Who

Cha'el Prymelia

What

Before breakfast the next day after being Searched, Prymelia is dumped on a ledge.

When

It is morning of the fifth day of the third month of the first turn of the 12th pass

Where

Igen Weyr, Sikorth's Ledge

OOC Date

 

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A candidate. Her, a candidate! Not the first of her clan to be asked to Stand but certainly the first of her family unit. But Prymelia bare had time to consider the various angles and implications as she hurriedly pulled on the ill-fitting tunic and trousers someone had found for her in the stores, when the same grumpy greenrider from the night before appeared in the candidate barracks and dragged her off to his dragon. With barely three words passing his pursed lips, the trader stumbled after him wide-eyed, fleetingly wondering if she should be worried. What if he was some weirdo who was going to dump her in the middle of the desert or something? Wide eyes!!

Next she knew a short flight was being made and she was being told to dismount on an unfamiliar ledge and then he left. With a surge of hope she put two and two together from what little he’d snapped at her the night before and came up with….T’ral! This must surely be where he’d been staying while in Igen. Except that was, for the unfamiliar brown bulk taking up a good half of the ledge. Where was Esanth?

In a sudden gesture of self-consciousness, slender hands smooth over the too-tight-across-the-bust tunic then tug at trousers crafted for someone much shorter. “Uh…” Prymelia pauses, clears her throat and glances. “Hello? Anyone in there?”

Given that it’s still raining, Cha’el’s usual morning run and workout between the lakeshore and star stones has been cancelled. But he’s not getting away with a day off despite how lousy he’s feeling, instead, a combination of crunches, pull-ups and press-ups have been conducted in his weyr, leaving him hot, sweaty, and shirtless. Grabbing up a small hand towel, the brawny brownrider mops his face and sweeping it across his shoulders and chest, emerges from the short tunnel and comes to an abrupt halt when faced with a woman he’s never laid eyes on before. “Who the shit are you?” Excuse him; he’d not had a very good night the night before having woken coughing several times.

“You’re not, T’ral!” Prymelia exclaims at almost the same time and takes a step back eyeing that broad expanse of heavily muscled, tanned and sweaty upper torso that fills her vision.

“No shit,” Cha’el drawls in sardonic return scrubbing the towel over his sweat dampened head. “What do you want?” He demands to know pinning the redhead with a tight look, his head aching with the dull edge of a headache.

Suddenly at a loss when she finds herself under the scrutiny of the most gorgeous blue eyes she’s ever… No f*king, not even if he wants it or looks at you with those //eyes of his// The greenrider’s words of the night before hit home causing Prymelia to stiffen and cross her arms under her chest, unconsciously giving it that little bit of an extra boost beneath straining fabric. “I’m not going to fuck you.” Firm.

For several moments, the brawny brownrider merely stares back at the young woman. “Excuse me!?” Because you know, he’s male and maybe he hadn’t heard properly.

“I said, I’m not going to fuck you,” Prymelia repeats tossing a haughty look the rider’s way while doing her level best not to ogle all that delicious manflesh on display. “He warned me that you might want to. So I guess this must be some sort of stupid test of the rules. Not.Going.To.Happen.” Quite proud of herself for espying a test of candidate rules, the newly-minted candidate tosses out a smirk for the hunk of gorgeous.

“Uuuh….” Cha’el is still at a loss, long dark lashes sweeping over sea-blue eyes several times. Perhaps he’s developed a fever and is now caught in some or other delirious dream. “Who said?” He finds his tongue to query, slinging his towel over a shoulder and dropping his hands to his hips. “This some kid of candidate dare or something?” Asked when he spots the white knot curled over the redhead’s shoulder.

“I didn’t get his name.” Prymelia confesses with a toss of head. “Same bitchy greenrider that Searched me. He said you were missing me but that I wasn’t to fuck you. I thought he was bringing me to…” Words cut off. “Any way. You’re not him.” The one she thought she’d be seeing but that might not be very clear. Another fragment from the confusion of the night before and she snaps her fingers in the air. “Oh wait! That other rider that was with him, Teya, she called him C’aveman or something.”

Brows drop into a deep furrow at the explanation provided. “C’aveman? There’s no fucking rider around Igen by the name of…” Bitchy greenrider gets added to the information he’s trying to parse and PLUNK! “Hold on. Was his name maybe K’vvan?”

“Aye, that one,” Prymelia confirms. “Any way. Could please call him with your dragon or your mind or something and get him back here or else I’m going to be late for breakfast.”

Cha’el’s still having a hard time trying to catch up with why K’vvan would search someone, tell her he’s missing her and then dump her on his ledge. “You’re not making any sense, woman!! Where were you when he searched you?” A tickle catches the back of his throat but he valiantly fights back the cough that threatens. He’s FINE!!

“Prymelia.” She retorts with a lift of elegant brow. “I have a name.” Perhaps if she had a clue about Mr Muscle’s rank she might be a little more respectful. “He was sheltering under the eaves of the supply wagon and I bumped into him. When I told him he had to go because I’m to be engaged to marry, he refused. And then my da arrived and got all up in his face and then this C’aveman person, just shoved me at the Teya one and told me my rider better appreciate his searching me because now I don’t have to get married and can be with him.” Arms lift and fall at her sides in emphasis of just how perplexing the whole thing had been. “And he’d been drinking. People really shouldn’t be allowed to wander around when they’re drunk. He could have fallen down a hole or something. Or worse, gotten mugged in the bazaar. That happens you know. Just a few months back Willimina’s,…”

“Stop! Dear Faranth would you please stop for just one minute!?” Cha’el snaps incredulously. “My oath!! Whoever this T’ral person is, my condolences to him for having to put up with such…” A shake of head cuts the rest off and palming a hand over bearded face, the brownrider fits Prymelia with an intent look, his germ fuzzed mind churning through details provided and then it all falls into place and he begins to chuckle. The chuckle soon turns to laughter, rich and rumbling and soon, he’s swiping tears from his eyes as he battles to contain himself.

Laughing at her? This six feet squared of muscle-bound rider is laughing at her. “You’re a prick!” Prymelia tells him in a huff and in lieu of being able to stalk off, whirls about and presents him with her back.

It takes a couple of moments longer before Cha’el’s able to put a lid on his mirth. “Oh man.” A sniff, another chuckle and then he’s just about got it under control and he’ll try to explain. “I’m sorry. It seems you’ve been mistaken for someone else. But you can’t blame K’vv, aye? He doesn’t know her name and so he had no idea he’d taken the wrong woman.” And now, understanding the full extent of what the greenrider had tried to do for him, a small smile appears before something occurs to him and sweeps it away. “You said he was drinking?”

Prymelia’s not buying it. If anything, the rider’s explanation deepens her wariness. “So you just have this C’avema…K’vvan person going around scooping women up for you?” Aghast. “That’s sick!!” As to the question put to her, the redhead merely gives a sharp nod of head.

“No, no. It’s not like that at all! I had no idea he do something like this,” Cha’el hastily tries to clarify. “What I meant was that I…Never mind. How drunk was he?” He asks, features tucked about a worried line, ignoring the ache of skin prickling down his back and along his thighs and that standing out in the cold sweaty and half dressed isn’t doing him any favors.

Dubious the look Prymelia pins on the rider when he negates the conclusion she’d jumped to. “He could still walk.” She replies with a sniff, not too interested in talking about the grouchy greenrider and rather more interested in how she was going to get back down.

“Mmm.” That’s all that greets her answer and then Cha’el jerks his head toward his weyr. “Let me go throw a shirt on and I’ll take you back down to the bowl.” He’s gone all of a few minutes in which Sikorth lets loose with an almighty yawn. Apparently he’s bored. Not gone for long, the human half of the pair returns wearing a long-sleeved sweatshirt and with a bag slung over his shoulder. “And by the way, it’s ‘Sir’, to you. You’re at the bottom of the food chain now so you’re expected to salute any and all that you come across. Name’s Cha’el, Weyrsecond, and this is Sikorth.” To which the lump of mottled hide simply gives a blink of multi-faceted eyes.

Left to her own devices while the brownrider is gone, Prymelia keeps a fair distance between herself and the dragon that opens his maw wide in a yawn as if measuring the fit of her in his jaws, snapping it shut again with a sharp clack of teeth. Her humiliation is complete when Cha’el goes on to not only reprimand her for not having given the proper greeting but also to introduce himself as the none other than the Weyrsecond. “Shit.” She mutters under her breath and gives a salute in the manner she’d recalled T’ral doing so. Sloppy at best. “Prymelia, of the clan Flynn. Sir.” Awwwkward.

The smirk that threatens is hidden within the neat frame of his beard, and Cha’el returns the attempt at a salute with a smart one of his own. “C’mon on then, let’s go before someone realizes you’re missing.” Mounting swiftly he leans sideways and holds out a hand for the young woman to take.

Within moments Weyrsecond and unexpected red-haired visitor are both mounted and the big brown falls over the edge of the ledge, the brownrider’s chuckle lost when the young woman grabs at him in fright. Once back on terra firma, the candidate is sent off to rejoin her fellows and as for the brownrider, well it’s the baths for him, followed by drills and then a certain dainty green will be receiving a message from Sikorth stating that her rider’s presence is required in the council chambers.

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