcome! To Kultir, "If you hid behind a bush or something, he'd never know it was you." Smiiiirk. Her mouth curves around a proper smile next when Coora makes her departure. "Nice to have met you, brownrider." Just then a stable boy comes skidding into the Archives, with eyes rounded to saucers. "Miss Prymelia, Soot's throwin' down somethin' fierce. They gave 'im a new hay net and he jus' started goin' buckshit…erm…" the lad blushes furiously when he takes in the redhead's company. "Ya need ta come quick." With an ladylike curse muttered, she quickly gathers up her things along with the hide and silverstick, "I'll get this done and back to you as soon as I can." That to Kultir. To T'ral is given an invitation, "Dinner later?"

((Missing Kultir's last - please add if you have it))

"I can't recommend it, Kultir," hiding in bushes and making that sound around Renalde. T'ral grins, "I shouldn't, but I feel sorta bad for those boys, next time they come around." Because who didn't want Prymelia's knickers. Erm… T'ral's ears go red again. He blinks. T'ral rises to his feet with Coora, "Here, I'll walk you to the Caverns. Not that you could miss them. With all the pink." He's still boggling over that. He's about to bend to kiss Prymelia's cheek when the stableboy traipses in. T'ral presses a cheek to Prymelia's hair, eyes closed hard. So little time. A quick kiss and a brush of knuckles down her check - some silverstick smudges for Prymelia. "Whoops, ah…" T'ral fishes out a handkerchief and makes to dab at Prymelia, glances at the skylight, and the slant of the sun. "Here." He holds out the handkerchief, but Prymelia's hands are full. Where to put it… Ears redden. He smiles and tucks it into the bouqeut. Not bodice. Not bodice. "Dinner," he nods. "And I've my shift to get to. Ladies? Gentleman?" T'ral hustles to the door and holds it open, "Glad we got those ideas down, Kultir." He grins and the door closes behind them with a soft thud.

Add a New Comment