Who

Dione, Prymelia

What

Prymelia meets Dione in the laundry cavern and advises on which muscle wins the day.

When

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

Where

Southern Weyr, Laundry Room

OOC Date

 

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Laundry Room

Slippery pillars point past the pools towards the commercial cleaning… or what was once? Hard to tell, with the dirt and the crumbling cloth in the corner.


The announcement was made and word spread through the Weyr like wildfire – A gala event is in the works. One carrying a Smart Wear label and nothing pleases the heart of a magpie more than a reason to get out her prettiest of pretties and gussy up. And so, there said magpie is, long mahogany tresses braided and wound into a bun at the back of her head, kneeling at the edge of a laundry pool, sleeves rolled up and hands working with reverence on what appears to be a rather elegant dress.

The importance of looking spiffy is not to be underestimated by anyone, even if most of your work demands being around broozers, tabac smokers and late-night carousing smells. That's why Dione is here, ambling into the room with an arm full of laundry and a wrinkled nose. Finding a relatively empty space, she kneels down next to the waterside in old clothes, nodding a hello to Prymelia as she passes. The quality of the dress being scrubbed catches her eyes though, and she indulges in a bit of unabashed staring at it. Then, quietly, "That's beautiful."

Gently and with great care, slender hands work scented laundry soap over the lengths of fabric so artfully put together. Having been lost in thought, Prymelia startles at the other redhead’s quietly given compliment, the poignant expression that had drifted across features speckled with a dusting of freckles shifting into a smile. “Thank you. My mother had it made at the Night Flight.” Hands pause in their work though the dress isn’t allowed to drown and is kept afloat atop the water. “I’ve seen you around the Kitten. You’re new’ish around these parts aren’t you? I’m Prymelia.” A soapy hand is held out in greeting.

Dione tilts her head curiously, not recognising the name of the Night Flight. Still, it looks supremely expensive, the kind even a rich mother can't afford very often. "Yes, at the Kitten. I've noticed you there a few times as well." Hesitantly, because her hand is full of dirty clothes smell, she shakes the trader's hand with a combination of inherent strength and delicacy. "Almost five months now. Please excuse me for not greeting you before, but I'm normally a bit busy, and you always seem engaged."

A light laugh, husky at the lower register and silvery at its top spills as she shakes the barmaid’s hand. “Well to be fair, as a trader I’m not often in the Weyr and I was away at Igen for a good long while too. So its not a wonder our paths haven’t really crossed before now.” Prymelia allows turning back to the oxblood and emerald creation. “How are you finding it here?” She asks lifting the dress from the one pool and into another for rinsing. “Have you managed to adapt to the weather yet?”

"I have friends that went there recently," the bartender shares. "They came back with the most gorgeous material for their families, and I was outrageously jealous when they showed me. I hope I have time sometime to go down there and see the materials for myself. Apparently there's a lot." She grimaces as she starts soaking her clothes one by one, dealing with fragile underthings first. "Will you be alright with the heat of the sands?" She peers a little closer. "It looks a bit like wool?" Pause. "Except the rain, better weather than I've had all my life. Winters in Nerat's spine can get a little cold."

“They do have beautiful fabric in the cloth corridor.” Prymelia agrees, carefully swirling the dress about in the pool. “You should definitely see if you can get up there for some shopping. The bazaar is worth it.” And look how she says all of that without a lick of emotion to betray her. As Dione drops delicate underthings into her laundry pool, the trader lets out a husky chuckle. “A woman after my own heart. You should drop by my wagon some time.” As for the comment about the dress she’s now carefully squeezing water from, a corner of her mouth curves upward. “The sleeves come off so I’m not planning on wearing those and the fabric is actually a loose woven cotton.” Hence the soft drape of it. “Besides, if I get too hot I can always take it off and just prance about in my underwear.” Straight face.

There are still vast stretches of Nowtimer holder morals left in Dione, which guarantee a flush when the other woman comments on her underwear, but a smile soon evolves, and she picks the closest out of the pool, giving it a careful few scrubs. It's a good thing there aren't men around. "Thanks. I'll make a visit around there, if this is the kind of thing that you trade in? You are a trader, correct? The one tasked with scrubbing all the hillfolk? My nose is severely thankful to you; one can't say anything whilst they're good customers, but sometimes I swear they don't cure their hides all the way." She pauses in thought, then nods to the pool. "Good idea. Is it, ah, for someone?"

The blush is noted and viewed with quiet amusement for Prymelia is one that could probably care less if men see her delicates….Oh wait. That’s already happened. Twice! Which probably accounts for external exhibition of amusement at memory of both times. “That I am, aye. I trade on the Weyr’s behalf as well as running a few special lines of my own. Lingerie being a particular favorite. There’s nothing like seeing that little extra spark of confidence in a lass when she’s wearing something pretty. Even if no one else ever gets to see it.” So goes her philosophy on lacy scraps of fabric. A laugh and a nod greets the next. “The very same though there are still a few, how shall I put it, stubborn ones that need corralling.” Folding the wet dress into a nearby woven basket, the trader rocks back on her heels and sets Dione with an odd look before she shakes her head slightly, her answer a quietly given, “No, not anyone in particular.”

Dione, viewing her own scraps of nothing with a small smile, nods hesitantly. "It makes me remember that I'm female, no matter how many men I have to be tough in front of, or… you know. It's just a good reminder." She finishes her things with care, scrubbing at her forehead with the back of one wrist. "I don't have anyone in particular either," she says as she dumps in larger items. "As you noted, I've not been in the weyr long, and though I know people it's not in a social setting, so if you're not going to be there for someone in particular, I hope you won't mind if I come and say hello at the party. There are a few riders I'd like to dodge."

“Oh, Sweetheart. Never try to be tough with men. It only makes them dig their heels in more like stubborn herdbeast. What you have to do,” a finger lifts and taps at the side of her head, “is use the muscle they so frequently ignore in favor of the one between their legs.” Cue the tight little smirk that affixes to Prymelia’s mouth. Gathering up her bar of laundry soap and wrapping it back up in a square of hessian cloth so as to allow it to dry without becoming slimy, Dione’s request and following confession is met with an upward tilt of fine brows. “You’re dodging riders already?” Amused. “What did you do? Cut their bar tab off?”

From the way that Dione first turns red, then white, then red again, that's exactly what she did, and the rather guilty glance she gives the trader sideways only confirms it. "He didn't like books," she mutters, probably the weakest excuse in the history of forever, and an obvious dodge for the real reason. "And he was old, nearly twice my age, so I don't think flirting would have worked with him, even if I hadn't been angry enough to want to snarl at him. He was kind of uncomplimentary about women. I think Sevreni put him back on the okay list yesterday, though I'm glad she let me get away with it for that long."

“Oh you don’t flirt with them,” Prymelia goes on to advise now thoroughly amused by the colors alternating across the barmaid’s expression. “That just rewards them for bad behavior if they’re being fools.” She is however curious even if amusement does continue to linger. “Tsk. It’s a man’s world, sweetheart. As unfair as that seems. The trick is to learn how to use their chauvinist ideals against them in such a way that they don’t realize you’re doing it. And, don’t let them see that they’ve gotten to you.” Wink. “Mmm. Trying to cut a rider off from a bar tab is never really going to work either, they can just Between off to another somewhere else.” This passed on as she stands and then beds to take up her basket. “Killing them with kindness tends to confound the crap out of them.” Parting words of advice given as she tucks her wrapped soap into her basket. “But now I’m afraid I need to go get this spread out in the sun and tend to my duties. It was nice meeting you….?” Blink. She never did get the other redhead’s name.

"Dione," the bartender says immediately, and there's another flush at her rudeness. It's certainly a red-cheek day for her. "I'm sorry. I should have said something at the beginning. About the rest…" She lifts one hand out of the water and shakes it off, wiping it on her pants. "I'll think about it. Pleased to meet you, and have a bountiful trading day." She'll remain, faintly envious, that she still has a heap of things to scrub.

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