==== Finished January 25, 2014
==== Prymelia and Yules
==== Prymelia and Yules trade some chatter back and forth in the Library; few solutions are found.

Who Prymelia and Yules
What Prymelia and Yules trade some chatter back and forth in the Library; few solutions are found.
When One month and 27 days until the 12th Pass
Where Library Archives

Yules3.jpg Prymelia.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.

It is a bright, clear, happy morning, so the sensible place to be is outside, right? That's where most people seem to be, in the relative quiet of the Library - even the purveyors of food have taken most of their wares outside, leaving a minimal spread for the likes of Yules who has moved a writing table over to roughly half-way between the garden and the food. It's brilliant. Not even Ocelot is hunting her down in here - half are furious with her, and half are unsure how to treat the new WingSecond, so they don't. Yules has some open books before her which she consults, a long finger tapping one page while Yules writes something down on another, newer hide. Scritch scritch goes the pen.

One would expect a trader to among those enjoying the cheerful outdoors. But then it’s rare that Prymelia ever does what is expected of her. Offering a laundry girl who passes by clutching a tale of dashing heroes and beautiful damsels in distress to her chest, a smile, the brightly clad young woman with her hair drawn back in a pair of thick braids, heads toward a wide cabinet with flat drawers. Passing by Yules to do so, she’s offered a polite smile should she look up but little else for the time being.

In fact, it is so quiet that anyone passing by Yules' little centre of operations will draw her attention, if only to make sure this person isn't here to scowl at her too. Poor, put-upon Yules. Except her expression isn't that of a down-trodden drudge child, it's a fierce half-smile of anticipation… Until Yules sees Prymelia and the fierce grrr-look drops into general pleasantry. "Hello," she starts, and without more preamble, "You're T'ral's fixation, right?" Maybe she'll try that again, "I mean, the girl he's starry-eyed for?" Hey, T'ral, Yules may have accidently just rescinded your man-card.

Catching that scowly-fierce expression Yules is trying to wear, the trader arches a brow then glances behind her for surely it can’t be directed at her? No one’s there. Huh. Go figure. Adopting a resigned air and bracing for the bollocksing the other looks set to grace her with, Prymelia’s left staring a little blankly when the brownrider’s words catch up with her. “I’m sorry…his what now?” Hazel regard narrows eeeverso slightly.

Yules wasn't being scowly, she was being… snarly. That's not much better, is it? But she's trying to make up for it now, with superpleasant Yules! "I mean, his lady, his sweetheart, ahhh…." In the search for more nouns, Yules starts to look a bit apprehensive: "Unless… that's not the case anymore?" That comes out a bit worried, and Yules continues unnecessarily, "I thought I knew what's going on, but I guess… it's been a while? Or were you with someone else at the graduation evening?" A creasing of the eyebrows gives Yules an unusual, lost expression.

The more words and explanations Yules begins to toss at her, so the more Prymelia relaxes until eventually she’s wearing an amused smirk. “Yes, I’ve been seeing T’ral,” she confirms though doesn’t cop to any of the nouns that have been thrown out there. “You’re Yules, right? You led the weyrling wing?” The connection made though she’s apparently oblivious to recent promotions not being acquainted with the different knots ‘riders wear and their meanings. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember your dragon’s name.” A pause and then: “Prymelia.” No, she’s not just renamed Desmeth. That’s her.

Success! Yules starts to relax into her seat again, having been let off the hook, muttering to herself about romance and why she doesn't do it. Back to the conversation, "Yes. Yules to Desmeth." Speaking of which, he's having a Word, so Yules waves a hand at an easily-dragged-over chair, "Have a seat, if you'd like." Taking a moment to shuffle a few papers off her desk, Yules looks back up, still Pleasantries Ahoy! on her face, "Why are you in the library on a day like this?"

While the twitch of lips says that she appreciates the offer of joining the rider, Prymelia doesn’t immediately take her up on it but instead covers the short distance back to the map cabinet. Still within speaking and hearing distance, she opens first one and then another drawer before she finds what she’s looking for and extracts a large flat sheet from it. “Heading out tomorrow,” the trader replies moving back to the table and eyeing the space Yules has made. Will it be enough? “Just wanted to check on something,” she says with a little wiggle of hands that causes the tightly woven sheet to make a little crinkling sound. “I could ask the same of you,” she states, alto lilting upwards into query.

Take it or leave it; Yules doesn't seem to mind much. She does watch Prymelia's progress to the point where she has a map, which gets a long, curious look, but who knows what's in there. "Oh, that's right, you're a trader, right?" What her own presence is doing in here earns a hitched thumb at the books, "I'm making sure my wing drills are sound. Some aren't happy with 'em.” This should explain everything, right? "And it's quieter in here."

“Aye,” Prymelia returns with a dip of head, a fierce pride shining in hazel regard as sets the map to a corner of the table and slipping a hand into a hidden pocket, extracts a folded square of gauzy fabric. Laying it over the top of the map so that the markings below shine through, a fair portion of the details beneath have already been transferred with neat lines of embroidery. Moving the fabric by minute increments, it’s soon lined up and the trader glances up, a brow arched in surprise. “You’re still leading the weyrling wing? I thought you’d all been…what was the word again…taped?” Or something like that.

Yules watches Prymelia's movements curiously, eyeing the detail on the fabric and the map: "Ohhhhh, you're copying your own map." This makes sense to Yules, evidently though she wonders, "Wouldn't the Harpers be able to make copies for you? Or, have a bunch on hand?" But who knows what Harpers are thinking, so she absentmindedly corrects, "Tapped. Tapped into a wing." And then Yules starts to pay attention again as someone peeks in through the doorway - a short apprentice, thankfully, so she relaxes, "I was tapped to Ocelot. And then got promoted to WingSecond." Which sounds impressive, until Yules waves a hand at her hides, "So I have to make sure my drills are perfect." There's a little gritting of teeth there. Ahem.

“They could but then I’d have to have a harper along with me to make the additions.” Prymelia replies carefully studying an area on the map before marking it in with dressmaker’s chalk. “Oh. Right. Tapped,” she echoes and glances up, brows lifting. “Wingsecond in the Weyrleader’s wing?” Yeah, even she knows who Ocelot are. “Go girl power!!” Grin. She’d probably offer Yules a high five too but that would mean risking moving the gauzy fabric before she’s ready to do so.

Ahhh. Yules nods thoughtfully, "That's an excellent point. And another mouth to feed." Sooner or later, it's all food logistics. Prymelia's congratulations earns less than the usual receiving of felicitations, Yules taking a long, deep breath: "Thank you. It's… going to be work." That sounds nice and cheerful, right? Yules looks over Prym's shoulder into the distance for a moment, reflecting, "It's going to take some… convincing."

There’s an approving curl of lips when Yules catches onto the practical problems of taking another along that probably wouldn’t be likely to do much to earn his keep other than make up annoying ditties until she ditched him on the side of the road somewhere. “I started learning to chart when I was ten,” she goes on to tell the wingsecond. But then, catching the other woman’s rather dampened enthusiasm for her promotion, laying one hand flat on the center of the fabric, the trader slowly straightens and fits her with an intent look. “Because you don’t have a dick or a pair of balls.” Blunt. “Well screw ‘em. Women are better at analyzing the angles than a man is. Besides, the Weyrleader wouldn’t have given it to you if he didn’t think you could hack it, aye?”

Nodding, Yules approves in return: "Good to have a skill like charting. When I was leaving home…" Yules pauses, frowning, "No, wait, I tried it, and I was terrible. I was more interested in tubers and fingerroots back then." And thus came Yules' trader-ways to a sudden, ignominious end. So she turns to the more interesting facet of the conversation: "I'm pretty certain on that, and Desmeth is dead set. A lot of the riders are surprised because the Weyrleader's gone on so long without a WingSecond. So why now?" A snort at the hides Yules put to one side, "All I know is that the drills need some fresh air. Making people do things that they're not used to doing."

There’s a grin to Yule’s confession along with a shrug of shoulders. “Hey, if it wasn’t for people like you,” the cooksy kinds, “men would starve.” Because women, they can take care of themselves right? Dropping her gaze though by no means her attention another couple of markings are made and Prymelia sets the small stub of blue chalk aside. “Going by that scowly, snarly thing you were doing earlier before you decided not to eat me for breakfast?” cue the impish crook of mouth; “I reckon you’re probably fierce enough to whip ‘em into shape.” There’s a pause wherein humor slips away and a solemn cast draws about freckled features. “There wasn’t Thread before,” she quietly remarks on the ‘why now?’ aspect of things.

A half-shrug is Yules' acknowledgement to Prymelia's point, and she's loath to grin at the description of her own earlier expression, but sooner or later, thin lips begin to curl into a faint grin, "I am, aren't I." Just don't let it go to her head. "I don't actually eat people for breakfast," the taller woman comments, just in case there's a rumour, but the comment on Thread has a sobering effect, "No. And it's annoying that it hasn't been back since, except for that one false-alarm up North…" Stupid, inconsistent, lazy Thread. A little sigh and Yules sits back, thinking aloud, "Maybe once the Pass starts for real, the Wing will settle in." A skewed eye cuts to Prymelia, "You'll be safe out there, right?" As if there's an option of 'no' to that question…

Prymelia makes a zipping of lips gesture and then carefully begins to refold the gauzy fabric and pockets both it and the chalk. “I taste too good any way. You’d probably need some salt or something.” Dry. But then Thread. Dark mahogany brows quickly forge toward one another. “Perhaps it’s a bit like getting water from a pump? You know, it sort of comes in fits and starts?” The trader posits on the wily ways of the ancient Thread. As to the question put to her by Yules, that frown lingers. “We have a few shelters set up but not nearly as many as I’d hoped to have by now. It’s been…slow going.”

"A pump…" Yules taps a finger to the table in thought, "That… could make sense. Sputtering before it hits full-on… Maybe I should go over those old Thread patterns again, see if there's… anything else…" Distracted Yules is distracted. Except that she nods about the shelters: "Is it the lack of man-power? Or enough supplies?" Not that Yules can do anything about it, but, "I'm sure we have plenty of Smiths who could give a hand by now."

“Hey, if you find anything, give me a shout, aye? We’re going to need to know when it’s safe to head out on the road and when we need to be heading for shelters.” Prymelia notes of her kind. “We…I can’t afford to waste any time cooling my heels.” That a little tightly given but no pause is allowed for expansion for there comes a frustrated sigh. “Supplies aren’t an issue. The Headman makes sure we have enough of those. It’s more a case of time. And to a degree, manpower. It can take up to two sevens to travel to a potential shelter only to discover its either inhabited by felines or simply too small for a wagon and runners to shelter in. The others have said they won’t go further a-field until I can guarantee viability. Truthfully? I need dragonriders but with after that disaster over Keroon…” words drift off for she’s well aware how thinly spread the fighting forces currently are.

Yules nods seriously, "I'll make sure the Weyr knows. And then get a message to you, if you're out." Please leave a message after the firelizard. She's listening intently to the Trader's problem but sighs: "Well, if the queens continue producing as they are," reminiscing over the newest batch of 42 eggs on the Sands, "That might happen. But," Yules taps a finger to the table under her, "that's the Weyrleader's call." Ergo, silently, not a Wingsecond's. "What about taking a wher with you?"

Any reply Prymelia might have been formulating mentally is flamed to ash by Yules’ last. Dark lashes drop and lift and drop and lift again in a rapid blink. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” There’s even a slight sag of jaw in disbelief. “Take a…what with me!?” For surely she hadn’t heard right.

"Whers. Watchwhers." Yules eyes Prymelia warily, "I know they're Hold security, but surely they could keep you safe on your journeys." Then she adds, as if this is a sudden consideration, "Unless they're not good to travel with." It's just a thought, right? Yules shrugs, "And if you can get one." Rarity value. On the other hand, Yules asks, "Or firelizards? A lot easier to get a hold of, but not as helpful in a fight?"

Astonishment slowly morphs into amusement and that into a short laugh. “Sure, if I sold myself to a Lord Holder as a concubine to get up the marks and trading power enough to get my hands on one. And then, I’d only be able to travel at night because they’re nocturnal.” She does however appreciate Yules’ attempt at offering a solution, her last getting a short nod. “Aye, I have a little green and she went berserk when the Thread started falling up North. They all did. Even the wild ones, so I reckon that’s at least some warning.”

Yules considers that and huhs, "Good point." Prymelia's words get a curled lip from the brownrider, with an addendum, "That doesn't sound good in the least." From one self-supportive woman to another, Yules lends a supporting small grin but little more. Time for the Yules special: the awkward silence. "So. Um." She's still watching Prymelia, hazel eyes steady, until they unfocus briefly: "How are things with T'ral, then?" Since they didn't seem to fully finish that section of the conversation earlier.

Having gathered the embroidered gauze map into her lap, Prymelia crosses back over to the wide cabinet to return the one she’d taken out to copy from. About to make a polite departure she’s drawn up short by Yules’ question. Silence, not so much awkward as contemplative, ribbons out, the breaking of it arriving in the form of a question. “Do you ask as a friend of his or as a former wingleader of his?” Composed freckled features give little away of what’s going on in that busy, busy mind of the trader’s.

Yules watches Prymelia move about, but the return question has the grey flecked head tipping to one side: "As a former clutchmate," Yules responds solidly, and continues, "We essentially lived cheek to jowl for a year." Fingers lace together and Yules sits back, "So he's a friend." Is there a way to explain that bond fully? "And I like the idea that he's happy." A pause and she adds with a little grin, "But if you'd rather not say, okay." Yules, being weird? Say it ain't so. "I'm not his wingleader any longer, either. 'd have no right to ask in that respect."

Apparently Prymelia must find the brownrider’s reply to be what she was looking for, for features warm and a smile emerges for Yules. “I think I get that. Sort of like…adopted siblings or something,” she says of her understanding with regards to clutchmates. “Things were a bit rocky for a while,” she can admit to that, “but we’re working on it.” And going by the fond spark to hazel eyes, it’s going well enough. A short gap of silence in which the trader tips her head to one side and regards the other woman quietly. “And you? You don’t have someone to tumble in the furs with?” She is nothing if not forthright. “Stress relief,” Prymelia goes on to add with a wicked little grin curling about her mouth, “saves lives.”

Adopted siblings. Yules grins at the comparison, and nods. "It isn't easy," she agrees, "But T'ral's a fine person." What more can Yules say on this that Prymelia dosn't know? Very little. It's a shame that Yules' complexion has faded under riding scarves because it means her blushes are so much more prominent, "Ahhhhh… me?" A gesture to the hides before her, "I've had so little ti…" Her own overly honest nature, and a proud dragon, demand the correction, "Uhhh, I have an… understanding." Eyes squeeze shut briefly, then crack open, "For after flights."

A warm smile along with a nod of scarved head brings Prymelia’s agreement on the bluerider under discussion. “Aye, that he is. I fear I might lead him down the path of corruption and debauchery.” And she’s looking anything but apologetic for that. But then, a confession from Yules elicits a husky laugh of delight from the trader. “Go you!” Thoroughly approving until something catches up with her and curiosity shines bright across her expression. “What do you mean for….after flights?” She’s not totally up on with all this dragonriding and flight stuff yet. Save for the winning of flights. That she gets. Heh.

The moment Yules finishes her sentence, her shoulders tighten, even with Prymelia's lauding. She's bracing for the next logical question, but when it turns out to not be as expected, Yules eyes the Trader with some relief. "Well, ahhh," How to put this into non-rider words? It's like explaining sex to young apprentices: "After a flight, if a dragon doesn't win," Yules begins slowly, "His rider is still feeling the, er, tension and, um, urge." She hurries to add, "Usually I go for a run, or punch something, but sometimes it's a bit much, sooooo," one hand waves circularly with ergoism, vis-a-visness, "It gets taken care of." Have we reached the limit of Yules' comfort zone? She's pushing back her chair, rising to her feet, and collecting her pages, "Ahhh, Desmeth needs me. For a bath. Yes. He insists on being clean." The smile she sends to Prymelia is partly shy, partly embarrassed, "If you'll excuse me. Safe travels, Trader!" And like a firelizard on a mission, Yules is hightailing it out of the Library.

Curious Prymelia, is curious!! And so she listens with rapt attention to the explanation Yules provides. Several pieces of a puzzle she’s trying to put together slot into place, evidenced by a quietly breathed, “Aaaah,” as the AHA moment unlids the glowbaskets in head. “So like even if they lose you’re all…you know…” vague hand gestures are made in the air. “Aye, running or punching’s not gonna make that go away.” A firm nod put to that. But then, the brownrider is hastily gathering up her things and departing quicker than a flit Between. Much to the trader’s delight, a husky chuckles floating after the newly minted wingsecond. Repressed people are so much FUN!!

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