Who

Sevreni, Prymelia

What

Sevreni comes to Prymelia to purchase a special blend of tea.

When

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

Where

Southern Weyr, Clearing

OOC Date

 

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Clearing
The rise from sea to Weyr is made serene by a charming road winding sand-trodden from beach below to stonecut entrance above. The path wanders among a surprisingly green valley where purple flowers bloom in charmingly unfettered profusion. The meadows themselves are often in high demand as picnic areas, for dragons are not allowed to land in the narrow valley itself. No trees nor cliff lies near to shadow the clearing, however, and the intensity of sun can be unbearable for those not familiar with the humid drench of Southern's summers.
It is the sixty-fourth day of Winter and 57 degrees. Partly cloudy, the storm seems to be mostly gone with only the occasional short falls of rain painting the ground.
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Belior: 1_m27.jpg

With the storm having receded to a dark line smudged along the horizon of the sea, those traders with their wagons gathered together in the clearing have emerged with a cheerful chorus of activity lilting across the morning air. Prymelia is amongst them and perched atop the set of little steps leading up into her wagon, she has a length of black sisal coiled into her lap, her needle flicking in and out, a snapshot of a bazaar slowly starting to come together in vibrant hues. “…and then she said, not on your Nelly not realizing that the man’s wife’s name was, Nelly.” Silvery laughter peels out, joined by that of the woman nearby hanging washing from a line strung between two wagons, a wide-eyed little boy clinging to her skirts with his thumb stuck into his mouth.

Sevreni occasionally has the desire to go on walkabout and is certainly not a foreign face in the bazaar, given the way the kids run to greet her arrival and the solemn handing-out of a piece of candy each, retrieved from all over and once, memorably, even behind a little boy's ear. Soon enough, however, she's striding deeper along the curve, until she approaches Prymelia's wagon. One hand is held up in greeting to the women about, each greeted by name, before she closes the last bits of distance between herself and the younger trader. "Good morning," she greets idly, hunkering down next to the steps to look at the needlework first. A womanly art she has no interest in, beyond admiring the artistry another's needle can create. "How'd the storm treat everyone here? Well, I hope."

Glancing up at a familiar voice, Prymelia folds her hands in her lap and offers the older woman a smile. “Sevreni, good morning.” The woman she’d been speaking to sends similar greeting from around the wooden pegs in her mouth and the little boy hiding behind her skirts eyes the non-trader with round eyes. “Wet.” The mahogany haired young woman adds for the storm recently passed. “We’ll be glad once the rainy season is over and the trails start to dry out. The men…” a group gathered about a fire looking about as happy as wet felines, “are starting to get restless.”

"Snip them like draybeasts, that'll soon sort out their restlessness," Sevreni teases, and digs in her pocket for a last piece of candy. That's handed to the boy's mother to give to the boy, and she squints at the tapestry. "Igen?" An educated guess, since that's the only big bazaar scene she can think of. "Next time you lot don't feel like waiting it out in the rain, come on over to the Kitten. I charge minimally for the roof." There's a small smile at that, a slick of humour in her voice: definitely a tease. "I'm here for some of the contraceptive tea. There are a couple new girls at the bar, and one's Holder-born and shy, so I agreed to come over if she works the late shift tomorrow." Sevreni has not, nor will she ever be, shy.

An insular community for the most part, Sevreni’s comment earns her a few slightly narrowed looks from the women within hearing distance when a slight against their men is perceived. But they say nothing, at least not to the tall slender woman though there are a few mutters passed between one another as they slowly drift away to other tasks. The candy handed the woman hanging up washing is met with a light curl of lips and tucked into her pocket, honey-brown eyes carrying a suspicious cast to them. The lad will not be having it just yet it seems. “Aye,” Prymelia confirms slipping her needle safely into the ebony fabric and smoothing a palm over the scene unfolding. “Tea?” A brow of deepest red arches upward. “If she’s wanting tea to stop the production of bairns then she’s obviously not that shy,” she quips, pretty mouth folding about a smirk. Folding her work and setting it to a basket at her side, the young woman rises with the grace of a dancer and disappears into her wagon to emerge a moments later with a small pouch that gives off a pungent odor. “It’s bitter and should be drunk without sweetner first thing in the morning, every morning. Miss a morning and I can’t speak to its effectiveness.”

Insular enough to irk Sevreni, but no trace of it slips past her expression. One shoulder lifts and falls. "I've got no quarrel with them as wants no children," she points out, carefully balancing. "Less chance I'm going to lose a couple of my girls to carrying riders' kids." Things get rough around the bar during flights, especially the gold ones. Taking the pouch, weighing it in her palm, she continues to look at the scene as she waits for the trader to name her price. "Awful lot of sand-coloured stuff," she finally mutters. "Can't think how you didn't go mad there."

Unwanted pregnancies not having not been the gist of the comment she’d made, Prymelia lets it slide by, a sly flicker of amusement casting about pretty features at mention of gold flights with a touch of melancholy stitched along the edges. There and gone as swiftly as the caress of a moth’s wing. The price she names for the precious pouch of herbal tea is steep and delivered without a crease of shame. A soft and silky laugh follows next and she waves her free hand at the colorful clothing she wears drifting it back to her gaily painted wagon and then touching fingertips to the vibrant hues of cloth tumbling down as if from the sky itself of the scene she’s working on. “We have our means of keeping life interesting,” she tells Sevreni with a little grin emerging.

Offer and counter-offer, this one as low as Prymelia's was high, delivered in an idle monotone at the beginning of another look at the sisal. "And are you intending on going back there soon?" Sevreni asks thoughtfully, slowly moving to her feet to give her knees a rest. Body, a tad too thin, moves to lean on the side of the colourful wagon. "I've been there once or twice, but the place stinks like a midden, and some of that crowd's too dodgy even for myself. It's lucky you were returned to us with no overt damage. Would have hated to go over there to bust snoots."

Up peaks a brow at Sevreni’s counter offer. “These are A grade herbs, harvested from deep within the Southern wilds,” the trader tells her. “You’ll not find better or more effective. Of course,” the pouch is curled into her palm, “you could always ask the healers but they’ll charge you twice as much given that they get their herbs…from us.” A crafty light glints in hazel eyes and a price slightly lower than the first named is given. Drawing her willowy frame up tall, Prymelia fits the Kitten’s owner with an intent look. “I was born in Igen and raised there for the passed ten turns of my life.” Pointed her naturally husky tone. “And I’ve made some good friends there too. This that I’m working on,” slender fingers flick toward her embroidery, “is for one of them. So yes, I’ll be going back for a visit soon.”

The haggling continues, thick and strong; no more comments made about Igen, or families, the bartender is paying attention to business. When finally they (hopefully) settle on a number of fractional marks suited to both their tastes, she reaches into an inner-tunic pocket and counts the marks off slowly. "Travel well then. I'll hopefully see you at the Kitten soon."

With a glint of triumph in her eyes, Prymelia happily accepts the agreed upon price and turns the pouch of tea over to Severeni. “A pleasure doing business with you, Sev.” The marks pocketed. “If there’s anything you want from up Igen way, just give me a shout and I’ll pick it up for you.” Is offered with a warm smile emerging now that business is concluded. “I might drop by for a bottle of that White Mountain? Is that what you called it? Got a friend that could do with being knocked on his arse.” There’s a wicked little grin for that along with a lift of slender hand in farewell before she turns back to her needlework.

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