Who

Yules, Desmeth, Prymelia, Issaeryth

What

RPTAG: Yules takes Prymelia along to Ista Hold to deliver klah spice and a deal is struck.

When

It is midmorning of the first day of the ninth month of the second turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Ista Hold

OOC Date

 

yules_default.jpg Prym18.jpg


Ista Hold

Standing on a broad stone platform, the smell of the sea and rythmic crashing of the waves buffets your senses. This large dock juts out into the water far enough to allow several ships to port at once. Standing at regular intervals along the surface are several stone containers with hinged metal tops, presumably to store the various ropes, nets, and other items, which lie piled inside them in times of Threadfall. The only obvious wood used in the docks construction is used in the many ladders which hang over the edge allowing acces to any smaller ships which may arrive. These ladders appear to be fastened to the stone with some form of locking mechanism, no doubt the work of some inventive Smithcrafter.


It's early morning when a brown dragon pops in from Between over Ista's Sea Docks. A few look up, and at least one person even groans. He remembers what happened when Yules and Desmeth were here last. It ended up with some cracked dock boards after a huge hug-along with a goldrider, the brownrider, and her brown. Still, Yules is like a honey badger that way, setting Desmeth down in the ONE clear spot, tossing down two rather heavy gunny sacks before sliding down Desmeth's neck. Only then does Yules scan the sky and have Desmeth sidle aside. Like she's waiting for someone.

That someone comes in the form of a sturdy celadon green on the larger side for a Nowtime green so that no matter how daintily Issaeryth lands, the boards creak and groan beneath the weight of the two dragons. Immediately goggles are dropped about the redhead’s neck, helmet stripped off and jacket unfastened as she plasters a wide grin onto Yules. “Now THIS is weather I could get used to.” For anything is better than the constant rain currently drowning their home Weyr.

Pulling off her own goggles, Yules blinks in the light. "It is quite moderate here," is what she calls agreement, bending over to pick up one of the gunny sacks. "Have you not visited here in your travels before Issaeryth?" In fact, someone's approaching them but Yules will ignore him in favour of waiting for an answer from the weyrling/

Unclipping her belt restraints, Prymelia slithers to the ground with a woody thud of boots to dockside. “Nope. K’ane took me to the volcano island which I think is somewhere nearby but I’ve not been here yet.” Clearly someone hasn’t been exploring quite as much as others might assume she would have. The gunny sack and then the one approaching are eyed with interest. “Friend of yours? Or. I KNOW. This is a secret tryst and that there,” she waves at the sack, “is your change of clothes for the morning.” Oh my, what an imagination.

A soft huh is what Yules has to say of that, but she'll add, "Remember this flightpoint, though. They have some very nice gathers, especially if you like fish." And who doesn't like fish, Yules' flat expression implies. The cover story Prymelia's come up with earns a blink: "A tryst? Like, with a man?" Because brownrider here. "No, this is klah spice. I'm trying to," take over Pern with it, "market it and create a demand." The man who's tired of being ignored starts tapping his foot, while Desmeth curves his neck to Issaeryth and huffs in amusement. Humans, huh?

Slender shoulders shift beneath the neat fit of her jacket. “I dunno. Maybe you’re trying something new?” Hey, she doesn’t judge. Whatever floats your boat, Yules. “Gathers?” A certain gleam lights hazel regards for Prymelia is rather starting to get over fish. “Klah spice, huh?” Again that bag is eyed. “There good marks in that?” Cogs and wheels are turning but the greenrider shuts up if only because as a former trader she’s curious to watch Yules apply her skills of negotiation. Off to one side, Issaeryth sets Desmeth with a long-suffering look: Humans. Always complicating everything.

"I don't know yet," Yules replies bemusedly, "I'm still figuring out a few new recipes. I figure we could trade it for good leather or extra metal of some sort." Now that we don't need firestone, amirite. Now come and watch a Master of Not Negotiating at her finest: "Here," Yules says, thrusting the bag at the poor recipient who wasn't quite expecting the load, "Tell your cooks to keep a tally of how much is requested, how fast it goes, and remember to tell them, less is more. And more is less enjoyment of anything. So use it sparingly." Yes, Yules' Art of Negotiation really involves a verbal hammer. Leaning over, Yules takes up the second bag to foist off on what seems to be the man's assistant boy. Desmeth lets out a slow whistle of sigh, like he was expecting this but says nothing. At least to Yules. For Issaeryth, instead, « So, young green. How enjoy you the tasks of Senior Weyrling and Wingsecond? »

Initially, Prymelia takes the brownrider’s first to be in conjunction with her tease about orientation. As such, brows arch upward and mirth begins to bubble across lightly freckled features. When she realizes to what it really applies, the weyrling looks almost disappointed for lack of juicy topic. Blink. Blink, blink, blink. Dark lashes flutter rapidly at the manner in which Yules goes about her business. “Um.” The redhead is at a bit of a loss. “Perhaps you might want to tell him about how it’s a special secret blend available nowhere else?” Going for diplomacy here. “Or maybe that if used in the right quantity with a shot of whiskey its been known to act as an aphrpodisiac?” Total lie but what male WON’T fall for such a line? As for the dragons, Issaeryth bestows upon the larger brown the draconic equivalent of a ‘There, there.’ pat to shoulder by touching her nose gently to him. « They each have their strengths, big one. » That’s for his longsuffering sigh on his rider’s negotiation skills. « We are doing well! Just the other day my beloved was able to Between without her needing a latrine break. She even maintained control over her bladder during that Fall! » SO PROUD!!

Puzzled Yules is puzzled: "Well, I don't tell anyone how it's made, but I don't know how it helps with… that…" she means the aphrodisiac part. "Of course it is an excellent product," Yules adds arrogantly with an eye on her porter boys who would just frankly like to get out of this conversation. Desmeth mmmms low in his throat in approval. « That is excellent to hear. Latrine breaks, » Desmeth is not chuckling aloud, he most certainly is not, « are rather interruptive to flying a Fall. But we saw you, and you flew well and strong. »

From Yules to the porter boys and back to Yules again flick the weyrling’s gaze. “Ma’am. Might we step aside to talk in private?” Ever so politic. The porter boys are for the time being dismissed from interest. Perhaps now they might make an escape? « Indeed. » Issaeryth concurs. « And a wet neck would be most comfortable Between. » Graciously does she accept the praise given with a coy little arch of neck.

Yules is totally perplexed: "Why?" Still, she'll follow to where Prymelia points out. There's no censure in her formal tones though, "What is it, Wingsecond?" Desmeth huffs in amusement. « Indeed. And of all the reasons to enjoy a bath, that is the last reason I would like. » Desmeth too curves to look down at Issaeryth and approves. « You grow long and healthy. »

Once they’re out of earshot, Prymelia eyes the other female rider for a few moments, and then: “Well, I was thinking. With your being the wingleader of such a prestigious wing as Ocelot and then still finding time to mentor the likes of us, you must get so little time to yourself to just sit back, enjoy a mug of klah made from your excellent spices and, well, relax.” A bare pause is allowed for Yules to take this in with the weyrling exhibiting nothing but what appears to be concern. “So how about this. You mix it all up with your secret recipes and I do the drop-offs and negotiations, hmm?” Adding quickly. “For a small cut of course.” Peering up at Desmeth, there is a subtle shifting of jade striated wings, a bit of a stretch of wingsails in the manner of a highly bred runner tossing its mane. « You are too kind, Desmeth. » Comes the husky roll of a storyteller’s tone, overriding the clipped sense of a colonial so often associated with the green’s bearing.

Yules blinks at Prymelia. Does not compute? "So you would bring the spice around, on your rest day," the Wingleader stresses for a moment, "for a small amount of the profits?" Yules is thinking. "All but to the Barrier Hold, of course. Renalde and I have spoken already." She's been seeing another trader, Prymelia. Desmeth chortles draconically. « Hardly, young Issaeryth. » This rolls through with the smoothness of bourbon, the feel of silk in hand. « I am merely appreciative of finesse. »

“Yes!!” Ding, ding, ding. Yules is the winner!! Bright, suspiciously bright the smile that flares across Prymelia’s face. “I have a few other things to take about.” SUCH innocence there. “So it really wouldn’t be very much trouble at all.” Oh Yules, two-timing traders. Woe. WOE!! Luckily, the weyrling has no idea and so she continues blithely. “Not the Barrier Hold. Check.” Issaeryth is like any other female out there when gifted such smooth compliment and for just a second she allows herself to revel in that silky delivery, wrapping it about herself and mentally twirling before sending it back on a whisper of warm desert air scented with date palms. « You have a good eye. » In the landscape of her mind, soft laughter tinkles from the oasis hidden deep within.

A moment longer of pondering: "That seems like a fair deal," Yules admits almost reluctantly but nods, holding out her hand for a good, hearty shake. You don't get much 'gentle touching of palms' as a Wingleader. "How much of a cut would you be seeking?" The hand retracts slightly until that's clarified. « I am merely observing and with the good sense to make comment when I see a creature of resplendent beauty. » Wait, isn't Desmeth her dad? Oops, he's forgotten about that, apparently. The bourbon swirls against firelight, is sipped and inhaled luxuriously.

Hey, a girl has to practice flirting with someone and if not someone ‘safe’ like her daddy, then who? Issaeryth fairly wriggles with delight but is soon overcome with curiosity. « Have you seen many things of beauty, Desmeth? Will you tell me about them? » The little storybook sponge is ready to soak it all up. That hand held out is taken, slender fingers wrapping about it and Prymelia announces the cut she’s after. “How about ten percent for the first quarter with an additional one percent added the following four if you’re happy with my services. Call it an incentive bonus.”

Yules nods slowly as she gives in to the shake, "Sure. Equitable." She looks over at the porters who, yup, they're still standing there, looking sweaty and miserable. "Those two are just the porters today. My next shipment should be next sevenday, if you're available for that?" Dor Desmeth, he's perfectly happy to share his knowledge: « Many beautiful things, and many things that I find beautiful, but others not so. » Wise old parent that he is. « We shall talk about them over time. And how to recognize them. »

A good deal struck, Yules will find herself reminded with a Cheshire cat grin. “Yes ma’am. Totally available for that.” And if not? Prymelia is just wily enough to be able to figure out how to swap duties to be so. The rest of the dealings will now be left to Ocelot’s wingleader to wrap up with the wily weyrling already counting the marks in her head. And as for the dragons? Well, Desmeth will find himself with a new green shadow likely to poke and prod at the worst possible times for stories!!

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