Renalde, Prymelia


Renalde gets kissed at the Igen Post Hatching Party


It is late night of the twenty-fifth day of the fifth month of the first turn of the 12th pass.


Igen Weyr, Living Cavern

OOC Date


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Living Cavern

Dim light from hanging glow-globes cannot fully camouflage the ravages of time and neglect on Igen's busy living caverns, though hints of its former glory peek through in the decorative cuts to the cave's natural limestone and the high quality of dusty, tatty-ended tapestries. Here and there, skybroom tables — stained dark by wood finish and a decade of grime — sit in loose groups, flanked by wicker chairs with pointy, broken rattan that pokes out to invariably find unprotected skin. The seemingly randomly placed furniture, however, at closer inspection, forms a sort of cross-shape of negative space. At the northernmost walls and nooks of the caverns, a long buffet table with tarnished lazy susans hosts an array of finger-foods and pitchers for the interested, refilled occasionally by drudges that shuffle in from the curtained entrance to the south, beyond which lies the kitchens. To the east is a large arch leading outside and, across from that, to the west, a set of rattling doors that open to reveal the tunnels and stairs of the inner caverns themselves.

The bustle of the post-hatching party is cooling, though it still remains in full swing. People laugh and joke despite the late hour and the rather… unusual attire of many of the attendants. No one seems at all upset by their untucked tunics and sleeping gowns. Amid all of the hustle and bustle stands one beacon of silence. The tall Southern Headman is in Igen for the night. Properly dressed he looks slightly out of place among all of the rowdy party-goers, and even stranger still, he actually holds a glass in his hand.

Prymelia, soon after being ushered off the sands with a kind words and offers that she remain in Igen with the other candidate hopefuls left standing, had quietly returned to the barracks and changed into something more her style. While it holds a little more color, its still a fairly demure creation for the former candidate though is added a dash of elegance with mahogany tresses upswept and held in place with a comb crafted in the shape of an avian in flight. Watching as a weeping Morin is consoled by doting parents (hers glaringly absent), Prymelia peels away from the corner she’d taken refuge in to refresh her drink and then comes to an abrupt halt that has a bronzerider walking straight into the back of her. “Oy! Watch it girlie,” he slurs and tries to leer down her front. With an expressive roll of eyes she ignores him and heads straight for the oddity out of Southern. “Headman. You’re the very last person I expected to see here.” And going by the careful smile, she seems pleased by his presence. “Come to sneak a peek at Prineline’s handiwork?” The hand with her empty glass is swept about the décor dressing up the living caverns.

"I have no need to 'peek' at Prineline's handiwork when it ceases to change other than to add layers." Renalde's tone holds faint amusement as he turns towards Prymelia. The liquid in his glass swirls just slightly in his elegant hand. Piercing blue eyes regard Prymelia from head to toe, taking in the colours upon her frame. "I am glad to see you have not attached yourself to a youngling tonight."

Curling her empty glass in toward her chest, Prymelia’s lips twitch though the humor doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Perhaps you could hold a conference for Headmen and ‘women around Pern to share with them your fine eye for detail.” She returns. Whatever humor had lurked, slips away and Renalde is set with an unreadable look for his comment about her having failed to impress. “Aye, it would have been most inconvenient.” Not to mention costly in terms of having bet her entire life’s savings against herself.

The flickering of emotion in Prymelia's gaze is not lost on the observant Renalde and a single eyebrow peeks upwards. "T'ral mentioned that you had a plot afoot. Will it be finished soon so that you can return home?" To anyone else it would seem like Renalde holds no stake in the phrase he has just uttered, as it falls from his lips almost dismissively and is followed by the cup lifting to his lips.

Prymelia probably stiffens notably at knowledge given that she has a Plan on the cards. “T’ral talks too much for his own good,” she returns tightly and glances away as a bout of raucous laughter lifts up from a group of Whirlwind riders. Returning her attention to the tall Southern Headman, hazel eyes regard him in silence for a few moments. “Do you want me to come back?”

"That he does." Renalde will comment with the faintest line of humor over her commentary on his son. The glass is lifted to his lip, and unlike the woman, he does not look over to where the more rowdy Igenites party. After just a sip, enough to wet his lips, the glass goes down again. "My dear, we never wanted you to leave. Southern is open to all who are willing to take on her challenges, and you," Renalde reaches one hand out to lay it upon Prymelia's shoulder and squeezes just gently. "Took that challenge."

Does she seem to care that she’s just dissed the man’s son? Apparently not. With practiced ease Prymelia swaps her empty glass out for a full one of some or other unrecognizable concoction as a drudge sweeps by with a tray. Having lifted her glass to her lips not caring what’s in it and of a mind to get quietly sozzled, the redhead twitches in surprise at the warm weight of the hand to her shoulder. Hazel eyes narrow ever so slightly and Renalde is put under closer scrutiny. Is he drunk!? Recovering herself a small smile appears and she has to glance away as a silly rush of emotion sweeps in. “You knew just how to piss me off enough to motivate me to do so.” She tells the Headman with a trace of genuine humor at play. A pause and then quietly. “Does that mean that my contract still stands?”

A real smile crosses Renalde's features, though it is fleeting at best before settling back into the calm and almost severe face he typically wears. "Some need a bit of a push." He'll allow just that much to fall before turning back to business. "Your contract still stands. If your business was settled you would find that E'cape would be more than willing to bring you home when he ferries me back."

The heavens open and a ray of golden light halos about Renalde while angels sing in ethereal chorus. Renalde SMILED at her!! There’s a crooked little twist of lips for the notation he makes of motivations required but Prymelia lends no verbiage to the fact that he has her so cleverly pegged. A full smile, genuine and filled warmth curls about her mouth next putting her in very real danger of a PDA. But she holds back, only because the Headman might crumble to dust if she did so. “I have a few loose ends to tie up and then I’ll be home.” Home! Yes. Indeed, absence has made the heart grow fonder. “And Renalde…” Prymelia steps in and pushes up onto her toes before boldly planting a kiss to the severe Headman’s cheek. “Thank you for not giving up on me.” She adds stepping away again. What? You thought he’d get away entirely?

"Just send word my dear." Renalde lifts the glass to his lips again. The kiss brings a slight warming in the iciness of his eyes. Reaching out he brushes his hand along Prymelia's chin, just as if she was a daughter who had done something well. "Be well, and do come home soon. That runner of yours is getting rather fat and lazy in your absence." With his mind back on Business Renalde turns away from the trader to move back into the crowd.

Prymelia must be on sick puppy for as she watches Renalde melt into the crowd with the grace of an iceberg merging with the ocean, the expression she wears is one of fond warmth. “Fat and lazy,” she snorts into her glass. “I’ll show him fat and lazy.” And just like that, motivation is stirred and the notion of drinking herself into oblivion and then possibly knocking boots with some handsome stranger falls to the wayside as a sense of urgency builds. Execution (of Plan?) time.

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