Who

K'ane, Prymelia

What

In search of something, anything, to do to break the tedium of endless chores, Prymelia inflicts herself upon K’ane.

When

It is midmorning of the fourth day of the second month of the second turn of the 12th

Where

Ice Fields, From fireheights to The Klah Bark

OOC Date

 

k-ane_default.jpg prymelia_default.jpg


Fireheights

One of the first structures to go up, this fireheights is fresh-stamped metal and still rickety-feeling despite it being solid. This overlooks all the weyr, even the guest-weyrs, the farthest-out perch perilously looking down, down, down.


Perhaps it is a TEST. Of stupidity. If so, K'ane is certifiably dumb, perched all the way up here on the rickety fireheights — sure they may be solid but they FEEL rickety with the buffeting winds, not helped by the presence of a certain bronze circling the aerie peak with careless spirals. His rider is currently enjoying not being MOBILE in the air, staring down with abject fascination to the tiny ants of people far below.

In that case, certifiably dumb, or as Prymelia likes to call it, not-being-a-pussy, must be contagious for working her way up the steps, wrapped from head to foot in a strange assortment of shawls, comes a figure one must assume to be feminine because…shawls. By the time she reaches the top what can be seen of the woman from beneath the one wound about her head and shoulders – nose tip and cheeks – are flushed pink from cold. “This is just dumb.” She mutters cresting the last step with one arm quickly flung out to counter the rickety feeling. “What if you need to pee?” The unmistakable bulk of one large bronzerider isn’t hard to miss. In fact, if there were two more of him, he could double as Finger Rock and Star Stone. “Hey! You’re not peeing on their heads are you?” Fair question given she only has the back of him just now.

"I could. I bet my aim'd be pretty dammn good, even at this range, too." K'ane's rumbled response is amused, and he turns to squint at the shawl-swaddled Prymelia with eyebrows raised. He doesn't recognize her offhand, even though the harridan tilt of her voice should have knocked him upside the head by now, if you'd've asked him. "Didn't come up here t' kill yourself, did y'? I warn y' it wouldn't work, Dhioth's too quick for that." He gestures, chin-nod, out to the bronze who circles closer — *he* knows Prymelia when he sees her.

Whether K’ane IS actually relieving himself or not over the edge of the fireheights or not, the swaddled candidate shifts RIGHT up beside him. At least she doesn’t glance sideways to see if he might be. Nope. Dooooown drops her gaze, an impish grin tucked to a corner of her mouth. “Theory says there’d be icicles. Which could be lethal.” A snicker as a thought pops into her head and then is shared: “Death by pee. It’s almost the perfect crime. No evidence.” Having dropped that little gem Prymelia now glances at K’ane, checks out Dhioth circling closer and then at K’ane again cunning glinting in hazel regard. “Really? He’d catch me?” Uh oh.

"Oh, that's sick," K'ane stares at Prymelia for a long moment as if — "Prym?" He catches on slow, okay? He is definitely not the brains of this operation (hi Dhioth). He eyes her a long moment. "What in Faranth's name are you WEARING?" he asks, voice indicating how bizarre he thinks this pseudo-Igen-turban-wrap-mess-thing-clothing-ajehisethiqwtyiet is. "Oh no. No no no." There goes his nearest hand, aimed to land heavily on her shoulder to prevent her from doing ANY such thing. Dhioth swoops perilously close to the mountain-peaks, belly mere inches from skimming the treachery of rocky terrain.

“Ain’t it just?” Delighted agreement. “I bet it would work.” A pause and she tugs the shawl back a little further off her face. “K’ane.” Ta daaaah? Prymelia then runs a look down herself at his comment about her attire before fixing him with a brow-lifted look. “Whatever a poor waif such as myself could pilfer from the Lost and Found box. Its rather nice don’t you think? I call it The Onion look.” A little smirk is tossed out and beneath the layers of shawls, she starts to take a step backward – flying jump here we come! Foiled by that heavy hand on her shoulder. “Oh come on. Don’t tell me you’ve never done it before!?” With the gig up, she doesn’t even TRY to disguise her intent. “You’ll catch me won’t you, Dhioth?” She calls out to the bronze almost getting a belly rub from the rocky outcroppings.

"The Onion. Yeah, makes sense, lookin' at it makes me want t' cry," K'ane flatly replies, though his lips turn up at the corners. "Nope, nope, don't you even THINK," the bronzerider will fish at her other shoulder with his other hand, the better to square her AWAY from the edge leading to perilous doom. "Y'wanna do all that shit you can do it with a harness and a jump-cord like all th' sensible fools do. We don't need ANOTHER death out here," exasperated. Dhioth rumbles his accord with that rare sensibility of his lifemate. "Are y'crazy or just stupid?" K'ane finishes with, exasperation in his voice.

HURT! Prymelia is HURT, K’ANE! See the big sad eyes with tears welling in them? The trembling lower lip the…Oh who are we kidding! She just flipped him the bird and mouthed something exceedingly unladylike. One big heavy hand, TWO big heavy hands and apparently she’s not going anywhere. There is however a somewhat mutinous narrowing of hazel regard and a flattening of lips and then Prymelia just sighs and takes a step back. “I’m bored!” She tosses back. “Out-of-my-skull-I’m-going-to-jump-off-a-cliff-BORED!” And this is what happens when you coop a trader up in one place for too long and hand out menial tasks. Cabin Fever.

"If you're BORED I'm sure there are things y'could do that are PRODUCTIVE." Without further commentary K'ane shakes his head and moves towards the stairs down off the fireheights, little concern for the icy conditions. He is moving BELOW. Maybe even with purpose. Maybe even with purpose that will lead to a lessening of boredom.

K'ane strides to the The Rooftop.

The Rooftop
Slippery — watch your step! It's bloody mayhem up here, masons flattening out the cavern-top to be a suitable surface for living… or at least working.

“Scrubbing latrines and serving poncy fat-arsed gentry food and drink, isn’t productive its…its…” Did K’ane just turn around and walk off and LEAVE her ass there? Oh no did DIDN’T!! A last longing look is tossed toward the edge of the fireheights. Sorry Dhioth, maybe she’ll play Catch a Falling Trader with you another day. And off Prymelia stomps after the tall bronzerider uttering a curse here and there when she slips once or twice.

"You don't have t' follow me. I figured I'd leave you alone with your crazy desire t' DIE from your unceasing BOREDOM," K'ane calls back to Prym, one hand cupped around his mouth to carry the words through the cuttingly-cold mountain air. He glances up once at Dhioth, who has decided to spiral in for a landing on one of the ledges carefully chipped out from this even slab of stone. K'ane's not heading there, though — he's heading for that outcropping of rock that looks for all the world like a cozy little building. "You comin'?" he calls despite himself to Prym, half-pausing and shooting eyebrows upwards in a Well-Come-On-Then expression.

“Its YOUR fault!” Prymelia shouts back, the force of which is stripped away by the whirling winds. Dhioth’s chosen landing place is eyed but since K’ane isn’t heading that way, the Onion candidate will dog his rider’s steps. “Only if you’ve got booze in there!” Which as a candidate she’s not allowed but she follows him any way burrowing deeper into her layers.

"Uh huh, uh huh. It's not my fault. You could have chosen not to be a candidate!" Did K'ane really just say that? Really? Really. There's a joke there… surely. (Really, there's a shine of teeth, white, in the one look he tosses over his shoulder.) "It's warm, ain't that all you really need?" He steps past a worker bundled up even more than Prym in his steps in to the little hut, then cavalierly holds open the door for her. Wafts of warmth radiate outwards — that has to be a good sign, right?

“And you could have chosen not to be an ass and force Dhioth into…” Prymelia cuts that train of thought off for while she’s a mouthy one, she’s not cruel. Instead, she’ll execute a MOST mature gesture and stick her tongue out at K’ane’s broad back. Hopefully not when he decides to glance over his shoulder. With a snort: “If warm was all I really needed, I’d be pruning in the hot springs.” The walking man-shaped bundle of clothing is sidestepped but she hesitates just a fraction of a second when the door is held open for her. Women’s Lib protesting the gesture or trying to parse what’s going on in that head of his? Bland expression gives nothing away and in she steps into the enticing warmth of the small building.

And they say that chivalry is dead. C'mon let's be real: the reason K'ane did this is so that he wouldn't have a Prymelia at his back when he's going through a space that he can't turn and defend himself. He's a sensibly paranoid individual. Inside there is WARMTH from a huge fire over which pots of klah are brewing and warming - it's a makeshift space for the workers on the roof to warm themselves. A few people have gotten creative with some klah spice blends, and K'ane strips his gloves off and heads towards one at the end without waiting for Prym. "You should wheedle Renalde t' get duties up here. Doesn't it smell great?" It does, too, all the rich scent of roasted klah.

K'ane strides to the The Klah Bark.

You are a very, very wise man, K’ane. She may not have a blade to shank you with or the true urge to do so either, BUT there may certainly have been a WEDGIE employed. But alas, the man is wise. The shift from extreme cold to sudden inviting warmth pulls a shiver through Prymelia’s willowy shawl clad frame, the rich scent of klah and spices tweaking olfactory senses. Hands still tucked firmly under her arms so that unwittingly the former trader appears to strike a petulant pose, she trails behind the rider. “It smells like home.” Reluctant agreement without the accusation it might sound like she was going for. “I keep meaning to catch up with Renalde but he really seems to have his hands full.” A pause in which she fidgets as feeling slowly starts to return with pins and needles to her toes. “Congratulations by the way.”

"Home, eh?" K'ane slants a look over to her and procures two cups. "You'll get it back. It's half-finished, anyhow." That little bombshell drops and, "You want the…" he squints, "Special Southern Weyr blend or the Roasted Benden Apricot?" His voice sounds a little dubious. Someone is taking this whole klah-tastes thing a little TOO FAR if you asked the man peering at the little slate signs in front of the carafes. "Huh?" Congratulations fly over his head, and he - after a moment of trepidation - pours himself a mug of the third option, a brew titled simply 'not for the weak of heart'.

“S’not what I meant.” Prymelia returns but doesn’t clarify perhaps because K’ane drops that little bomb on her. For several moments she simply stares at him. “Really? Half-finished?” And for the first time in a long time a smile wide and true shows itself. And that appears to considerably brighten the former trader’s demeanor. “What sort of wood are using? Have you curved and lashed the wheels yet? Is it single or double-yoke?” Excitement trills through in a manner Nika would be proud of. As for flavored klah, a hesitant look is flicked the way of the sigh and then back to K’ane. “Uh. The one that tastes like klah” Yeah, simple tastes she has. At least when it comes to klah. Matters of promotions set aside for she’ll not press just now.

"Half-finished," K'ane confirms. "Skybroom — it's expensive as fuck just so you know. Wheels ain't done yet. Double yoked." He shakes his head. "I'm havin' the Smiths do the wheels, so we'll see if they can get their heads out of their crafter asses well enough to do them correctly." By the rankled expression on K'ane's face the bronzerider does not expect them to actually perform a satisfying job. But that's him on most crafters period, so… He pours her a cup of the apricot stuff and extends it out to her. He's still being a wuss and hasn't taken a sip of his own. (Scary freaking label, man.)

“Skybroom?” Mahogany brows tilt upward. Color her impressed and maaaaybe a little guilty for the expense going into rebuilding her mobile home. The latter of course, not allowed to show. “You didn’t go to Kralium did you?” Prymelia queries looking a little concerned about that smith in particular. “He’s good at what he does when he’s not hitting the sauce and oval wheels just aren’t going to cut it.” Just sayin’. Cautiously the mug of apricot flavored klah is sniffed at BEFORE she takes it from K’ane. No, she’s not sniffing your hand, dude. But it’s hot and dammit she was close to being a human Popsicle (momsicle?) out there. “What’s that like?” Yes, she’s noticed he’s not dared a tasting of his own yet. You first, mister. “I’m sorry. About yelling at you. I’m just not used to being in one place for very long.” How she coped in Igen is anyone’s guess.

"Do I look like an' idiot?" K'ane replies in regards to the choice of smith, but then lifts a hand - "Don't answer that. I have a feelin' what your answer would be." His eyebrows quirk at her but as she demands he politely takes a sip of his klah, face screwing up thereafter in a classic oh-too-bitter squicked expression. He heads for the sweetener. "They ain't kiddin'. That's too much taste, with almost havin' to chew it." Not a good thing. He chin-nods at hers. "How's yours?" His eyes are drawn to door, where a raucuous group of candidates have just entered in a flurry of ice-crystals and laughter. He doesn't, notably, say ANYTHING about that apology. Maybe he missed it!

Lips part. And close again. And then Prymelia sending him a sidelong smirk simply cannot resist. "No. But you do a fairly good impression of one sometimes." Perhaps a little too blunt her observation so she tosses in a, "Sir," for good measure. Reward is found in the reaction K'ane has to his klah which elicits a short laugh. "Maybe its better suited to klah taffy." But then she gamely steps up to the plate and chances a taste of hers. There's a blink followed by a tilt of head as she considers the taste and then as the flavor deepens she's taking up a nearby napkin and dabbing at her tongue. "Oh. Oh that's so many kinds of wrong. Its like making orange flavored beer. I'm sure Yules would like it though. Trade you?" The mug is nudged over to K'ane, she'll take her chances with the bitter, almost chewy stuff. And then her fellow candidates are arriving and Prymelia darts a look in their direction. "I should be going. I'm on service duty today in the dining hall." A pause and she glances back to the bronzerider. "Would you tell Dhioth I've forgiven him?" She doesn't wait for an answer for she's quickly slipping away leaving him with both mugs of klah.

K'ane takes the fruity stuff and almost reactively gives away his taffy-klah; in the whirlwind of Prymelia's leaving he just kind of stares at her retreating across the room. He rolls his eyes up to the ceiling: "Dhioth, that's just…" Weird? Strange? Wrong. Wrong? "I like citrus in my beer." It's said mostly to himself, but the expression on his face doesn't go with it as his eyes follow Prymelia's exit. Thoughtful looks from K'ane never herald anything good… right?

Add a New Comment