Who

K'ane, Hannah, Prymelia, Dhioth

What

Prymelia’s life literally comes crashing down around her ears compliments of one Dhioth. Hannah is there to hand her a knot and K’ane is given something to keep his hands busy.

When

It is midmorning of the tenth day of the twelfth 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.


For this particular bronzerider, not Fall nor fog nor fire will deter him from his eternal obligation to the physical arts — in particularly, running. Every morning, in injury or health, with only those strange days interspersed when he just feels lazy. They are rare, and today isn't one of them, because here comes K'ane around from the curve of the weyrbridge, head down and feet marching out a smart clip as he transitions to the road leading to the beach. Maybe his destination today is the beach or the boardwalk, but for now he lopes along the trail through the clearing, pounding the turf with measured strides, lost to his thoughts.

Perhaps it’s the sound of someone coming at a jog, feet thumping their approach along the trail swathed either side by a glorious mat of purple blooms, or perhaps – and this is more likely – the inhabitant of the gaily painted wagon, is still half asleep. Dressed but looking nowhere near awake, Prymelia descends the few short stairs and steps right out onto the trail, a basket in hand and towel slung about her neck. Someone had a late night.

The summer sun beats down on the jungle weyr, an one of it's occupants is not used to running. Or at least, not used to running lately. And in reality, were it not for the aid of one pale-hued queen that leviathans across the eggshell blue vale of the sky, she would never have made it in time to catch the bronzerider. "K'aaaaaaaaaaneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee." A thin, papery bellow that comes from a small woman trying to catch up to a giant runner. She's out of practice for this. Careening around where Prymelia is emerging from her wagon, a damned stone fells her and she tumbles with a squeak. Right at Prymelia's feet. Emerald green eyes blinking up at the trader in an almost comical serenity. "Did you happen to see K'ane wander by here?" Wander, run. It's an unholy action in this heat. Her attire is simple: pale tan shorts and a thin, purple top that still hides the remainder of her pregnancy pudge.

Oh that thin and tinny yell. If only K'ane wasn't IN THE ZONE. He's well past Prymelia and her wagon when the junior trips, and it is only some vast disapproval of his own lifemate that pulls him up abruptly, scanning ALL ABOUT HIM (except for behind him) and sending a quizzical look UP TO THE SKIES. Forgive him, Faranth, for he knows not what he does: he's just a dumb man, anyhow. A big dumb man, and we all know size is directly proportionate to stupidity in the male side of the species.

That squeak is echoed in a startled one from the not-so-awake Prymelia who jumps back in alarm. Blinkety-blink. Oh. It's a: "Hannah? What in Faranth's name" basket and towel are dumped a few fizzballs going rolling down the trail and the trader quickly goes to the goldrider's aid offering her a hand up. "He's a big fella. Kinda hard to lose." She tells the petite woman with sleepy amusement. "And he's probably used to women hollering out his name. K'ane. Oh K'aaaaane. Don't stop." Mimicry of the throes of passion lent an evil mocking lilt. "So I'm betting he just tunes it out. Why not just do the dragon-to-dragon thing?" All this said as she goes about trying to dust Hannah off that is if the tiny blonde doesn't bat her hands away.

Sometimes, it's humiliating being so short when you feel more like an oversized doll than like a full-grown woman. Hannah's only got a sweet smile for Prymelia, however. "He's not listening to that sweet, sweet, lovely dragon of his," is the goldrider's answer. She is clearly smitten, a soft smile curving her lips. But that look isn't for K'ane, who only warrants the sharp peal of laughter at Prymelia's description. "Probably. He's dumb enough to do it." Twisting, she shades her hand and looks for K'ane. The woman might be small, but when she's not running, she's got some lungs on her. "RIKANE!!!!!!!" Let's see if full name fits the bill, here. "Don't suppose," she wheezes, mouth falling open as she leans into the trader, "you've got some water." She smacks her lips and squeaks, "… parched."

From above, an ominous figure starts circling: he's high-altitude, far above the weyr and therefore toy-sized in perception…. still large enough to pick out the fact that he *is* large, dark-and-light contrasted. He glides the thermals and lends his shadow to the ground below.

“Lords and Ladies!!” Prymelia exclaims, wincing at the enormous holler that comes out of such a tiny woman. “I think Faranth heard you that time.” Rikane. Oh yeah, she’s filing that away. There must be a use for it somewhere along the line. “I, uh…sure. I’ve got some juice. Not fresh squeezes and it maaaay have a hint of brandy in it.” More than a thimble. Okay, it’s half and half. “But…Oh. Wait. Here. I have this.” And from her skirts she extracts a small flask wrapped about with leather with the head of a runner stamped into it. “Sweet tea.” With a flourish it’s held out to Hannah.

Said dumb man DOES jolt when his old name is called, turning around to stare at Hannah and Prym. He looks up, again, and it's probably HILARIOUS how white his face gets. "YOU NEED TO MOVE!" he yells, full Weyrlingmaster-Face, at Hannah and Prym. Is the distance too far for him to holler? DO THEY HEAR HIM IN TIME?! Oh Faranth, this is like As The Weyr Turns, because K'ane starts running, but it seems like he's in slow-motion even though he's sprinting… wait, is this a DREAM? It has to be a dream.

Hannah isn't too keen on the booze — for a variety of reasons, but one of them happens to be the tiny son-shaped thing she's got back at her weyr — but she will reach for the Sweet Tea. Opening the flask, the junior weyrwoman tilts her head back and takes a long gulp with a decided sigh of relief. K'ane? Running? Wasn't he running before? As if in a dream, she shakes her blond hair and lifts it up off the nape of her neck and shoots a grateful look to the trader, "This is delicious." How like a woman to call for a man and then ignore him. "Is he — Does it look like he's a little constipated to you?" Her query has all the innocence of a goldrider UNAWARE OF CERTAIN DOOM. "Did you hear something?" Again shot Prymelia-wards as the wind snatches K'ane's yell away.

Oh Prymelia hears him all right, cringing all over again and looking positively pained for the assault on her eardrums. “Bloody wherryballs! What is it with all the yelling today!?” Someone has a hangover. Run? Why on Pern would they need to run? Prymelia tracks the bronzerider’s upward look sees only a dragon circling above and dismisses it. Isn’t up there where they’re supposed to be? “Has he been drinking?” That to Hannah because surely she must know. Or maybe, the big guy’s just gone mad from running in the heat. “Ooooo,” pretty lips form a perfect ‘O’ of understanding followed by a wrinkling of nose in sympathy. “He must have eaten something bad. I bet he’s heading for a bush. He’ll never make the latrines.”

From above, is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's just a bronze dragon, and toy-sized is becoming dog-sized is becoming pony-sized… and fast. NANANANANANA DHIIIIIIIIIIIOTH!

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
(That's K'ane.)

"Boy the sudden shade feels goo— " Hannah's voice is cut off when she realizes that Dhioth. Her Dhioth — never mind he's bonded to K'ane, that's just a self-preservation thing — is about to crush something. Namely her. Which will get the attention of the pale air barge that was circling the feeding pens as the junior weyrwoman tugs on Prymelia's hand. "If that dragon crushes us, I'm coming back to haunt him and his rider an they'll never see another living woman or man again," she threatens while rushing to get out of the way. Her face says it all: WHY IS EVERYONE GOT TO SHARDING RUN IN THIS FARANTH FORSAKEN HEAT?!?

“Dragon crushes you….?” Excuse Prymelia, she’s not quite awake enough to be parsing imminent doom and destruction. But before she has a chance to question any further, she’s being dragged away by the tiny weyrwoman. “Hannah! Stop. My basket. And my towel.” She shouts running to keep up with the surprisingly fleet-footed goldrider. And THEN it sinks in. “Wait. Crush? CRUSH!? Are you fucking KIDDING me!? No. No, no, no, no.” Abruptly Prymelia stops and will try to yank her hand free, dashing straight back into the face of danger if she’s successful. “DON’T YOU DARE!!” She screeches up at the incoming bronze all flamehaired temper.

Nope, nope. Nope nope nope. He's not pulling up. He's not pulling out of his dive. As a matter of fact, there's a certain EVIL GLEE, so very un-Dhioth-y, as he abruptly backwings into his CRASHING LAND… right on top of Prym's wagon. Sorry dude, did you need that? Because it's under a few TONS of dragonweight, and said dragon is looking INORDINATELY PLEASED with himself as he reaches out to sniff oh-so-delicately at Prymelia and look POINTEDLY to K'ane.

K'ane, at this point, has pulled up from his run a half-dragonlength away, burrowing his face in his hands as if he can somehow ostrich himself out of this situation. If he didn't see it happen, IT TOTALLY DIDN'T HAPPEN.

Hannah is like a TICK. She flings those delicate, tiny little arms around Prymelia's waist and HOLDS ON FOR DEAR LIFE, using her slight weight to help keep the trader from from getting CRUSHED by the avenging Dhioth. Who will get scolded later. In great depth. Great depth. But for now, she does her best to keep Prymelia from being squashed. "RIKANE, YOU COWARD, STOP YOUR DHIOTH OR I WILL MAKE DHIAMMARATH DO SOMETHING YOU DON'T WANT." How ya like that bellow coming from RIGHT behind you?! Unless Prymelia is willing to risk breaking Hannah to get to her wagon… The inevitable is coming. But oh, oh so is the inevitable coming for the bronze and bronzerider. Can they sense their own death? At the hands of a tiny, tiny woman? Bad juju.

How is it possible for such a small woman to have so much STRENGTH!? Hannah’s ploy works and aside from being able to drag her human backpack but one step forward, Prymelia comes to an abrupt halt when Dhioth lands four-square atop her mobile wagon. Horror drains the color from her face as she witnesses the all out destruction of everything she owns in this life. Not even Hannah’s bellow registers despite the way it jacks up the pounding in the trader’s head. “He…you…” Hazel regard narrows onto The Destroyer. “YOU!! You killed my HOME!!” Nope. Dhioth is not forgiven. Not even for that sweet snuffle at her hand. In fact, Prymelia very much looks like she’s about to slap his muzzle. “KILLED IT!” She rages at the beast. Though really, that’s a little like a fly yelling at a rather large canine. Tears begin to streak over the apples of her cheeks and the trader turns her head and spots the Ostrich trying to disappear into the well of his hands. “YOU IDIOT!!” Right. Because now its K’ane’s fault.

"IT'S NOT MY FAULT STOP YELLING AT ME." That's K'ane, storming up to Prymelia. "If y' weren't such a cock-arsed IDIOT yourself maybe he wouldn't have to go to so much EXTREMES you HALFWIT." What? No really, what? He GLOWERS at Hannah, too. "Why are you even here?" Plaintive. "Lendai is gonna KILL ME if she knows you were near t' this." He then turns and stares at Dhioth. EXPECTANTLY. That's right, Dhi. This is alllllllllllllllllllllll you to fix.
Dhioth just looks entirely vindicated, snuffling more at Prym and angling his head for an eyeridge scratch. She could punch it if she wanted — that'd be a GREAT scratch. K'ane never goes hard enough. (that's… not what she said, by the way.)

Along the back of your mind, there is suddenly the roaring of a cliff-falls, a glorious purpose shining as a fortressed bastion at the top, dire portent called in the aged and weathered rock, lichen-faced. There is a boom of a voice not unlike K'ane's, sudden and abrupt: if K'ane's voice was liquid gold, deep and rumbled with the hint of a Fortian accent, deep and sprawling. « Prymelia. » Steady, earnest… and stern. « This is no life for you. This? This wagon, your home? A paltry existance. Your lifemate awaits you on the Sands, lest I miss my mark, and you will be there to meet them. » Grim and dire, his voice like thunder; and then there is a slight receding, a hint of mockery to his justicar voice: « Unless you feel not up to the challenge of Impression and the fight against Thread, my dear. Then I will have my lifemate pay for the replacement of this, » disgust colors his tone thick, « Life of yours and you can be on your way. »

Dhioth can look as pretty pleased with himself all he wants. Hannah's put him on EXTINCTION. Extracting her arms from Prymelia's waist, she rounds on K'ane, heart tearing when she sees the trader cry. Drawing herself up to all the height she possesses, it's not fire that meets the bronzerider, but ice. "Bronzerider," the chilling darkness of a voice that is more reminiscent of a midnight sepulcher. "You are on dangerous ground." Emerald green eyes narrow when K'ane takes the excuses path, but she holds silent. What's worse than a raging Hannah? A silent Hannah. A Hannah that holds to the full force of what she can (and will) do secret. Watching Dhioth and Prymelia interact, her expression is carved into a cold mask. Not for Prymelia. Dhioth? Dhioth WHO. She'll wait for what's coming, but K'ane buddy. You ain't off the hook.

Excuse Prymelia, her dander’s up and her heart is breaking along with her home and all that fizz and pop has to go somewhere! Tag! You’re it, K’ane “Me? ME!? How the FUCK is this MY fault!! I’ve been parked here all of the winter. I am ALWAYS parked here. Is he BLIND or are you just that STUP…” The trader’s expression blanks, the light dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks stark against the ashen color she’s gone. “How would you know?” She whispers, eyes grown large as she stares at the enormous bronze head. “You can’t possibly know that…” Reacting to something else said, color returns along with an obdurate line impressing itself across pretty features. “Oh really? I’m as good as any out there! You have no idea what I’m capable of. Just because those stupid dragons at Igen didn’t know a good thing when they saw…” Erm. She just said all that out loud didn’t she. Sheepish for a second and then shoulders square and K’ane is set with a challenging look. “You will pay me regardless of whether my so-called dragon is on the sands or not. In full and with interest for the loss of my dowry.” Slowly she turns toward Hannah. “You will be my witness?”

"Fine," K'ane hisses back to Hannah, face darkening as a thundercloud. "I was thinkin' about goin' back to Igen anyhow, you.. you.. y'little shrew!" He throws his hands UP IN THE AIR. "I'll pay for y'damn wagon. My lifemate's a dumbass. I'm sorry." It's all rote, one after another, directed to Prymelia. "An' I'll get my shit and be out by nightfall," he tonelessly directs to Hannah. There is anger rising as a flush, hot-red and overcoming the fairness of his shoulders and creeping up his neck. And then Prym is REACTING and he's SHARPLY LOOKING at Dhioth and his eyebrows are rising. Well. That's … not something you see every day. He slaps at his pants and then turns to Hannah. First, to Prym: "I just said I'd pay for y'damn wagon," grumbling; to Hannah: "D'ya got a knot on y'? I left all of mine in m'weyr." He narrows his eyes at her: "At my old weyr," he amends himself.

No. K'ane doesn't get off that easily. "No, K'ane," Hannah comments coolly, affixing him with a green eyed stare. "You won't be going back to Igen." An order winds through her voice, though she can't really order him about, but her dragon can ground Dhioth if that need arises. She slants a look to Prymelia, assessing the trader of her answer when K'ane has the AUDACITY — the AUDACITY — to see if she's got a knot on her. "You will build her wagon back for her." Her ire loosens enough to shoot the bronzerider a roll of her eyes before turning to present Prymelia with a shiny white knot in the tiny palm of her hand. "Board by board, nail by nail, by hand." When the newly minted Candidate takes the knot, Hannah will bestow the benevolence of sweet smile upon her. "I am more than your witness, I am your debt holder." And the look she gives K'ane — part devious, part furious — she'll take it right out of his flesh if need be. "Now, how about we get you settled in the barracks, hmm? I'm sure K'ane here would love to help soften the blow by fetching all the things you might need." The succor-sweet smile the junior weyrwoman levels on K'ane should surely prepare him for his demise. "I'm sure if you give this kind man a list, he'll see everything is taken care of." She can also play dirty in the art of love and war and Search.

“Don’t you talk to her like that!” Prymelia chastises pinning the thundercloud bronzerider. “She had nothing to do with this. She’s just…Wait. What? You’re gonna squish my wagon and then…just run away? You know, for a big guy, you’re an even bigger pussy.” Name calling WTG, Prym! But then Hannah, coolly takes over and is handing out an ultimatum that has the trader throw such a startled look at the goldrider that she almost gets whiplash. “Rebuild my…” A look is sneaked K’ane’s way. Does he even know how? The knot held out is eyed for a long, long time and then a glance goes Dhioth’s way with a stubborn little frown attached. Finally she takes it and winds it through her fingers with an odd expression in place. “I uh…” the frown deepens and she scrubs at her eyes before forcing herself to look upon the destruction of her once home. “Maybe there’s still some stuff that can be saved.” A tiny spark of hope for the optimist is never down for long. Finally K’ane is afforded a full look though it’s from out of a carefully constructed mask. “I’ll have a list to you by dinner time.” Attention then settles on Hannah, the willowy young woman turning her back on the bronzerider. “I’m ready to go.” Not really but another few moments surrounded by such wanton destruction and she might do something she’ll truly regret.

K'ane kind of TWITCHES at Hannah's order, doesn't show any kind of response to being called a pussy — hey, you are what you eat, right? But Dhioth's PLEASED rumble has him turning and staring at his lifemate. STARING. "What th'…" Comprehension starts to dawn and K'ane looks as outraged as everyone else: "Why you little FUCKER!" What? What just happened? Good question. But Dhioth looks pleased as punch, and not just because Prym said yes. (That just has him looking satisfied.) "I dunno," K'ane grumps, "My work is better'n whatever that was before," he gestures at the wagon. That's right Prym, he just insulted your old wagon. At least there is some measure of competence in those broad, calloused hands, and a disdain to the glower that he focuses upon the pile of rubble that is her-wagon-now. "Fine, fine. C'mon, you. Before I strangle him." The former part to Prym, as he GLARES at Dhioth. "Follow me." He starts stalking to the weyr proper, muttering under his breath.

You overhear K'ane mutter, "… know-it-all bronzes. … … … trouble … the … destroyin' shit like he … … … doing, thinking he's … … … … … … … … … … … dumbass fucker." to himself.

"Congratulations," Hannah comments, fairly beaming at Prymelia when she gets defended. "If he does anything to shirk, you let me know. I've got him," she narrows her eyes at K'ane, "in my ledger. You'll get everything back." This is a vow, a promise. As K'ane moves to lead Prymelia away, Hannah will step back. For behind her, a pale queen lands. Large — larger than even Dhioth — and brilliant in the clearing. The dusting of iridescence catches the light of Rukbat's punishing rays as the goldrider moves off. "That's my ride." She is neither walking nor running back to the weyr. She is going to go drag Bailey off for a cold soak and some girl time. Eff this heat noise.

With what is meant to be a haughty little sniff but that really is cover for the end of that crying jag. “Maybe I should come to YOUR home and break all YOUR shit and then tell you it was crap to start with.” Prymelia tosses back. Knowing full well that once she puts that knot on, K’ane has one up on her. Wait. She has to go with him? Bah! Life SUCKS!! “Yes, ma’am.” That to Hannah with a smug little flick of hazel eyes the bronzerider’s way something about that churlish glint suggesting she’ll be just waiting for him to slip up. “And thank you.” That for Hannah too with even the hint of a small smile to go with it and then she’s stomping off behind K’ane, staring daggers at that broad expanse of back and probably concocting various different ways to fuck his shit up six ways to next turn.

There's a pause. "Would you? Aikari picked all that shit out an' it's ATROCIOUS. If it'd make you feel better. It'd make me feel better." K'ane's grin is entirely unholy before he whistles as they head off to the barracks.

Oh K'ane, you have NO idea what you've just gotten yourself into. None whatsoever.

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