Linden, Prymelia


Prymelia has a pair of boots and is on a mission of ‘mercy’, Linden gets drawn in to help.


It is midmorning of the seventh day of the first month of the second turn of the 12th pass.


Southern Weyr, Boardwalk

OOC Date


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Ancient-cut stone stretches broad, smoothed by the wind and the weather and the rain to create a boisterous center of commerce. Wood overlays stone in places, patterned and pretty, to attract the eye of those traversing the strip to particular vendors. Though not the size of the tremendous markets of the North, the boardwalk's offerings show the knowledge of ageless crafters: Smith contraptions, Herder-certified animals, Starcraft maps and Weaver textiles are only some of the things that may be purchased, among the spicy scents of beach food and the contrast of bright shells and dark stones from the shoreline.

While the morning still retains a /bit/ of coolness, Linden is down in the boardwalk, the Candidate meandering and peering curiously at this and that, thoughtful, poking here and there, drifting during his morning chore break. Aster sits on his shoulder, the young gold firelizard peering around with just as much curiosity as her person.

Shouldn’t candidates be going about chores at this time of day? Prymelia won’t tell if Linden doesn’t for there she is coming in the opposite direction with a large covered basket and a VERY smug expression in place. She hasn’t spotted her fellow candidate yet and stops at a stand selling all manner of boot laces, a bright pink set having caught her attention. “They don’t look long enough.” She mutters to herself and hauls out of her basket what looks to be one half of a pair of men’s fancy dress boots in brown with laces woven from toe to knee.

Linden was up early helping in the kitchens and now he's got a break before the lunch rush. "Prymelia!" Linden calls, surprised, drifting in his fellow Candidate's direction. "Hey, what're you doing down here? Oh those are neat." Laces or boots? Hard to tell, his attention is already elsewhere.

“Linden!” Does Prymelia look a little guilty? Maybe but its there and gone again so quickly he might only see the blank façade of airy calm. “Aren’t they? But they’re lacking flair. I mean, you can’t really call them dress boots if they’re not…dressy, right?” The bright pink laces are draped over the toe of a boot obviously man-sized. Then again, they could belong to a VERY big woman. “What do you think? These or…” A lime green pair are dived on. “These?” Yes, Linden, you are being enticed into becoming an accomplice.

Linden tilts his head a bit, puzzled. "Shouldn't they be brown?"

Prymelia frowns at Linden and then with the patience of one addressing someone who might be a little slow, explains: “They’re already brown. Brown is boring. It’s the color…wood and sand and poop. No. These need something SPECIAL!”

Linden blinks. "But…I thought things had to match. With formal stuff at least? Whose are those anyway?"

“Well normally they do but see, the owner of these boots, well he’s…been having a rough time of it lately.” Leaning closer, Prymelia murmurs for Linden’s ears only: “He recently lost a ball in a bad fall and he’s feeling a little self-conscious about it. Thinks the ladies won’t look at him the same. So I figure if they’re looking at his boots, he won’t feel so bad, aye?”

Linden blinks a few times, his cheeks coloring. He /stares/ at the boots. "But…wouldn't his boots be off…if they were looking at his balls - ball?" Yes. That was the FIRST thing that came to his mind. "How do you just lose a ball? Wouldn't he have lost some of his leg too? It's not…like…unless he was doing a headstand with his legs spread…" He's puzzled, trying to work this out. Because the possibility of her lying just isn't a possibility.

“Tsk!” Prymelia gives a toss of head decides on the lime green laces, handing the mark bit over. “The boots don’t always have to come off. Where do you think the term ‘knocking boots’ comes from if they’re off? Besides, he has really gnarly toes so yeah, he keeps ‘em on.” Easily explained as she tucks her purchase into the top of one of the boots and moves toward another stall. The bit about how just the one dangly appendage had been affected brings with a shrug of shoulders. “Look, that’s all I know. Maybe he went skinny dipping and a fish bit it off but he’s embarrassed by that so he said it was Thread?” Here Linden, being a male, is set with a browlifted look. Possible?

Linden blinks at her. "How do /you/ know he lost a ball and he's got gnarly toes?" He twitches, his hips shifting juuuust enough. "That'd be awful." He turns his head to EYE the sea.

“He told me.” Prymelia confides coming to a pause at a stand selling strips of fur in various different hues as well as having several little bowls of shiny metal discs. “Why would a man lie about something like that, hmm?” That she’s lying through her teeth is apparently a different matter entirely. “Right?” She prompts at Linden’s last. “So I thought maybe if I got a few things together, the others might like to help me jazz up his boots a little. You know, lift his spirits so to speak.” Cunning the sideways glance to the younger male. “You reckon they might be interested?”

Linden follows along after her, blinking at the boots. "Whose are those? And does he /want/ us to make them fancier? I dunno, I thought boots were just…boots."

“It wouldn’t be right to tell you.” Prymelia replies picking through the bits of feline fluff on offer. “Because then you might tell the others.” Slyyyy the innocent bat of lashes. “Unless of course you’re really good at keeping secrets?” Are you, Linden? Can you keep a secret? Two pieces of deep purple fur trim are selected. “Oh, does them want them fancier. I just know it. He’ll love them and be everso grateful that we did such a thoughtful thing for him.”

Linden is starting to get /suspicious/. "No, I can't keep secrets." Because he doesn't want to know and he's eying those books askance. "You sure he does?"

Linden's level of honesty draws a tinkle of delighted laughter and Prymelia even goes so far as to ruffle her fiingers through his hair. "I know he does! You'll do it won't you?" The former trader whirls about and sets the younger male with the most charming of smiles, lashes lowering and then flipping up again to reveal heartfelt plea in hazel regard. "You'll help me to help a friend?" There's a girlish bounce added. "Please?"

Linden ducks his head away with a sound of protest, batting at her hand. "Hey!" he says with a decided POUT. Then she's LOOKING at him. With her eyes. And lashes and stuff…Linden is nearly hypnotized. "Yeah." What? No, stop talking! "Yeah I'll help." Noooooo

A totally girly squeal of delight greets Linden’s agreement to help – affected of course – and Prymelia looks very much like she might even plant a kiss to his cheek. “You are a darling! I could kiss you!” She declares instead and quickly gather up the purple fur, a handful of shiny discs and pays for the purchases.

Linden flushes darkly, down to his neck at /that/ statement. "You could…" he mutters, probably too low for her to hear.

So enthralled with her new ‘arts and crafts’ project, Prymelia misses the muttered comment come from Linden. Sadly so or she might have obliged. Just then, her nemesis, Jorly comes strutting down the Boardwalk looking very much like she has a stick up her butt. “I’m gonna tell that you’re not mucking stables,” she sniffs in response to which, the former trader quickly flips the cover over the boots and lends the skinny blonde a saccharine sweet smile. “You do that, sweetie and I’ll tell Rigen,” the stablehand Jorly has been moon-eyed over, “that you stuff your bra.” A wink at Linden and then off sails the Trouble ship Prymelia.

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