Log: Trading On The Past
IC: Winter - Day 12, month 1, turn 23 of Interval 10.
RL: 2010.06.24
At the market with the deceased Mina’s possessions, Murron provides perfect opportunity for Bailey to move some of the more personalised items.
Market, Ista Weyr(#916RJ)
Clustered around the path leading between the beach and the jungle stands a diamond of eight wooden stalls, two to a side. Staffed by a kaleidoscope of Istans from around the island, the market features a changing array of local products from ubiquitous shell jewelry to season-conscious umbrellas and surfboards. It's Buyer Beware, though: the quality of the products varies, but then again so does the quality of salesmanship, and it's just as likely to find a overvalued rip-off as an underpriced treasure.
Open to the air when the weather is good, the market has several tools at its disposal to deal with less genial conditions. The round pit in the center of the stalls, which visitors may choose to skirt or gather around, can be used for a small bonfire on the rare cold days. A big, heavy stretch of oilcloth and a thinner gauze material have been bundled up and nailed to the trees just behind the market, ready to be stretched out for shelter or shade on days that are too rainy or too hot.
Contents:
Murron
Obvious exits:
Plateau Trader Camp
MURRON:
Perfect posture gives this graceful woman the impression of height, thought truthfully she's slight of build and stature. Murron's hair is blond so pale as to seem near white, swept up from her slender neck into an elegant bundle of twists and curls, seemingly held there by nothing more than hope. Not a hair strays from its place, even the few tendrils that curl down her neck seem to be put there by art rather than chance. The paleness of her porcelain complexion contrasts dramatically with the darkness of her eyes, their brown so deep as to almost be black, set in a sweet, albeit composed face.
Her slim form is dressed modestly - a pale blue dress with long sleeves, and a neckline that exposes her collarbone from one shoulder to the other, but dips only slightly lower from there. It's a well made garment, though the design is simple; sewn from lightweight fabric, it's fitted close in the bodice and under her modest bosom, and from there the skirts fall loose to the ground. The sandals that show from time to time underneath are delicate little things, woven of light fibers.
Early afternoon! The market is not crowded, but there is a steady stream of weyrfolk passing through, some pausing to take a closer look at the myriad wares displayed under the cool winter sun. One such person is Murron, engaged in some blatantly polite conversation with the proprietor of a stand featuring jewelery and various brightly colored fabrics. The merchant is pitching for all he's worth, but she stands firm, face serene, and takes her time perusing the display.
On the opposite side of the market, another stand features not only jewellery but also several rails of woman’s clothing (all in a particular size), as well as those feminine accoutrements that one would envisage gracing the boudoir of a lady. Bargaining with a potential customer for the hat the portly woman wishes to purchase, Bailey’s eyes flick in near constant rhythm over the round fire pit and over to that -other- stand, the proprietor thereof receiving his fair share of narrowed looks. After another few exchanges a satisfied smile breaks out onto the pregnant trader’s face and she pockets the mark bits earned, sending a cheery farewell after the woman and then turning to another whose interest appears to lie in a brush and mirror set.
After a few items are examined, contemplated, even ever so lightly caressed, Murron offers the merchant her quiet, but firm, thanks. Nothing there that caught her eye, and no amount of persuasion, glinting smiles, and intimately whispered bargains will persuade her otherwise. She moves on, lingering briefly at a stand boasting wood carvings, but her interest lies in one particular category, and thusly it is (conveniently) inevitable that she come at length to Bailey's stall. She ends up standing near to the other potential customer, and though she doesn't crowd the woman, she leans in just enough to take a look at the brush and mirror set, and it's with a touch of appreciation that she comments, "Beautiful."
Beautiful the set certainly is with a vine of delicate flowers carved into the handles of both brush and mirror. The price being haggled over by the silver haired customer may give one pause for thought, for it is one below that of market value for a new item. With arms coming to fold over the curvature of her stomach Bailey sets a brow lifted look onto the old woman, “You won’t get something of this quality at that price, anywhere else.” Thin lips puckering into a disgruntled line the potential customer tries once more to have her offered price accepted, “But it’s used.” As are all the items on display, some showing more signs of use than others. Pale eyes acknowledge Murron’s arrival in a quick flicker of attention and then the dark haired trader’s mouth curls around a light smirk, “It’s not like the mirror can no longer reflect your image back at you, is it? And the brush has certainly not suddenly forgotten the task for which it was intended.” Standing firm on the asking price.
While the haggling ensues, the grey-haired woman fingering her purse and scowling at the resistance to her offer, Murron takes the time to examine what other wares are set out on display. Necklaces in particular are given her attention, though her dark eyes also flick towards the clothing on display - however, despite her attention to her shopping, and ear is still trained on the conversation taking place between merchant and patron. After that last comment by Bailey, Murron turns back in that direction and - quite politely - throws herself into the mix. "Do excuse me," she directs to Bailey, tones just brimming with decorum, and with a smile offered in response to the older woman's glare. "But if you cannot come to agreement, let me express my interest. I would gladly pay full price for the piece, if the lady will not."
The jewellery on display, more especially the necklaces is made up of a fair blend of chokers, Y-chains and multi-stranded pieces crafted in silver, gold and pearls with more than a few holding at their centres gemmed pendants. In fact, anyone with an eye for quality or knowledge of smithcraft work may very well question their existence here. Giving the old woman time to decide whether or not to buy, Bailey’s attention turns to Murron, a small smile starting to curve in for the notice being given the jewellery by the blonde. That smile turns into another smirk which is handed out the way of the silver-haired woman when the new arrival to her table makes the offer to purchase, “At least someone around here knows a bargain when they see it.” Grumbling the old lady pockets her purse and shuffles off to the umbrella stand. The trader doesn’t spare her a second glance but instead settles her full attention onto Murron, “Is it a gift, or a personal purchase?” this asked as she draws out a sheet of pastel colored paper from behind the stand, “I can gift wrap it for you?” No doubt that will cost extra.
There's just a glint of satisfaction in Murron's eye as the older woman relents and goes to act the spendthrift to someone else. Now that they are unquestionably hers, she doesn't resist the temptation to reach out and trace her fingers along the elegant carvings ornamenting the set. "Thank you, but no," she responds to the brunette's offer. "I couldn't resist, and it pains me to see a good deal go unappreciated." With a smile she bends her head to the task of counting out the price of the brush, but hesitates before laying the marks out on the stand, eyes dancing back to the display of jewelry in all its glittering splendor. "I wonder if you might help me, as of course you know your wares better than I. I'm looking for a chain, something delicate, with a simple pendant. Possibly pearl. Is there anything you could recommend?"
Approving is the smile sent in reply to Murron’s admission of the set being purchased for herself, the mirror and brush set being put to one side as the blonde’s attention turns next to the jewellery on display. Putting a considering look onto the other woman, Bailey tips her head to one side, eyes slipping up and sidelong as if mentally going through her inventory. Finally she bends and draws a small chest of dark wood and elaborate carvings out from under the counter, “Would you want that in silver or gold?” fingers curling over the wood in readiness to lift the lid. Suggesting the chest to be one of magical properties and able to produce whatever it is the customer may desire.
Murron raises her chin ever so slightly under the trader's consideration, as though doing so may make the selection of an appropriate necklace simpler. The chest, as it's produced, is given its due appreciation, both for the craftsmanship of its design and the general ambience it evokes - the sense that whatever is about to be pulled from inside it must, in some way, be special and superior to those already on display. "I would prefer silver," she offers, waiting in patience to see what Bailey will find.
“A good choice for your colouring,” Bailey puts forth as if the well groomed blonde hadn’t already figured this out for herself. Superior, hidden treasures are sadly not, as Murron is soon to find out. But there is a very good reason that they’ve been kept off the table. With the chest turned so that the opening of lid screens the contents from the other woman (a magician never reveals their secrets), Bailey’s attention slips down and into it hands busy for a few moments before one withdraws, three necklaces dangling from her fingers and offered over to Murron for inspection. One, is silver chain of moderately sized links that holds a heart shaped locket as its pendant, another is a combined twist of gold and silver for the chain with a silver tear-shaped drop cradling a pearl at its end and the last, also the pre-requisite silver, is fine chain that has a pendant shaped as a flower with a pearl at its centre. The latter is given small explanation as it is caught up by fingers of the trader’s free hand and turned over to reveal an ornately engraved ‘M’ on its back, “You could always say this stands for Mine, or you know, change your name?” Amusement playing about the brunette’s mouth for that, “Of course, I’m open to negotiating swapping the pendant from one chain with that of another.” The other two pieces have each also been personalised with a pet name of some kind engraved on their backs.
The pieces that are drawn out are given due appreciation, though the first is passed over with only the briefest consideration. It's the second two that capture Murron's attention. "You have lovely things," she offers as she tilts her head to give the first a closer look, reaching a slender hand to touch the pearl pendant. She straightens again, to her usual impeccable posture, as the trader gives that explanation and twist of the second necklace to reveal the engraving, and there's a flicker of surprise in her normally passive countenance. Change her name? "No need," she says, sounding subtlely pleased. "My name is Murron. It's quite perfect. Exactly the sort of thing I was looking for. How much do owe I you, ma'am?" she adds, fishing out her markspurse to add to the sum she'd already counted out for the brush and mirror.
Where one might expect Bailey to positively beam for the compliment afforded the wares, she simply sends out a decently polite smile, her tone a touch tight in the agreement that comes, “Yes, she did have.” Excluding herself from ownership of such things personally. Brows arch up in mirror of the blonde’s own surprise and then slide down as a crooked grin appears, “Well then, Murron, I quite literally, have a bracelet with your name on it.” Well, an ‘M’ at the very least. Said bracelet, a simple silver linked affair with a scrolled plate bearing the initial ‘M’ set at its centre is extracted and laid out on the table as further temptation to add to purchases already agreed upon. Closing the lid of the chest and setting it back under the counter, the bracelet left out, the trader narrows an intrigued look over the pale blonde, “You’re not from around here, are you?”
Murron is not oblivious to that tightening of the tone, but the speculative look it earns is brief. Not actually Bailey's property? Not Murron's business, so she stays focused on the pregnant woman's wares rather than the personal history behind them. As the bracelet is produced she makes a soft sound of appreciation - but not of commitment. "It is very nice. But of course, how many monograms does one need?" she says gently. "Would you, perhaps, be willing to lower the price if I were to take this as well?" As to her origins, the quirk of a smile at the corner of her mouth is just ever so slightly amused - a humor directed more at herself than at her present companion. "Odd, how often I get asked that. No, indeed, not originally. I've been here some months now, though I keep to myself. May I ask your name?"
The bare hint of tension hovers about the pregnant trader’s frame but when Murron doesn’t press on the origin of the items, its melts off. Setting her hands to the counter top and leaning some of her weight onto them in an effort to take some of the strain off of her feet, Bailey produces a chuckle, “Actually, you’re in luck. All monogrammed items are a third off of the price of other unmarked items. There are a few lacy edged handkerchiefs with a small ‘M’ embroidered into the corner of them if you’re interested? I don’t have them here, but can put them to one side?” While she’s been talking the brush, mirror and necklace have been taken up and placed inside a wine red pouch made with a finely spun fabric one might associate with lingerie. Either way, it’s pretty and very feminine. “So where do you hail from?” Pale eyes flicker upward and touch to the blonde with amusement dancing in their depths, “Depends who you ask. To some I’m Sin,” say what? “But to most, just Bailey,” the bracelet lifted and dangled over the mouth of the pouch a questioning brow lifting to the decision made on whether or not to purchase it.
Murron's eyebrows raise slightly, at the easy agreement to a reduction in price, but her answer is reserved for the time being. She fingers the delicate bracelet, considering, and answers the lattermost question first. "North," is her answer. Though, perhaps not so north as one might expect, given the near glacial complexion she bears. "Northern Ista. Sea Cliff. And you? Are you native to the island?" If there is any curiosity or surprise at the potential names Bailey offers up, it shows only in a quickest shadow of a smile, quickly hidden again behind etiquette. "I suppose I had best call you Bailey, then. It is a pleasure to meet you..." One last lingering look at the bracelet, and just a hint of a sigh, and she'll gesture to the bag already holding her purchases. "Yes, then, very well. The bracelet - and if you come across the handkerchiefs any other items of the same monogram or style, do set them aside." She hesitates then, as though debating whether to speak further, but finally her interest overcomes and she poses the question, "May I ask... do you know the name of whomever's jewelry this was?"
Keen eyes watch with amusement as the battle is waged and finally won with Murron’s agreement to add the bracelet to her purchases as well. The sale a done deal, the trader drops it into the red pouch to join the other items, draws the strings closed, and holds it out to the blonde as she names the total amount of marks due. Interest sparks, “Sea Cliff Hold?” assuming the hold part of that, “Why did you leave?” A chuckle is given breath for a moment along with a short shake of head, “No, not a native. From down southern way,” though quite where exactly, is left unsaid. “Been here almost a turn now. Funny we haven’t bumped into each before now. Then again,” a flicker of eyes over the well groomed woman, “We probably don’t move in quite the same social circles,” amusement more than anything else for that and a quick nod on the topic of monogrammed items, “Where do I get hold of you once I’ve gotten them all together?” probing. It’s the last however, the quest for a name to go with the initial that draws a small lift of chin and a certain guardedness to fall into place. Tone perhaps a touch cool, “Mina. She wasn’t from around here.” Past tense.
The assumption that Murron hails from a hold is accepted without dispute, and as for why she left... well, she hesitates a moment, considering the dark-haired woman before her. Finally, "I had... an opportunity." This is the simplistic explanation she settles on, without any further detail added. Rather, she turns her attention to settling their account, neatly depositing the marks into the trader's hand, and accepting the red bag in exchange. "More's the pity," she comments, in regards to their social circles. "But it is true, I mostly keep to myself. My social circle is rather more of a line. Possibly a point." Oh, geometry humor. "I live in the weyr. Any drudge would be able to find me, if you ask them to pass the message on." The cooling of tone is noted, and with a certain softening of expression Murron draws conclusions, accurate or not. "Mina," she repeats quietly. "I'll remember. Thank you, Bailey, is has been a pleasure both meeting you, and conducting business with you - even if my purse is somewhat lighter than I'd intended at the outset." With that, and a smile, she prepares to take her leave.
Dark brows arch and then drop, Bailey offering a wryly intoned, “Don’t we all,” with regards to opportunities. If there were more she was going to ask, it’s probably something she’ll leave for another time. Slipping the marks received into a pocket of the light dress she wears, a chuckle slips out, “And I try as far as possible to avoid the Weyr itself.” Which would probably be why their paths have not crossed until now. “I’ll be sure to send someone for you once everything’s together for you to look over.” Lips twitch, but the trader is able to keep any smugness for the lightening of Murron’s purse, off of her features. “Likewise, it was good doing business with you, Murron. Don’t be a stranger now.” Pale eyes will follow the departing blonde for a moment or two before attention is turned to a scruffy looking little lad reaching for a lovely little trinket pot with grubby fingers.
RL: 2010.06.24
At the market with the deceased Mina’s possessions, Murron provides perfect opportunity for Bailey to move some of the more personalised items.
Market, Ista Weyr(#916RJ)
Clustered around the path leading between the beach and the jungle stands a diamond of eight wooden stalls, two to a side. Staffed by a kaleidoscope of Istans from around the island, the market features a changing array of local products from ubiquitous shell jewelry to season-conscious umbrellas and surfboards. It's Buyer Beware, though: the quality of the products varies, but then again so does the quality of salesmanship, and it's just as likely to find a overvalued rip-off as an underpriced treasure.
Open to the air when the weather is good, the market has several tools at its disposal to deal with less genial conditions. The round pit in the center of the stalls, which visitors may choose to skirt or gather around, can be used for a small bonfire on the rare cold days. A big, heavy stretch of oilcloth and a thinner gauze material have been bundled up and nailed to the trees just behind the market, ready to be stretched out for shelter or shade on days that are too rainy or too hot.
Contents:
Murron
Obvious exits:
Plateau Trader Camp
MURRON:
Perfect posture gives this graceful woman the impression of height, thought truthfully she's slight of build and stature. Murron's hair is blond so pale as to seem near white, swept up from her slender neck into an elegant bundle of twists and curls, seemingly held there by nothing more than hope. Not a hair strays from its place, even the few tendrils that curl down her neck seem to be put there by art rather than chance. The paleness of her porcelain complexion contrasts dramatically with the darkness of her eyes, their brown so deep as to almost be black, set in a sweet, albeit composed face.
Her slim form is dressed modestly - a pale blue dress with long sleeves, and a neckline that exposes her collarbone from one shoulder to the other, but dips only slightly lower from there. It's a well made garment, though the design is simple; sewn from lightweight fabric, it's fitted close in the bodice and under her modest bosom, and from there the skirts fall loose to the ground. The sandals that show from time to time underneath are delicate little things, woven of light fibers.
Early afternoon! The market is not crowded, but there is a steady stream of weyrfolk passing through, some pausing to take a closer look at the myriad wares displayed under the cool winter sun. One such person is Murron, engaged in some blatantly polite conversation with the proprietor of a stand featuring jewelery and various brightly colored fabrics. The merchant is pitching for all he's worth, but she stands firm, face serene, and takes her time perusing the display.
On the opposite side of the market, another stand features not only jewellery but also several rails of woman’s clothing (all in a particular size), as well as those feminine accoutrements that one would envisage gracing the boudoir of a lady. Bargaining with a potential customer for the hat the portly woman wishes to purchase, Bailey’s eyes flick in near constant rhythm over the round fire pit and over to that -other- stand, the proprietor thereof receiving his fair share of narrowed looks. After another few exchanges a satisfied smile breaks out onto the pregnant trader’s face and she pockets the mark bits earned, sending a cheery farewell after the woman and then turning to another whose interest appears to lie in a brush and mirror set.
After a few items are examined, contemplated, even ever so lightly caressed, Murron offers the merchant her quiet, but firm, thanks. Nothing there that caught her eye, and no amount of persuasion, glinting smiles, and intimately whispered bargains will persuade her otherwise. She moves on, lingering briefly at a stand boasting wood carvings, but her interest lies in one particular category, and thusly it is (conveniently) inevitable that she come at length to Bailey's stall. She ends up standing near to the other potential customer, and though she doesn't crowd the woman, she leans in just enough to take a look at the brush and mirror set, and it's with a touch of appreciation that she comments, "Beautiful."
Beautiful the set certainly is with a vine of delicate flowers carved into the handles of both brush and mirror. The price being haggled over by the silver haired customer may give one pause for thought, for it is one below that of market value for a new item. With arms coming to fold over the curvature of her stomach Bailey sets a brow lifted look onto the old woman, “You won’t get something of this quality at that price, anywhere else.” Thin lips puckering into a disgruntled line the potential customer tries once more to have her offered price accepted, “But it’s used.” As are all the items on display, some showing more signs of use than others. Pale eyes acknowledge Murron’s arrival in a quick flicker of attention and then the dark haired trader’s mouth curls around a light smirk, “It’s not like the mirror can no longer reflect your image back at you, is it? And the brush has certainly not suddenly forgotten the task for which it was intended.” Standing firm on the asking price.
While the haggling ensues, the grey-haired woman fingering her purse and scowling at the resistance to her offer, Murron takes the time to examine what other wares are set out on display. Necklaces in particular are given her attention, though her dark eyes also flick towards the clothing on display - however, despite her attention to her shopping, and ear is still trained on the conversation taking place between merchant and patron. After that last comment by Bailey, Murron turns back in that direction and - quite politely - throws herself into the mix. "Do excuse me," she directs to Bailey, tones just brimming with decorum, and with a smile offered in response to the older woman's glare. "But if you cannot come to agreement, let me express my interest. I would gladly pay full price for the piece, if the lady will not."
The jewellery on display, more especially the necklaces is made up of a fair blend of chokers, Y-chains and multi-stranded pieces crafted in silver, gold and pearls with more than a few holding at their centres gemmed pendants. In fact, anyone with an eye for quality or knowledge of smithcraft work may very well question their existence here. Giving the old woman time to decide whether or not to buy, Bailey’s attention turns to Murron, a small smile starting to curve in for the notice being given the jewellery by the blonde. That smile turns into another smirk which is handed out the way of the silver-haired woman when the new arrival to her table makes the offer to purchase, “At least someone around here knows a bargain when they see it.” Grumbling the old lady pockets her purse and shuffles off to the umbrella stand. The trader doesn’t spare her a second glance but instead settles her full attention onto Murron, “Is it a gift, or a personal purchase?” this asked as she draws out a sheet of pastel colored paper from behind the stand, “I can gift wrap it for you?” No doubt that will cost extra.
There's just a glint of satisfaction in Murron's eye as the older woman relents and goes to act the spendthrift to someone else. Now that they are unquestionably hers, she doesn't resist the temptation to reach out and trace her fingers along the elegant carvings ornamenting the set. "Thank you, but no," she responds to the brunette's offer. "I couldn't resist, and it pains me to see a good deal go unappreciated." With a smile she bends her head to the task of counting out the price of the brush, but hesitates before laying the marks out on the stand, eyes dancing back to the display of jewelry in all its glittering splendor. "I wonder if you might help me, as of course you know your wares better than I. I'm looking for a chain, something delicate, with a simple pendant. Possibly pearl. Is there anything you could recommend?"
Approving is the smile sent in reply to Murron’s admission of the set being purchased for herself, the mirror and brush set being put to one side as the blonde’s attention turns next to the jewellery on display. Putting a considering look onto the other woman, Bailey tips her head to one side, eyes slipping up and sidelong as if mentally going through her inventory. Finally she bends and draws a small chest of dark wood and elaborate carvings out from under the counter, “Would you want that in silver or gold?” fingers curling over the wood in readiness to lift the lid. Suggesting the chest to be one of magical properties and able to produce whatever it is the customer may desire.
Murron raises her chin ever so slightly under the trader's consideration, as though doing so may make the selection of an appropriate necklace simpler. The chest, as it's produced, is given its due appreciation, both for the craftsmanship of its design and the general ambience it evokes - the sense that whatever is about to be pulled from inside it must, in some way, be special and superior to those already on display. "I would prefer silver," she offers, waiting in patience to see what Bailey will find.
“A good choice for your colouring,” Bailey puts forth as if the well groomed blonde hadn’t already figured this out for herself. Superior, hidden treasures are sadly not, as Murron is soon to find out. But there is a very good reason that they’ve been kept off the table. With the chest turned so that the opening of lid screens the contents from the other woman (a magician never reveals their secrets), Bailey’s attention slips down and into it hands busy for a few moments before one withdraws, three necklaces dangling from her fingers and offered over to Murron for inspection. One, is silver chain of moderately sized links that holds a heart shaped locket as its pendant, another is a combined twist of gold and silver for the chain with a silver tear-shaped drop cradling a pearl at its end and the last, also the pre-requisite silver, is fine chain that has a pendant shaped as a flower with a pearl at its centre. The latter is given small explanation as it is caught up by fingers of the trader’s free hand and turned over to reveal an ornately engraved ‘M’ on its back, “You could always say this stands for Mine, or you know, change your name?” Amusement playing about the brunette’s mouth for that, “Of course, I’m open to negotiating swapping the pendant from one chain with that of another.” The other two pieces have each also been personalised with a pet name of some kind engraved on their backs.
The pieces that are drawn out are given due appreciation, though the first is passed over with only the briefest consideration. It's the second two that capture Murron's attention. "You have lovely things," she offers as she tilts her head to give the first a closer look, reaching a slender hand to touch the pearl pendant. She straightens again, to her usual impeccable posture, as the trader gives that explanation and twist of the second necklace to reveal the engraving, and there's a flicker of surprise in her normally passive countenance. Change her name? "No need," she says, sounding subtlely pleased. "My name is Murron. It's quite perfect. Exactly the sort of thing I was looking for. How much do owe I you, ma'am?" she adds, fishing out her markspurse to add to the sum she'd already counted out for the brush and mirror.
Where one might expect Bailey to positively beam for the compliment afforded the wares, she simply sends out a decently polite smile, her tone a touch tight in the agreement that comes, “Yes, she did have.” Excluding herself from ownership of such things personally. Brows arch up in mirror of the blonde’s own surprise and then slide down as a crooked grin appears, “Well then, Murron, I quite literally, have a bracelet with your name on it.” Well, an ‘M’ at the very least. Said bracelet, a simple silver linked affair with a scrolled plate bearing the initial ‘M’ set at its centre is extracted and laid out on the table as further temptation to add to purchases already agreed upon. Closing the lid of the chest and setting it back under the counter, the bracelet left out, the trader narrows an intrigued look over the pale blonde, “You’re not from around here, are you?”
Murron is not oblivious to that tightening of the tone, but the speculative look it earns is brief. Not actually Bailey's property? Not Murron's business, so she stays focused on the pregnant woman's wares rather than the personal history behind them. As the bracelet is produced she makes a soft sound of appreciation - but not of commitment. "It is very nice. But of course, how many monograms does one need?" she says gently. "Would you, perhaps, be willing to lower the price if I were to take this as well?" As to her origins, the quirk of a smile at the corner of her mouth is just ever so slightly amused - a humor directed more at herself than at her present companion. "Odd, how often I get asked that. No, indeed, not originally. I've been here some months now, though I keep to myself. May I ask your name?"
The bare hint of tension hovers about the pregnant trader’s frame but when Murron doesn’t press on the origin of the items, its melts off. Setting her hands to the counter top and leaning some of her weight onto them in an effort to take some of the strain off of her feet, Bailey produces a chuckle, “Actually, you’re in luck. All monogrammed items are a third off of the price of other unmarked items. There are a few lacy edged handkerchiefs with a small ‘M’ embroidered into the corner of them if you’re interested? I don’t have them here, but can put them to one side?” While she’s been talking the brush, mirror and necklace have been taken up and placed inside a wine red pouch made with a finely spun fabric one might associate with lingerie. Either way, it’s pretty and very feminine. “So where do you hail from?” Pale eyes flicker upward and touch to the blonde with amusement dancing in their depths, “Depends who you ask. To some I’m Sin,” say what? “But to most, just Bailey,” the bracelet lifted and dangled over the mouth of the pouch a questioning brow lifting to the decision made on whether or not to purchase it.
Murron's eyebrows raise slightly, at the easy agreement to a reduction in price, but her answer is reserved for the time being. She fingers the delicate bracelet, considering, and answers the lattermost question first. "North," is her answer. Though, perhaps not so north as one might expect, given the near glacial complexion she bears. "Northern Ista. Sea Cliff. And you? Are you native to the island?" If there is any curiosity or surprise at the potential names Bailey offers up, it shows only in a quickest shadow of a smile, quickly hidden again behind etiquette. "I suppose I had best call you Bailey, then. It is a pleasure to meet you..." One last lingering look at the bracelet, and just a hint of a sigh, and she'll gesture to the bag already holding her purchases. "Yes, then, very well. The bracelet - and if you come across the handkerchiefs any other items of the same monogram or style, do set them aside." She hesitates then, as though debating whether to speak further, but finally her interest overcomes and she poses the question, "May I ask... do you know the name of whomever's jewelry this was?"
Keen eyes watch with amusement as the battle is waged and finally won with Murron’s agreement to add the bracelet to her purchases as well. The sale a done deal, the trader drops it into the red pouch to join the other items, draws the strings closed, and holds it out to the blonde as she names the total amount of marks due. Interest sparks, “Sea Cliff Hold?” assuming the hold part of that, “Why did you leave?” A chuckle is given breath for a moment along with a short shake of head, “No, not a native. From down southern way,” though quite where exactly, is left unsaid. “Been here almost a turn now. Funny we haven’t bumped into each before now. Then again,” a flicker of eyes over the well groomed woman, “We probably don’t move in quite the same social circles,” amusement more than anything else for that and a quick nod on the topic of monogrammed items, “Where do I get hold of you once I’ve gotten them all together?” probing. It’s the last however, the quest for a name to go with the initial that draws a small lift of chin and a certain guardedness to fall into place. Tone perhaps a touch cool, “Mina. She wasn’t from around here.” Past tense.
The assumption that Murron hails from a hold is accepted without dispute, and as for why she left... well, she hesitates a moment, considering the dark-haired woman before her. Finally, "I had... an opportunity." This is the simplistic explanation she settles on, without any further detail added. Rather, she turns her attention to settling their account, neatly depositing the marks into the trader's hand, and accepting the red bag in exchange. "More's the pity," she comments, in regards to their social circles. "But it is true, I mostly keep to myself. My social circle is rather more of a line. Possibly a point." Oh, geometry humor. "I live in the weyr. Any drudge would be able to find me, if you ask them to pass the message on." The cooling of tone is noted, and with a certain softening of expression Murron draws conclusions, accurate or not. "Mina," she repeats quietly. "I'll remember. Thank you, Bailey, is has been a pleasure both meeting you, and conducting business with you - even if my purse is somewhat lighter than I'd intended at the outset." With that, and a smile, she prepares to take her leave.
Dark brows arch and then drop, Bailey offering a wryly intoned, “Don’t we all,” with regards to opportunities. If there were more she was going to ask, it’s probably something she’ll leave for another time. Slipping the marks received into a pocket of the light dress she wears, a chuckle slips out, “And I try as far as possible to avoid the Weyr itself.” Which would probably be why their paths have not crossed until now. “I’ll be sure to send someone for you once everything’s together for you to look over.” Lips twitch, but the trader is able to keep any smugness for the lightening of Murron’s purse, off of her features. “Likewise, it was good doing business with you, Murron. Don’t be a stranger now.” Pale eyes will follow the departing blonde for a moment or two before attention is turned to a scruffy looking little lad reaching for a lovely little trinket pot with grubby fingers.