Fresh Ink

Writers: Mirren, Paula
Date Posted: 9th February 2016

Characters: Fymer, Bortem
Description: The plot thickens
Location: Sunstone Seahold
Date: month 4, day 12 of Turn 8
Notes: Mentioned: Yriadha, Vreena

Bortem

"Did you write them?" Bortem asked eagerly. Marks, all he could think about was marks. The sooner the better.

"Yes," Fymer replied and frowned a bit. Bortem seemed too eager, he migh just give them away because of it.

"Well?" Bortem prompted. "Where are they?"

Fymer patted the satchel he was carrying. "Do watch your words when we are in public place," he reprimanded with quiet voice.

"Sorry." Bortem glanced around. "Can I look?" he whispered loudly.

Fymer pulled out a rolled up hide. "Be careful and don't smudge it, the ink's still fresh," he warned.

Bortem wasn't even planning to touch it. "Unroll it," he suggested, "let me see."

With furtive glance around them, Fymer unrolled the hide and let Bortem see. He was quite proud of handiwork. A masterful piece of forgery.

The tanner's eyes widened. "That's excellent. When can we use it?" He looked ready to grab it and get marks that second.

"We need to find a good moment. Probably when he and his steward ar in a hurry," Fymer replied. He rolled the hide and put it back to his bag.

"Great." Surely that couldn't be too long. "I can buy enough wine to forget that Ma wants me to marry that woman." Bortem grimaced.

"And who would be that woman be?" Fymer asked curiously. He was harper after all, he had to stay in touch with the gossip.

"Vreena," Bortem said sourly. "She hates me." He could have been referring to Vreena or his mother.

"I don't think I've met the lady in question," Fymer said with neutral voice.

"She's not a lady," Bortem replied unkindly. "She hates me. She'll probably poison my food."

"Well, that would be very unfortunate. Is there anyway you can avoid it?" Fymer asked.

"I could run away." Bortem didn't much care for that idea.

"Where to? Your crafthall?" Fymer asked.

"I suppose." Or the Weyr. "But I couldn't do that to Ma." He didn't want to see her face if he even tried it.

"Would she send hounds after you? Or the watch-wher?" Fymer was actually joking.

Bortem looked stricken. "Probably. Or she'd find a way to make my craft kick me out."

"Oh, poor you," Fymer gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"I know right?" Bortem sighed. "At least I'll have marks. Or Vreena will."

"Right," Fymer said. "You do need a drink."

"More than one." Bortem agreed.

"Well, I'm still working until evening meal, so I can't join you," Fymer said.

Bortem sighed. "Even I'm not pathetic enough to drink alone."

Fymer hmphed. "Look, I'll send you a word when we can turn this in," he said and patted his satchel.

"All right, I'll be waiting." Now, could he get a game…

"Patience, my friend. Let's not ruin this by rushing," Fymer said.

"Right." But Bortem's eyes were already on a group in the corner playing cards. Just a few hands…

Fymer saw the same table and felt tempted. But as he had said earlier, he still had work to do. Maybe later. "See you later, Bortem," Fymer said arruptly, turning away before the temptation got too great.

"Huh? Yeah." Bortem got to his feet and started over.

Last updated on the February 20th 2016

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Fresh Ink