Who

Prymelia, D'har

What

Greenrider and bluerider meet for drinks, and the conversation takes some interesting turns.

When

It is evening of the nineteenth day of the sixth month of the eighth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Oasis Inn, Igen Coverage

OOC Date 24 Jul 2016 06:00

 

Prym22.png Dhar20.png

"It has been my experience that you only truly get the measure of a person by their responses to the darker side of life."


igenoasisinn.jpg

Oasis Inn

Tucked into a small fold of foothills along the road leading from the Weyr to the Central Pass, this inn truly is just what its name implies - an oasis for travelers coming from either direction. Stabling and board are available - though the boarding comes at a price, since there isn't much of it. The most well known part of the Inn is the tavern - a rustic bar built of solid skybroom and furnished in dark, oiled wood, leather, metal, and glass. Though well used and sometimes abused, the furniture is also well cared for and maintained, and the food and drink draw many a rider in alongside the travelers. The decor is eclectic, consisting in hangings, rugs, carvings, and other things from every region of Pern, bestowed upon the owner in barter for lodging. The atmosphere isn't one of a dive; it's cozier than that, though there is just a touch of harmless shady to be found - particularly in the evenings.


Summer in Igen is punishing to say the least. Thankfully, there is at least a little respite to be had in the evenings when the desert climate offers apology in slightly cooler temperatures. This evening is no exception and offers a night sky resplendent with stars. Within, the tavern is alive with the murmur of patrons, the clink of glasses and a musician adept with a fiddle playing a lively tune. At a table set off to one side, a woman with long mahogany hair swept to one side and held in place with a turquoise hair comb, is holding a clipped conversation with a scruffy jawed individual. Wearing a smart pair of figure hugging black pants paired with a flirty top in seafoam green, the female frowns at her male companion, hands him an envelope and then gets up and makes her way to the bar. Moments later, after pocketing the envelope, the scruffy blond leaves the tavern.

D'har has been long enough away from Boll that he is nowhere near used to this sort of heat just yet, despite it being of a drier sort and therefore a bit more bearable. He does, however, seem to know how to dress for it, and cuts a fine figure doing so. No need to look like he's wilting in the midst of oppressive environs, after all. Loose linen pants of a dark wine red paired with a light white tunic open to the chest and simple, sturdy sandals mark his deference to the still-waning heat, coupled with his pursuit of a cold drink. He enters the Inn with familiarity, sauntering toward the bar and immediately noting the woman sitting there. His head tilts, the edge of recognition tickling his mind until he gets closer and identifies Prymelia fully. Dark eyes follow the retreating man briefly before he comes to a stop beside the stool to Prymelia's left. "Not the cause for your coming to seek a drink, I hope," he says, a dark brown lifting curiously.

Not yet having placed her order, Prymelia catches movement off to her left, and turns toward it when D'har speaks. She doesn't immediately answer. Instead, she takes in his attire and the striking contrast it creates against his dark skin. A slow smile tilts her lips when finally hazel eyes reach for ebony. "I may be a lot of things," openly does she accept her flaws, "but…" her smile grows wider with a teasing cast, "I don't double date." Ergo, she is primarily here to meet D'har as clarified with her next. "A business associate." A flick of slender hand dismisses the man that has just left.

"That's pleasing to know," says D'har, a wide grin reaching to set his eyes glinting as he slips onto the stool beside Prymelia. "You look quite lovely, by the way. Which I might've said first." He lifts a hand to capture the bartender's attention, then drops it to fold with the other upon the counter. "Business associate," he echoes thoughtfully. "It seems that many around Igen have a head for business." There could be air quotes around that, but there's only a hint of it in his tone. "A result of such a close association with the Bazaar and traders, yes?" And more is implied, but left to be quietly understood.

While Prymelia isn't the type to preen she is female, and as most females, appreciates a compliment. The drop of her gaze and tilt of mouth is almost coy in presentation. Almost, but not quite for a vixen's appreciation touches expressive eyes. "Thank you for saying so. And might I add, it's always a pleasure to encounter a man unafraid of style." She'll wait until asked and when she is, place an order for whisky on the rocks. Hard tack to some, mother's milk to her. Perched on the stool alongisde him, long legs neatly crossed, she utters a husky laugh. "Guilty as charged. Trader born and bred." She doesn't, however, offer her clan of affiliation. "One would imagine that a man of the Blood," yes, she's asked around a little, "would appreciate the investment that having such connections can offer."

D'har orders the same, the corner of his mouth curling appreciatively for Prymelia's choice. "We spend so much of our time as sweaty messes, I find that keeping style helps keep one refreshed. Even if it's just in small ways." When she reveals her breeding as a trader, he grins again, giving a little laugh with a nod to her last. "I do indeed have an appreciation for such connections. I made quite a bit of use of them when I was younger. Some fabrics and threads are unique to other regions, despite all that Boll offers for weavers. And making a hobby of it myself, I found it necessary to get to know the traders that passed through in order to get whatever caught my eye." A sip is pulled from his whiskey once it arrives, and he turns in his seat a bit, all the better to fix the greenrider with his full attention. "Were you associated with one of the caravans here, or someone currently out on the road?"

Sweaty messes. Prymelia's lips part. Close. Part again. Nope! She promised Issaeryth she'd behave tonight. Thus, with supreme effort, she sets aside temptation ribald comment. Their drinks arrived, she doesn't avail herself of hers just yet and trails the pad of a finger through the moisture beading the side of the glass. D'har's revelation of hobby finds her hiking a brow and possibly making an assumption of his orientation for the smile she produces is careful. "You enjoy to make clothing?" A faint shadow passes across her features in light of the question put to her and when she speaks again, her tone is flat and without the pride that might be expected. "Clan Flynn. Currently set up in the caravan grounds."

D'har may just be anticipating the ribald comment he gives Prymelia an opening for, the corner of his mouth subtly climbing higher and higher until it's clear the window has shut. Her question has him chuckling, his nose wrinkling slightly. "No, no. I was always more fond of making practical things…which never seemed to satisfy my father. Weaving is a proud tradition in Boll, but he regards it as 'women's work.' Never mind that more than half the current Masters are men. I haven't really had time for it in any serious capacity since I Impressed. Though I work on a few things here and there when I feel the urge. Always good to keep the hands deft." This, he states with a wink, though the new opening is clear enough as it is. The shadow that passes over the greenrider as she answers his question is not missed, and he sobers a bit. "You aren't on good terms with them, I take it."

Is that a teensy flash of guilt that Prymelia hides behind her whisky glass? A hint that maybe she'd painted D'har with a certain brush by nature of his confessed hobby? He'll never know for she drinks and eyes him over the rim of her glass, amusement dancing in hazel regard. Her hand lowers, the glass still cradled in it, lower lip moist and battling to refrain from delivering a wicked smirk. She fails. "You know what they say about idle hands." Somewhere, Issaeryth is groaning. "And what…" Finally, Prymelia turns toward him, "…dear bluerider, is it that you work on," her gaze does a brief meander of his person, "…here and there, I wonder?" Features harden a touch when talk takes a turn passed her familial connections. "Let's just say that their idea of what I should be doing and mine, don't match up."

Since D'har is none the wiser for any particular way Prymelia may or may not have painted him, there's no harm done whatsoever. He watches her attempt to restrain a smirk, echoing it with his own when she gives way. As she turns to him, he plays to the passage of her gaze with a few subtle shifts of his posture, leaning a bit further on the arm upon the bar, tugging the vee of his collar further open just enough to tease a scattering of dark hair shadowing a broad chest - which she's seen in full, of course, but that doesn't lessen the value of the act. "I have an inkling you may be able to deduce part of the answer yourself," he replies, "though I am happy to elaborate further." As for her family, he gives a little hum. "Fortunately, your world does not have to revolve around their ideals, particularly with your Issaeryth in the picture."

Like any woman faced with an attractive man, Prymelia is most certainly going to appreciate the finer points, maybe even let her gaze linger a little longer than necessary. Before she can be accused of staring, she gathers attention and casts it idly over the crowd, returning it with a short laugh. Another sip of her drink and then she leans in a little closer, an imp in her eyes, and a husk to her voice, "And will this elaboration involve which thread to use with sisal? Or, perhaps you'll tutor me on the very, many ways a length of fabric can be wrapped to serve as clothing in the heat." Yes, she's teases but does so without malice of any kind. Talk of family sees the greenrider leaning away again. Lips thin and then she poses another question to D'har. "Are you close with your family?"

D'har wouldn't accuse Prymelia of anything such thing, only make the observation! As she looks away, he sips his own drink, setting it down as she leans closer and taking the opportunity to do the same. "Hmmm…I could certainly give direction on either point," he tells her, his voice automtically pitching lower and darker, "though the wrapping is a particular point of fascination. The heat in Boll is different from the heat in Igen…but I am enjoying the challenge of navigating it. Fabric or no." To see the tension in Prymelia's expression dulls the roguish glint of dark eyes somewhat, but he replies. "Relatively. No pun intended." Though there's a wry little curl of his lip for it. "We are all in the know about the larger particulars of each other's lives, but I am largely uninterested in the day to day of Holders, and my family is content to simply be proud of my status as a rider without knowing the details." His gaze drops briefly after that, and his tongue darts out to moisten his lips. "I do not mean to touch on a sore spot, Prymelia," he says, eyes lifting to hers again. "I am happy to switch subjects if you would rather."

Her glass is lifted and ice clinks against the side. Small sounds amid the easy atmosphere of the Inn. Prymelia listens, laughs quietly and glances away then back again. "When I lived in Southern," nostalgia and a thread of something else wraps her voice. D'har comments on fabric or the lack thereof and stalls her train of thought. Delight dances in hazel eyes, a memory shoved aside. "I'm ashamed to admit that I've not visited Boll yet. Though I get the feeling that I might like it." A smile and she moves on. "Sometimes, I think the greatest gift one's family can provide is when they let go." She meets those dark eyes of his for a moment and then shakes her head. "If we were all to avoid sore points, what would anyone ever talk about?"

Dark brows lift when Prymelia mentions having lived in Southern. "I think you would fit in well there, yes," D'har agrees before taking another pull at his drink. "Wandering along by the ocean with the backdrop of jungles and headlands to color your passing? It is very easy to picture, my dear greenrider. And if you should ever wish to visit, I would be glad to show you around." He maintains the slight closer lean he's taken, fingers upon the edge of his glass and idly tracing the rim. "I have not yet been to Southern. Though the former Lord Warder of the Barrier Hold is someone I once knew at Benden, briefly. Someone I rather looked up to. I do hope to visit him at some point." To her last, he makes a noise that's something between a grunt and a chuckle, agreeing. "They do make for good conversation starters. Sadly."

Listening as D'har describes his home, Prymelia makes quiet work of finishing her drink and sets her glass down. "Boll sounds like ho-" Beat. "Southern. The jungles were fascinating as were the wildlings that called them and other parts of the continent home. And the beaches. Sometimes, if you walked far enough, you felt like you were the only person in the world." Her smile when it comes is apologetic for lyrical nostalgia and then brightens at mention of the Barrier Hold's former Warden. "Renalde is a darling man." Many would disagree. "I dated his son for a while. In fact, it was Renalde that took a chance on me and helped to set me up with my first wagon." Warmth and fondess there for the former Warden. "Igen must be very different from what you're used to."

D'har's grin over learning that Prymelia knows Renalde transitions seamless from flirtatious to warmly appreciative. "You are the only person I have ever heard describe him with that word," he notes amusedly before quickly draining his own glass. Long fingers thread together as he adjusts his seat, now turned to the greenrider entirely. "It sounds as if he warrants it from what you describe. I hope you and…Taralde, was it? Parted ways peacably." Her last observation earns another low chuckle, and he nods. "It is. But I have always thrived most on the unfamiliar."

Her glass might be empty but it's a good prop for those idle hands spoken of earlier. Thus, Prymelia continues to fiddle with it, swirling the melting pieces of ice that remain. A chuckle follows D'har's comment. "He's got a good heart under all the gruff finger wagging. A strict disciplinarian without a softer touch of understanding is just a monster." Shades of personal experience briefly flatten her tone before it lifts again. "Let me know when you decide to visit the Barrier Hold. I'll come with you. That is, if you're looking for the company." Legs uncross and cross again, her foot lightly bumping the bluerider's shin as she does so. Whups. "Aye, Taralde. Now, T'ral. Also a bluerider," an ironic smile is drawn. "We were young. Stupid." That would be her. "He's doing well for himself now. Has everything he deserves." Skirting away from the topic of exes, Prym regains that air of flirtatious tease from earlier and laughs softly at his last. "Is that your way of saying you get bored easily?"

D'har nods in agreement as Prymelia elaborates and opines further about Renalde and a disciplinarian's balance. "Seeing as I'm enjoying the company currently, I think I will do that," he says, smirking as Prymelia's foot contacts his leg. Then she elides Taralde's name, and he suddenly connects the dots, snapping his fingers. "T'ral, of course! I'd never seen him enough to know his face, really, but I've seen him around. I'm sure Renalde must have been proud to see him Impress, in his way." The bluerider veers gamely back onto the flirtatious course in Prymelia's wake, giving a little hum as he lets his hand fall to his leg. "That depends very much on the circumstance," he replies with a flip of that same hand. "I am a glutton for adventure, it's true. Both on my own and with whoever would like to come along for the ride. But I think I have very seldom been bored. Except perhaps a time or two in Candidacy." Haven't they all?

For all that she's quite open about flirting and passing out innuendo in places, there's a moment when she smiles that the greenrider appears shy. But it's gone so quickly it could merely be a trick of the eye. A decoy meant to keep D'har off balance. "Good answer, bluerider." A grin follows as does the glass to her lips where she coaxes a piece of ice from it. Speaking around the chilly chip she toys with in her mouth, "Is that why you chose Parhelion?" Yes, she knows what the wing is about. As for boredom in candidacy there's a grin, followed by a crunch when she demolishes the last of the ice. "Ours wasn't too bad. Though it did suck toward the end with all the hurry up and wait. But worth it, aye?" Eyes goes distant for a moment, sure sign of communication with her dragon. "To have them in our lives."

D'har watches the ice slip from Prymelia's glass to her lips with (by all appearances) idle fascination, smirking and chuckling over the question about Parhelion. "You might say that," he replies, "though I don't doubt life would be just as interesting in any other wing. It's the work with the guards that creates the most draw for me. A unique situation." He, too, looks a bit far off for a moment at the mention of their lifemates, nodding. "Yes, the anticipation toward the end does nothing for one's patience," he notes ruefully. "But the reward has proven great beyond imagining, true enough." Blinking, he returns his focus to the greenrider, eyes flicking to their empty glasses for a moment. "Another?" he asks, taking the opportunity to nip a bit of ice from his own tumbler.

One by one, Prymelia consumes the ice until the glass is truly empty. "Aaaaah, so you like being the authority, huh?" Look, she's a trader and let's just say there's a reason folk tend to tread carefully around the Flynn clan. Perhaps she seeks the limits of his boundaries. Or, it could be that she is simply interested in gaining a better understanding of D'har. The offer of another drink sees her nudging her glass closer. "There are only two reasons you say no to the offer of more whisky." Prymelia holds up her index finger. "One, if you're due to fly Thread." Up goes another finger. "And two, if you're dead."

Grinning, D'har turns briefly to signal refills to the bartender, then shakes his head. "It is not so much a matter of liking to be authority as it is an opportunity to gain a different perspective, particularly in a place so…storied as Igen Weyr," he tells her. "Not to mention it is another means to keep my mind sharp and my body honed. Surely," he says, not bothering to curb the roguish glint that brightens ebony eyes, "you can agree that those are worthy things to keep in the best condition possible."

"Mmmm." The sound is a low vibration in the back of Prymelia's throat. "So, let me see if I've got this right. You dabble in the aspects of the Weavercraft. You have great personal style. You like adventure. Yooooou" Yup, she's giving him the once over again with her mouth tilted to one side in humour, "enjoy good whisky, you have a thing for handcuffs," totally ad-libbing there, "and you value the results of a good work-out. Did I leave anything out?"

Speaking of good whiskey, the second round arrives, prompting D'har to slide Prymelia's into easy reach before taking a sip of his own. His smile widens as she lists what she's learned of him so far, though he laughs outright with the insertion of handcuffs, rocking back in his seat slightly before settling again, slightly nearer. "One very small thing, but surely obvious enough once I name it," he replies. "And that is that I enjoy the company of a beautiful woman very much. Now you, greenrider Prymelia…" He lifts the arm on the bar to prop his chin upon curled fingers, studying her. "Once a trader, once a Southerner, also an appreciator of good whiskey, one who seems appreciative of an attractive man in turn…and something of a tease." Which he observes with a subtly teasing tone in kind.

Lifting her glass, D'har is given a nod of thanks for the drink and then it is sampled with a following sigh of appreciation. Her grin is unapologetic for the point that draws that laugh from the bluerider. There's not even the ruse of a coquettish blush to go with it. With a laugh she responds to the compliment paid, "Seems I forgot to list, the artful flattery of a silver tongue." Over the rim of her glass, she attends the list D'har puts together in turn. Swallowing, she lowers her hand, leans in a touch and says, in conspiratorial tone, "Even a prize stallion can turn out to be a useless bastard not worth the cost of being shod." Prym ends with a wink and leans away again.

D'har grins again and inclines his head, not bothering to deny that yes, he is certainly not one to shy from using flattery. "But I do take care not to make use of said tongue without honest reason," he notes with a wink, and sips again. He's just set the glass down when Prymelia leans in the little bit and speaks, her words drawing a deep, thoughtful hum. "True," he concedes, a spark of challenge in his dark gaze. "But how is one to determine that beyond first glance? A bit of familiarity needs to be gained before making that judgment…though there's often much to be said for what gut instinct tells you, as well."

Prymelia's smile is faint, swept away when she savours her drink again. "Time is a commodity very few truly appreciate the investment of," she says. Cryptic words are followed by a slight hike of elegant eyebrow for D'har's challenging observation and then she laughs and shakes off whatever had taken hold of her. "Tell me, D'har." Glass to lips she pauses for a drink, swallows and then continues. "Hypothetically speaking, what would your stance be on say…revenge?" The sweet smile she produces is completely at odds with the dark question posed.

Hypothetical though the question may be, it still surprises D'har, eliciting a lift of black brows. "Shells, but you certainly aren't one to be crossed, are you, greenrider?" he says, forefinger tapping on his knee. There are a few blinks as his eyes flick down and to the side in honest consideration. "It is not something I've ever really thought about, though…I've been the target of it." There's an odd sort of amused chagrin that quirks the corner of his mouth, and his eyes find hers once more. "I think it is warranted in some cases, so long as the punishment fits the crime. Some methods of retaliation are subtler and result in far worse than is deserved, in the long run. And of course, whoever is considering revenge must be completely honest with themselves when it comes to whether or not their conscience will truly be able to bear the consequences of what they wish to do, in the end. Does revenge bring them stooping to the level of who they wish vengeance upon…or is it a necessary evil leading to a better tomorrow?" Broad shoulders lift a fraction and drop, his head giving a little shake. "It is a very complex matter, I think. I do not oppose it entirely, but it should never be taken lightly."

A husky laugh straddles the line of seductive and dark promise, hazel eyes flashing with private amusement. "And you immediately assume I make reference to myself." Prymelia lifts her glass in self-deprecating toast thereof. She quietens then, attentive as D'har delivers his full reply. By the end of it, there's not much of her whisky left and she's watching him with close interest. "A good answer, sir bluerider." And one that has told her more about him than he might realise. "Now tell me about the nature of this revenge that was aimed at you."

D'har's attention is riveted once more by that laugh, his head tilting a bit as one brow edges higher. "It is not a topic that one usually discusses on a date," he points out. "Not the first one, at any rate. But I am pleased my answer suits you, whomever you may be referencing." Her last draws a rueful chuckle, and he tosses back the last of his whiskey, following it with a sigh. "It was deserved, I will admit," he replies, his fingers drumming a few times on his knee. "Two women, both of whom I'd…given attention to, both of whom had assumed they were the only ones, banded together to inform every woman at Benden Weyr how much of a double-dealing cheater I was." The hand at his knee gives a derisive flourish. "I wounded them, and they painted a bit of a reputation for me. However…" A finger lifts in punctuation. "I do not consider it to have been entirely fair, as neither of them had laid claim to me, nor I to them. As far as I knew, I was free to bed whomever I wished, as were they. I've done my best to improve the conveyance of my intentions since then." He smirks at Prymelia, though there is no humor in his gaze. There is, however, intent curiosity as he tries to discern what she makes of his story.

"It has been my experience that you only truly get the measure of a person by their responses to the darker side of life. The fun stuff, the easy stuff, such as the name of my first pet, or, the first time you rode a runner or kissed a girl?" Prymelia touches her fingers to the air and flicks those concepts aside, "Distractions. Cloaks to hide the dagger." Cynical much? Maybe a little. D'har explains the nature of his 'sins' that had provoked the revenge of women scorned while she maintains an unreadable expression. Until that is, he ends and fixes her with that look. She doesn't immediately offer put his mind at ease and instead, finishes her drink. Having done so, the glass is set to the counter with particular care and then hazel regard lifts and reaches for ebony. "I can respect a man that owns his faults." Truth there with a dash of approval. "We all have them." Another of those private smiles. "False expectations are the fault of the one that conjures them, not that of the one they're foisted on." A form of absolution given. "Though I am curious to know what intentions you may now-" She doesn't finish her thought for just then a harried looking woman makes a beeline for her. "I tried, Prym. I really did. But he got away from me and now Lusia is having a conniption because he's led her Lulu off into the desert." There's hand wringing and all.

"Must there always be a dagger beneath the cloak?" D'har counters, resetting one foot on the rung of the barstool. His smile grows slowly when she finally replies. Then, just as she getting around to the question he's been hoping to answer at some point…life comes barging in. Of course it does. Dark eyes track the woman who makes her way to Prymelia, and he does his best not to look too disappointed. He's not completely successful, though it's mostly in the resigned tone of his voice. "Such is life," he notes with a soft chuckle, again rueful. "But we should continue this again soon, my dear greenrider." He lifts a hand in an offering gesture. "Is there anything I might help with, or not for this?"

"One might ask, must there be a cloak at all?" Quietly spoken with a wry turn of mouth. Conversation interrupted by the other woman's intrusion, Prymelia frowns, a flash of irritation marring her features. Perhaps D'har isn't the only disappointed by the interruption. "I told you, to keep him away from the Bazaar. In fact, I paid you to do so. It was that stable boy wasn't it? You know what? Never mind. I'll handle it." To D'har, with an apology briefly pushing annoyance aside, "Let me know when you head up to the Barrier Hold." A look skates over his person from head to boot and fringes of her earlier impishness makes an appearance, "We'll see if you look as good flat on your back as you do lounging on that bar stool." That quarter grin is just full of mischief! "Thank you. For the drink. And your honesty." And then she's off, shooing the young woman ahead of her and muttering about randy rutting dogs and fluffy skanks.

Add a New Comment