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The sun is sinking drawing in its wake a distinct chill to the air. Shop and stall owners are closing up for the day. She’s late, she’s late. She’s very, very late. Stupid sweeps! Like a dust dervish, Prymelia whirls from one stand to the other, picking up items and dropping them back down again. Nothing seems to meet with her approval. “This,” there’s a slightly frantic cast to her voice as she holds up a ready-made dress with a nipped in waist coming off a halter-neck top that looks like it would fall just past her knees. “In blue. And in a smaller size.” The shop owner is tired. He’s been on his feet all day and his wife is cooking him his favourite meal. He’s really doesn’t want to have to hang around any longer. And so he lies, “Only one we have.” And tries to make it someone else’s problem. “Try Maheer round the corner. He’s been having trouble moving his stock.”

Erissa, on the other hand, is taking her time and enjoying the evening stroll through her old haunts. Having already acquired what she came for she’s not in any particular rush as she heads in the general direction of the weyr bowl. At one point she even stops in the middle of the street and looks up, making a few grumbling folk go around her at the last second. A warm breeze scoops down the thoroughfare and flicks uneven bangs across one eye, a slow smile crossing her lips as memories serve up many a night sitting on the ledge to her weyr with Danorath above the bazaar looking down at this very street and watching the people go by. The shop to her side, in fact, is the same one where her shoe landed when she dropped it from above and then recruited a young woman named Maryam to help her retrieve it. With a small chuckle the blond woman shakes her head. How long ago that seems! And how different she was then!

The raised tone of a frantic voice catches her attention and she looks toward the nearby shop from where it came, slowly moving closer as the conversation is overheard. When the shop owner tries to brush the dark-haired woman’s request Erissa steps forward.

Clicking her tongue she gives the man a bright smile worthy of Rukbat at mid-day. “Thailen, Thailen, whatever are you doing?” she drawls with an overly friendly tone and exaggerated emphasis. “Here I was just raving about your excellent eye for color and texture, telling some of the other riders this afternoon at lunch that if they wanted the very finest workmanship in the bazaar they should come see you. Are you really going to let Maheer steal your reputation when this lovely young lady goes around wearing the dress he’ll make her and everyone asks where she got it from?” Wrinkling her nose she shake her head and then flips one hand in gesture. “Come now, surely you have some lovely blue material lying around and can cut it just a wee bit smaller to fit this woman’s figure?” Dark blue eyes cut to Prymelia, critiquing. “Imagine how stunning she’ll look in it with that dark hair. Surely the women will all be wanting Thailen outfits of their own!”

At that she pauses significantly, pale brows rising in purposeful question. She may not know the man in such detail as the names of his wife or children but she’s frequented his shop enough for him to know the value of a well-placed customer. The Weyrleader’s weyrmate isn’t a bad walking billboard for one’s creations!

Prymelia and the shop owner turn as one when Erissa makes her presence and suggestions known. The former bites back amusement while the latter scowls a little. “Actually,” says the greenrider to the shop owner, returning the dress to the rack it had come from, “I did see something really lovely hanging outside of Maheer’s shop the other day. I think I might go take a look.” Then, she turns her back on the shop keeper, pointed dismissal of his services and focuses on the bluerider with the tilt of a smile. “You should have been a trader,” she declares of the woman’s cleverly phrased admonitions of a few moments ago.

Tsk, tsk, tsk. Erissa shakes her head slightly for the shopkeeper’s benefit as Prymelia puts the dress back. Should’a, would’a, could’a, my friend. Leaving the man behind she walks beside the greenrider, one slender shoulder rising and falling in a shrug as she casts a sidelong grin at the other woman.

“It’s my secret weapon,” she says, though the humor that laces pretty features is anything but serious. Balancing a small basket on one elbow she gives her chin a jerk that flips uneven blond layers away from her face, briefly affecting a snooty pose worthy of the highest Blooded. “And what of you, dearie?” she asks, carrying the act into her tone. “Is there a special occasion that has you out shopping for dresses at such a late hour?”

Crestfallen and somewhat chastened by his hasty attitude, the shopkeeper watches the pair of women leave. Thankfully, his wife isn’t around to witness his disgrace. Or is she? Not moments later his name is screeched like a banshee wailing on the wind. Oh dear. Not Prymelia’s problem. Elegant eyebrows raised she glances over to her walking companion. A husky chuckle spills, “Oh you’re good.” Nope. Not buying the hauteur. And if she’s wrong? She’ll just have pissed off the Weyrleader’s weyrmate. Go her. “Special occasion?” A private smile comes into play. “You could say so.” Coming to the end of the alley, she turns right, heading toward Maheer’s shop. “I’ve tried on everything that I own and…nothing seems right.” Prym shrugs in a what-can-you-do gesture. “I thought maybe it was time for something new.”

A flicker of amusement sneaks through Erissa’s facade at the sound of raised shrieking behind them, a few more crinkles edging silver-laced blues. Tapered chin rises, however, at Prymelia’s compliment, a tilt of her head swaying white-blond layers nearly across one eye. A new sort of light blossoms in her gaze when the greenrider evades her question and overly curious, wily instincts kick into gear. Tightening her hold on the other woman’s arm she gushes, “Oh you must let me help you pick something out then! What kind of occasion is it - formal, casual.…” Her voice trails off briefly, gaze catching to the other’s as she adds with a rolling lilt, “…. romantic?”

Not especially close to her female siblings these days and with few that she would could friend, Prymelia lends Erissa, a virtual stranger, a hesitant look. “Uh…” The pace of her stride slows though doesn’t quite come to a halt. “I’m not really the formal sort.” As in, her purse isn’t able to support anything quite so fine. “So something smart-casual?” The upward lilt of her voice suggests she’s a little unsure on some level. And so, Prym adds, “I’ve been asked to a Gather in Boll.”

Erissa doesn’t mind that Prymelia is a stranger at all, though the woman does look somewhat familiar. A chance to go dress shopping is not to be missed! The blond woman leans away just a bit, blue-eyed regard dropping over the greenrider speculatively at first but then when Prymelia finally says the source of her mission Erissa’s eyes widen and a sharp breath is drawn in on a broad smile.

“A Gather!! Oh, wonderful!” Leaning in again she hugs Prymelia’s arm. “And you were asked to go? How exciting!” Her chin tilts slightly as she gives the other rider a sly look out of the corner of her eye. “Is he handsome? Is he taller than you? What color are his hair and eyes? Do you know what color he’s wearing?” So many details to consider!

A sense of familiarity blooms along Prymelia’s mindscape though not enough so as to remark upon a specific event. Dismissing it as simply having seen Erissa around with the Weyrleader and during Fall, the greenrider laughs and looks away. “Mmm. I’m more used to being on the retail end of a Gather than I am attending one as a guest.” And this Gather, has a few added criteria to it that put her a little on edge. Such as the birth-right attached to the man with whom she will be going. Having arrived at Maheer’s storefront, the merchant a friendly, jovial sort, Prym pauses before stepping inside. “Not a lot taller than me,” she says of her date. “Black hair and eyes, gorgeous caramel coloured skin.” Is he handsome? Perhaps the glint in her eyes and the quality of the secretive smile she turns out, will answer for her. “No,” there’s a shake of head as they enter the little clothing shop. “I have no idea what he’s wearing. Wouldn’t matter if I did, I can’t match his particular means of dress.”

Erissa notes the comment on previous Gathers with curious interest, guessing that Prymelia must have been in a craft before impressing. She doesn’t comment on it, however, more in favor of letting the woman go on to describe her future escort. Blond head bobs with each detail added until she’s bursting for one in particular that won’t be denied any longer.

“Who is this tall, dark and handsome man?” she asks, her attention pairing off a bit as they arrive at Maheer’s shop. Oh yes, the ‘handsome’ was duly noted in Prymelia’s unspoken language. Pale brows knit closer at the last mention of his attire though and she adds, “What do you mean? How is he going to be dressed?”

Aaaaah, and that’s the very piece of information that for some reason, Prymelia is most reluctant to give up. Though she will share this, “A bluerider out of Parhelion.” Maheer has spotted the two lovely ladies and throws out an expansive smile that lights up his jowly features and twinkles in his eyes. “Come in, come in,” he says, waving a pudgy hand. “How can I be of service to you today?” Prym takes the lead and offers the man a warm smile. “You had a dress hanging outside the other day. Halter-neck, white with hibiscus flowers painted on it in purples and blues?” While Maheer does a mental run through of his inventory, Prym turns back to Erissa with a wry turn of mouth. “Expensively.” A pause and then manners catch up. “I’m Prymelia, by the way. Green Issaeryth’s out of Arroyo.”

Erissa tucks both arms behind her back, small basket dangling from her fingers as they enter the shop. Seeming to be interested in a table set with colorful scarves she leans over them slightly while keeping conspicuously close to Prymelia and the shopkeeper. When the greenrider turns to speak to her it’s only a matter of turning her head slightly to bring her attention fully on the other woman. When Prymelia gives her name and wing the blond woman’s eyes widen and she stands a little straighter.

“OH!” she exclaims, gaze critiquing the other woman as if just seeing her. “I know your name. I’ve heard G’tan mention you. You came from Southern Weyr, no?” Sure of the answer she continues with a hand rising to tap just beneath her collar. “I’m in Arroyo too - we’re wingmates!” A small chuckle accompanies the widening of her smile. “I haven’t been flying with our wing for a while now while I was pregnant and then several sevendays longer while Issaia was in the infirmary. But she’s home now so I guess I’ll be seeing you more often!”

Maheer has meanwhile, bustled into the back of his shop where he keeps his inventory. While he’s gone, Prymelia peruses a small collection of jewellery. Simple items consisting of butterflies, flowers and a dragon’s wing crafted from a mother of pearl shell and strung onto slender pieces of braided thong. She turns with a butterfly necklace in hand, her smile small. “Aye, that we did,” she confirms of her origins. Faint shadows exist in hazel eyes for a moment before they’re swept aside. Surprise is a convenient cover and is followed by a short laugh. “Well I never. I’d say that I’m pleased to meet you but…you look vaguely familiar and I can’t decide if it’s because I’ve seen you around with G’tan or if it’s from somewhere else.” A pause is followed by a short smile, “Congrats on the new baby by the way. I heard it was touch and go there for a bit.” People gossip and traders, even former ones, collect gossip like currency.

Erissa picks up a strip of cloth and fans it out in front of her to admire the design. Blond head tilting she casts a sidelong smile at the greenrider. “Thank you,” she says with a somber touch weighing down the previous lightness. “It was the scariest sevendays of my life, and it seemed like forever at the time. Funny how time works that way.” Bringing the material up against her chest she looks at critically a few seconds then reaches over to sling the cloth over Prymelia’s shoulder. The color is a pale mauve with dark burgundy embroidery detailing a whimsical pattern of leaves and flowers all over it. Erissa immediately smiles a little wider. “There, that looks nice on you. Looks good with your dark hair.” Tweaking the material a bit she adds nonchalantly, “I’m sure he’d love something in this on you. What was his name again?”

Curling the butterfly necklace into her hand – hopefully not because she intends to palm it – Prymelia’s expression shows flickers of sympathy. “I can’t imagine what that must be like.” The fabric Erissa lifts and holds against her is put under critical study. “You’ve got a good eye,” she tells the bluerider and then quirks a crooked smile when she adds, “Do you secretly get kickbacks from Maheer if you foster a sale?” She’s teasing of course, doing so as she strokes her fingers over the fabric. “I might consider it were the Gather not tomorrow.” Yes, she’s left her dress shopping that late. About to add more, Erissa’s dogged determination to free a name from her, catches her off-guard. “D’har, out of Parhelion,” she answers without thinking.

Erissa nods for Prymelia’s sympathy but then chuckles lightly at her assertion and hikes pale brows upward at an uneven angle as she grins and looks away, feigning that the idea might be true.

“Tomorrow!” the blond woman blurts, dismayed at that news. Well, shells, that doesn’t leave any time for creative shopping at all! Time to get serious. But then the greenrider is naming her mystery gentleman and Erissa’s expression lights up like the noonday sun, her smile beaming ear to ear as she spreads both hands in the air. “D’har?! It’s D’har taking you to the Gather?” Hands come back together for a single clap. “Tall, dark, and handsome indeed! Good catch, Prymelia! I don’t know him personally but have seen him around and heard mention of him enough. He seems like a very good person.” With a girlish giggle she gives the other woman’s arm a light squeeze with one hand. “Oh now I’m really excited for you. We really must find you the perfect dress, lack of time or no!”

Prym catches that look coming from Erissa on the matter of kickbacks, and laughs. “You were definitely a trader in another lifetime,” she declares. Idly, perusing a basket filled with hair combs made from bone, shell and wood, the greenrider realizes her error too late. Erissa’s girlish glee and professed excitement pulls from Prym a strangely retiring smile. “Aye, D’har,” she confirms and then adds with threads of caution attached, “He does seem nice. But then so does a wher when asleep in its lair.” In other words, she’s pretty low on trust these days and prefers to hedge her bets. “If Maheer can’t find that halter-neck dress I saw the other day, I’m screwed.” A pair of combs made out of shell with a blue pearlescence to them are selected and put to one side with the butterfly necklace. “He’s certainly not scared to try new things.” Maheer? “We went skating up at the Southern Barrier Hold. He was on his arse more than his feet and somehow still managed to look good splayed out on his back.” Wait. That didn’t come out right, did it?

Intended or not, Erissa’s mind immediately goes there and a broad smirk engulfs her smile. It’s obvious from Prymelia’s context what she meant but the bluerider can’t resist teasing her anyway. “My, don’t you work fast!” she exerts, waiting just a moment before giving the other woman a wink. Noting the things the greenrider has gathered she waggles slender fingers, “Those are lovely! Good choices. Sometimes I find the nicest unique things in these shops. The endless variety never ceases to fascinate me.” Just ask G’tan about her decorating style sometime. Dark blue eyes widen slightly as she spies something against a far wall. “Oh, look over here, more dresses. Discounted too… ah, I see why. A bit out of style… some are just plain…. Maybe if you can find one you mostly like we can have him do a few quick alterations to it and really spice it up? A sash of that pretty material we saw or something like that?”

Hazel eyes widen and then Prymelia flashes a secretive smirk. She ain’t saying nothing! Instead, the greenrider breezes on to the topic of what the bazaar has to offer. “Reminds me a lot of the Boardwalk,” she returns then adds, “and the Craft Shops back at Southern. Such a wonderful display of creativity. If I were still trading, I could make a small fortune peddling their stuff.” Just then Maheer returns and triumphantly holds up the halter-neck dress Prymelia had asked after. But now she’s torn between that and what Erissa is suggesting. Chewing on a fingernail, she considers both options, gaze flicking between shop owner and bluerider. Finally, to Maheer, “I’ll take it.” And then, to Erissa, “And I like your idea too. Always good to have a backup for just in case, right?” Just in case of what, no one knows. But does a woman really need an excuse to buy clothing? “You should get yourself something too,” Prym goes on to say, “Surprise that man of yours and take him out to dinner or something.”

Erissa grins as Prymelia debates which way to go, leaning forward and purposely giving the sash a little waggle within the other woman’s view. She tilts her head, the uneven cut of her hair veiling one eye with nearly white strands. At first she pretends disappointment when the greenrider chooses the pre-made dress but then chimes with delight when her suggestion is taken as well. Really she’s delighted on both counts and a rocks forward for a little hop on her toes. “Absolutely!” she agrees, “You’ll already be set for the next hot date!”

But then Prymelia is making a suggestion herself and the idea immediately appeals to the blond rider. Pretty features turn thoughtful and she turns slowly to let her blue-eyed gaze wander over nearby wares. “Not…a… bad… idea,” she drawls, stopping suddenly as her hand darts out to pick up a swatch of dark blue material heavily embroidered with a cerulean thread. “Ooooooo, I like this!” Stretching it out across her chest she strikes a pose and bats pale lashes at Prymelia. “What do you think?”

A short lopsided smile from Prymelia is followed by a cautionary, “If there is a next date.” Given her track record, she prefers to hedge her bets these days. Gathering together the sash suggested by Erissa as well as one of the plainer frocks to dress it up with, she adds it to pre-made dress. Taking out a small but beautifully embroidered pouch of soft green suede Prym glances up to see the bluerider modelling the gorgeous swath of fabric she’s chosen. “Yes!” she declares. “That really makes your eyes pop! Cut the neckline low and the hem high and G’tan won’t know what to do with himself.” A sly grin accompanies that.

“Oh posh!” Erissa dismisses with cheerful wrinkle of her nose. “Of course there will be! He’s hot and nice, you’re pretty and sweet. What’s not to click?” Simple, right? As Prymelia gathers up her choices the blond woman nods in approval and gets distracted by the cloth she’s modeling herself. When Prym heartily approves of her selection Erissa beams and whirls once, stopping to purposely bat her lashes at the greenrider. “You think so?” she asks coyly, and bursts out in a laugh. “I can definitely help him if it comes to that.” Folding the material over one arm she scoots up next to Prymelia and notices the green pouch. “Pretty! Where’d you get that?”

Prymelia’s smile presents lopsided at Erissa’s insistence, faint amusement glittering hazel eyes for being called sweet since hers is often a mercenary soul. Her purchases tucked under an arm, the greenrider pauses with the embroidered pouch still in hand. “I made it,” she tells the bluerider. “The women of our clan are expected to be fully…domesticated.” Her smile is hard, tucked away along with her little purse, a blank edifice all that remains in the wake of that comment. “I need to go. Issaeryth is insisting on a tea party before sundown.” Whatever that means. Maybe it’s code for something. “It was nice seeing you again, I bet you’re going to knock G’tan’s socks off.” That said, slender fingers lift and wiggle farewell in the air and then she’s gone, apparently off to a tea party.