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Long before those awful Goldflights, Alora of Brown Rusilath had decided that they would come to High Reaches. There was quite a bit of trade to be had, and the weyr was such fun. She, for example, had a tryst that had been terribly interesting with a Bronzerider. Rude as he'd been, it had entertained for a night, and now here she was, swinging the haul she'd taken from a client in to the ship's deeper hold. Rusilath rumbled from his perch high above, his mind brushing her own with concern. Her Quartermaster would be back soon, and she would need to let him know about this new charge. Such things were usually only her decision, but Sernye had proven himself time and again. The man had managed to earn the trust of one of the hardest women in all of Pern, and this was why she sat above deck to wait for him.

Crossing one leg over the other, she began to clean her nails with a knife, whistling a jaunty tune as she did so. Why not? Boredom tugged at her, You are eternally bored, Mine. Even on the seas we sail, you are bored. There are some days I think you will never find pleasure. Hush, Rusilath. When at last she spotted the man for whom she waited, she smiled in that curious way of hers, "There he is, the man of the day. Have your fun, Sernye?"

Her eyes moved over his face, a brow raising at his comment. Gwith, of course, would find herself agitated by this. Sernye, the lovely, softer man that she knew well could easily tear the world to shreds if he needed. It was why she'd accepted him as Quartermaster over what might've otherwise been an unruly crew. Some thought she still needed proving, but oh, she knew her ship inside and out. What had been warmth in her eyes became cold as ice, fingers moving to take the private manifest up to show him, "Quite. Been tucked away already...we got a good one. Nonetheless, I think we're going to have to work on figuring a new crew aside from the small group of trusted." Rubbing her jaw, she felt for a new nick on the skin, a wound that she accepted willingly in response to where she'd gone. Weyr living didn't agree with her.

Rusilath crooned sweetly towards the Green above, spreading his wings and trying not to let her feel his mental grin. The Brown rather liked flirting with the small thing.

Little did Gwith know that so too did Rusilath consider her his. He'd grown fond of the sweet Green in their time together on the sea, and in her own way, she made his hearts flutter. The Brown crooned a sweet reply to her, bugling up to call her down. A wing raised, inviting her close to his hide that he might pay her plenty of attention. The brown did so adore the lovely little Green. Just look at her on the wing! She was wonderful.

Shards, could she get a break? Scoffing, she ran her hand under her nose, passing him a copy of the REAL manifest, written in a slight code that she'd taught only herself, Sernye, and Cys'ian. It would tell him EVERYTHING. The large thing hidden in their hold for transport back towards Western Weyr? It was a good payday. However, his words had her pacing back and forth. It was well known that Alora LOATHED weyrlife, and hated being stuck anywhere, and this? This was like prison, "How could I, when everyone here is crooning over how WONDERFUL this structured wherdung pit is? Not a single one of them worth their salt to the sea, who wouldn't risk reporting us to the Weyrleaders. Doubt they'd want smugglers in town." Her voice was in a hushed, sharp whisper, gaze glaring daggers at her crewmate, "Had to go with offering the wages to a dissatisfied kid, or DRUDGE." Now that was a bit of disgust, "NOT A ONE knows ship maintenance or rigging poper, I swear...."