==== October 28, 2013
==== Prymelia
==== Prymelia receives a letter that renders her torn between her imagined destiny and an unexpected kink in the path to reaching it.

Who Prymelia
What Prymelia receives a letter that renders her torn between her imagined destiny and an unexpected kink in the path to reaching it.
When There are 0 turns, 10 months and 12 days until the 12th pass
Where Hallway, Southern Weyr



The tidy fashion of keeping glows as hedgerows continues along the residential hallway, well-swept if bare of adornment.
On the perch is Ahamo and Alarph
Obvious exits:
Inner Caverns Library Door Dorms TP Room Rooms

Shortly before the lunch hour, Prymelia swings out of the dorms and into the hallway, fingers deftly working thick tresses into a long braid and then tying it off with a leather thong.

A little blue firelizard is resting on an unlit glow, eyes whirling in agitation. In his little claws, a sheaf of paper, large for the little guy, but he is determined and fliiiies to Prymelia, dropping the sheaf in her hands. It is rolled and tied with a blue ribbon

Her first instinct is to duck when the little blue firelizard flies at her. Arms come up to shield her face but then its papery burden catches her attention. When it’s dropped into her hands, surprise etches across lightly freckled features but before she can say or do anything, the winged critter is gone. The blue ribbon is untied and the sheaf carefully unrolled, hazel gaze tripping along the lines of elegantly penned script.

A contract for retention of the services of one T'ral, rider of blue Esanth of Southern Weyr, for escort to and from the Living Caverns at need, with the following enumerated provisos the many-pages-long document goes on to describe T'ral's requirements in lieu of pay for services rendered:
* Once, monthly, Prymelia, Trader of Clan Flynn (hereafter refered to as Prymelia), will sing with T'ral, rider of blue Esanth (hereafter referred to as T'ral) under the stars and/or moons. In the absence of stars and/or moons, the nearest body of water may be substituted.
* Swooning, thrice daily. To be completed by either party.
* Breakfast in the Living Caverns, or other location, as necessitated by circumstance, no less than but not limited to, once a sevenday.
The list goes on. At some length. While stated as clearly articulated demands - it's a contract, after all, and he's a Harper, trained in such matters - it's a love letter. In contract form. Signed and dated.

At first its amusement that curves her lips and draws a soft giggle from the trader but the further she reads, the more she comes to understand the true nature of the document.

A love letter…

Fingers start to tremble, her mouth dries and her pulse beats a little quicker. Never before has she ever received such a thing. Men had tried to press gifts upon her either as a means to court her attentions or in a bid to reel her in the morning-after-the-night-before. But none, not one of them, had taken the time to write a letter whether couched in terms of playful contract or not.

Internally, the young woman within twirls with girlish delight wanting to press the sheaves close to her heart and stare dreamily off into space with a secretive smile in place while the business woman with plans, baulks and tries to shove the mooning half of herself into a dark closet and lock the door.

Utterly and completely conflicted, Prymelia scans through the document again, silently listing all the reasons why she should avoid any further contact with T’ral.

  • He’s a weyrling and so Off Limits it makes a trip to the Red Star seem possible.
  • Nowhere on any part of her five-turn plan, is there space or time for romantic entanglements.
  • Even once T’ral graduates, the disparity between their professions is as wide as the sky is long. He’s a dragonrider and she…not.
  • Her clan will never accept the addition of a dragonrider to their ranks even if unofficially. (Not that she really cares much about that one but it’s an excuse to hold onto.)
  • Flights. They were going to happen.
  • T’ral might be a dragonrider now but he’d been born to Nowtimer thinking and so therefore, likely to try and restrict her movements and freedom as a female trader just as her father keeps attempting to do.

And so the list goes on and on until eventually all she has left is to mentally underscore it with - ‘See All Of The Above!’

Even as she does so, her heart cries out in desperate plea to be heard. Battering with fragile flutters at the cage steely determination has locked it behind. Moisture gathers in hazel eyes and wells over tracking a silvery path of moisture down a cheek until gathering into a trembling globule, it drops off the point of her chin and onto the parchment, blurring a comical doodle sketched to one side.

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