Who

Thierry Prymelia

What

After the egg touching, Thierry and Prymelia compare notes and trade insults.

When

It is midmorning of the twenty-eighth day of the third month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Igen Weyr, Living Cavern

OOC Date

 

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Living Caverns

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.


Given an hour of free time after the egg touching, probably to allow the candidates to process the experience, the White Knots had peeled away in an assortment of pairs, trios and small groups. A sober faced Prymelia after having managed to shake the bubbly, babbling Morin off, has chosen to go solo to be alone with her thoughts. Slipping into the living caverns, a mug of klah is put together and then she tucks herself away at one of the tables set within the shadow of a corner.

Another candidate who's keeping himself to himself over the recent egg-sperience (ba-dum-tsh) is Thierry. The plods across the bowls after Prymelia, unintentionally following her as he, too, gets klah. It's even more coincidental when she picks one of his favourite spots in the caverns, and the candidate flumps down into a chair beside her. There's silence from him for a few long moments, before he repeats what he said on the edge of the Sands: "That was fucking weird."

“Faranth, F’lar and Lessa!” Prymelia curses snapping Thierry a startled look when he collapses next to her. “Warn a woman.” There is of course no real heat to her reprimand and she turns back to her klah, blowing gently at the hot brew. “Weird.” She agrees quietly and then adds more tellingly: “I think I get it now. That last egg…” A pause and a light frown as she tries to gather thought into words. “Was like it looked right into my soul.”

Thierry gives Prymelia a /look/ for that fluffy curse. A look that says 'Really? Is that the best you've got?' He sinks lower in his chair, curling fingers around his klah mug and holding it up against his chest. "One didn't want me to leave it." He frowns ahead, eyes focused on nothing. "Like it needed me, or summat like that. Dunno why, man. It was weird. Fucking awesome too, in a… a weird kinda way. But definitely weird." His klah is raised to his lips; a tester sip taken to ensure it's of a drinkable temperature.

Oh Thierry, if only you knew the colorful rainbow of verbiage Prymelia is capable of. But right now, she simply flicks him a faintly withering look in return before it morphs to curiosity that follows with a short smile of understanding. “Did you think it would be like? You know, that they’d try to communicate with us?” She asks, wrapping her hands about her mug. “Its like they knew we were there. That one egg though. Someone should name it Pryska. So disapproving it was like someone had squished my mother inside of it.”

"I dunno," Thierry replies with a shrug. "Never even seen eggs before, let alone /touched/ 'em… never known anyone who has, really. Or thought to ask them what do have dragons." He knots his fingers into his dark hair, ruffling it up. "Didn't think they'd communicate though, no. That's what's fucking weird, man. How can an egg see outside its shell? What if them eggs we eat for breakfast do that? /Fuck that/." Because that's creepy.

“Me neither,” Prymelia admits. “I mean they were on the Sands in Southern but I never went to go and see them. I did go to the Hatching though. It was…eye opening.” Finally a sip of klah is taken and Thierry is sent an odd look followed by a light shudder on the matter of breakfast eggs. “Can’t say I’ve ever had an avian egg that felt like a pile of fur.”

Thierry's nose wrinkles. "Or one that… needed me to be its friend." He scratches at his hair again, turning to look at Prymelia. "D'you think it means anything? If they're giving you signals like that - like wanting to be a friend and shit, does that mean… mebbe that egg's for me?" He bites on his lip, then slurps a mouthful of klah. "What'd you wanna roll around naked for?"

For all that the effect of the last egg she’d touched lingers and likely will continue to do so, Prymelia turns an impish smile onto the other candidate. “Maybe you should try carrying one around in your pocket and talking to it like a little bald friend, aye?” Elegantly shaped mahogany brows dip toward one another in thought at the question put to her. “I don’t know but for the first time, I really kind of hope so. That last egg it…it felt like love. And freedom. Like it knew who I am and what I want, you know?” Feeling a bit like a prat especially for having admitted such a thing to someone she doesn’t even know, Thierry’s last draws a husky chuckle from the redhead. “The one egg felt like a whole pile of thick luxurious furs. Soft and silky. Who wouldn’t want to roll around naked in that?”

"Only with someone else. No fun rolling about on your own." Thierry's brow raises as he smirks at Prym. "Mebbe that egg felt like love cos it was meant to be for you. Didja hear what anyone else said about the ones they were touching? That first one I did was…" He goes quiet for a moment, trying to sort out his thoughts. "I betcha that's what it was like when them Oldtimers were jumping forward. It felt like… like the end of Pern."

“With someone else or alone, makes no difference to me, I just wanted the furs,” Prymelia admits with a chuckle. The sound dwindles as does amusement and Thierry is set with a long look. “I don’t know. I only said yes to Search to buy myself some time. If there’s a dragon in there meant for me….” Words trail off, the enormity thereof more than Mz Ostrich can currently deal with. “Do you want one? A dragon that is.” There is however a shudder when he goes on to describe the first egg he’d touched. “It must have been terrifying knowing what was coming if they didn’t jump forward.”

"Wait. You signed up to possibly end up risking your pretty arse up in the air fighting /thread/ and possibly /dying/, so you could by time?" Thierry does /not/ get that, not at all. "Y'know what? That's pretty fucking stupid." More of his klah goes down the hatch as he sits up, resting his elbows on his knees. "Look. Lady. I wanna fight thread. Up there, down here, wherever the fuck it is. If there's a dragon to help? Yeah. Cool - fucking /awesome/. If not? I've got a flamethrower with my name on it in the groundcrew. I'm not buying time for /shit/."

“Fuck you!!” Prymelia shoots back, temper flaring amber flecks in hazel eyes. “Just
because I’m not some dragon-hungry-hero-wannabe, doesn’t mean you get to judge me for my reasons for being here.” Catching herself, she shoves back into her chair and eyes Thierry for a few moments in stiff silence. “What’s your name any way?” She may as well ask.

Oh hello, outburst. Thierry /eyes/ Prymelia, brows low and lips drawn in a thoughtful pout, that grows into a sly smile - and even a snort of amusement. "That's a fucking mouth you got on you." He sounds almost… approving, as he runs his tongue over his bottom lip. "I'm judging you. Course I'm fucking judging you. Your reasons are fucked up when there's thread falling, lady. What the fuck're you gonna do if some dragon picks you? Say 'Oh no thanks'," he mimics the former trader's tone, complete with lah-di-dah hand movements, "'I only came here to buy time'. That's fucking /bullshit/, and you're pissed that I called you out on it." And /he's/ so pleased with himself, because he thinks he's got it all sussed. He leans back in his chair, smirking across at Prymelia. "And d'you really think I'm gonna hand over a name to someone with a gob on 'em like you've got? Fuck you right back, lady."

Here, have some more: “Screw you!” Prymelia slings right back. “I don’t have to answer to you or anyone else. Its not my fault some bitchy greenrider thought I was someone else.” Up goes her chin in defiant display thereof. “No dragon’s gonna choose me.” Of that she’s sure. So much so that she’s bet every mark she has, against herself impressing. For ulterior motives, of course. And so, reminded of this, the redhaired candidate merely turns out a sly smirk for Thierry that turns saccharine sweet. “Fine. I’ll just call you Knobhead. And no thanks, we’re not allowed.” She’ll leave him to figure that last one out all by himself while she nurses her klah.

"They've got plenty more t'choose from, FireCrotch." Because one good nickname deserves another, right? Thierry seems to be enjoying the back and forth. "Didn't say you hadta answer to me. Didn't say you hadta do what the greenrider told you to, neither… but you did what he said, didn'tcha? And you're here, and you're pissed about it, because it was all your choice what led you here." He pauses to chug his klah. "I chose it. Coulda said no, but I chose it. And, by the by, I wouldn't go fur-rolling with you even if we were allowed; red hair down there," he tilts his head meaningfully downwards, "freaks me the fuck out." The last of his klah goes down the hatch, and he stands up to start sauntering off.

An expressive roll of eyes meets the nickname awarded her. “Like I’ve never heard that before. You’re full of shit, you know that?” She tells her male counterpart with less heat than he might have expected. “And lack in imagination. You’re probably about as exciting in the furs as a dry piece of toast. Firecrotch…” snort!! Klah drinking calls for a pause in the trade of insults and then once again, Thierry will find himself rewarded with a syrupy sweet smile as Prymelia leans aaaaall the way in. “For all you know, I dye my hair. Not that you’re ever going to find out.” She murmurs her tone deliberately lowered to a silky caress. Another drink of her klah and then she’s pushing the chair back and standing. “Much as I’m loving this little heart-to-heart, I’m on the roster for the feeding pens today. Try to behave yourself now and maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you brush my hair and paint my nails later on.” Not.

Thierry looks back over his shoulder, half-smirking, half-scowling - because the latter just /has/ to be done in response to the insults. "You go care for your kin in the pens then, yeah? Bovines oughta stick together, swap all them /imaginative/ stories, yeah?" He snorts, diverting his exit-path to take him past where he can drop his empty mug off. Then, from there, it's on into the inner caverns - perhaps to the barracks.

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