Log: Business as Usual
Summary: June, on a break from her busy schedule setting up her new tavern, runs across Skinner. He makes her an offer she can't refuse and they enter into a nice, working relationship.
Location: Garden and Pool, Ista Weyr
Date: 3-3-09
Rain and spray from the waterfall on the cliffs above have made the steps down to this garden treacherous, and Skinner can only do so much to stay on his feet in those conditions. He slips, of course, when he's no more than halfway down, and with a shout of surprise goes thudding down a few more steps before he can catch himself. Gritting his teeth, he pulls up the leg of his trousers, looking at red scrape on his calf. "Ouch," he grumbles, more bitter than hurting. Gingerly, he pulls the cloth back down over his injury and resumes his careful downward trek, favoring his right leg a bit for the first few steps.
While Skinner is on his way down, June is one her way up, progressing much more quietly and injury-free. The back hem of her skirt has been brought forward between her legs and tucked into her waistband, giving her the appearance of having a pair of quite ridiculous but much more practical trousers. Her bare feet negotiate the stone steps that she never moves her eyes from, until she hears the masculine grumble from above. She pauses and cranes her neck to peer through the twilight and the mist to confirm what her ears have told her, and when she indeed sees that there is someone heading her way, she edges up a few more steps to the broader landing that exists at one of the sharp switchbacks. Rather impatiently, she waits, one hand on her cocked hip, the other held up so that she can investigate the ruin that her nails have become of late.
Skinner's stride evens out the more steps he takes, and the more he gets used to the stinging from his calf. By the time he reaches June's landing, he's pretty much walking normally again, but he still takes the opportunity to rest up and investigate his injury a bit better. You'd almost think he hadn't seen June at all, from the most unceremonious way he plops down on the ground, but after he's settled down there he gives her a grin. "Hello, there. Wasn't expecting to see you around for a while."
June recognizes his face far sooner than he (seems) to notice her, but the only change in her demeaenor is a new softness to her red-stained lips, the shred of a glimmer of a beginning of a smile. That smile doesn't grow much more even after he's acknowledged her presence. "No?" she asks, tilting her chin down at just enough of an angle to talk to him. "I would have thought you'd be planning to make it around to see us soon enough, if just to peddle your wares into our newly moneyed hands." The gently-sloped roof of her new, much-gossiped-about structure can just be seen through the thick Istan foliage. She lifts a hand to run over the back of her smooth bun, taking with it all of the waterfall-deposited droplets.
"Well, I confess to swinging by for a peek at how your building's coming along." Skinner flashes a wink. Twisting around to look behind him, he notices a slight outcropping of rock and decides it'll do for a backrest, so he scoots along on his butt till his back is leaning against it. He throws an arm back over it and smiles cheerfully up at June. "But you, the esteemed proprietress, are always busy, and understandably so. It's an unexpected pleasure to run into you by chance."
June lets her smile spread prettily in response to the obvious flattery, dipping her head into a gracious nod. But her response comes back just as dryly pleasant as before. "Why, because you have a pair of earrings to unload?" The only indications that she's joking are the upward tilt of her eyebrow and the smug set that her lips take as they drop away from that fuller smile. She remains standing all the while he settles into his seat; her glances down to the moist moss covering the rock pretty clearly explains why.
Skinner's pants already got dirty (and damaged) in the fall, so he's not half so picky about them. He even stretches his legs out, then crosses them, getting perfectly comfortable here on this perfectly /un/comfortable stone. Pretending to pat his pockets for a few moments, Skinner smiles at her. "Not on me, sadly. But," he raises his eyebrows, "I can offer you better. I've got a line on some cloth you might like. Sturdy, handsome stuff, perfect for dressing up your tables, chairs... anything else." Oh, that's a perfectly innocent smile, that. "Originally bound for Fort, so you know it's good stuff. High quality. But it couldn't get through, and it's not wanted here. Unless /you/ want it," he suggests, his smile turning charming.
Business talk brings out a business tone in June's voice. "How soon can you get it?" Quite a change from the swindle-resistant June of the past, now that she has marks to pad her pockets.
"Eight days," says Skinner, equally to the point. His eyes are fixed on hers, his gaze locking her to the sale. "Maybe sooner. No later."
June doesn't falter from that locked gaze, returning as much intensity as she's receiving as she grills. "What colors? How much?"
Skinner reaches into his pants pocket, pulling out a pinned-together flip book of colors. He gives it a quick perusal himself, making sure nothing was damaged in his fall, then holds it out to June. According to a fussy little note scribbled on the leather front cover, they're dark blue, saffron yellow, bamboo green, and coral red. "Depends on the color. One-sixteenth to one-fourth a mark per five square feet." Which is a damned decent price, especially for dyed cloth. Either his profit is very slim, or this cloth is very cheap indeed.
June lifts her hand from her hip to accept that little flip book and shuffles through the colors, giving each only a quick look before she closes it and lets it drop to her side. However cheap the quoted price, June tries to ferret out a lower one, asking smoothly, "Now is that the price you use for good friends?" Her eyes, batting, turn up to look at him again and she favors him with a slip of a smile.
Skinner's smile is just as smooth. "June, I have an appreciation for a good businesswoman. Too much appreciation, in fact, to try pulling one over on you." He points at the sample booklet. "That's the price. I didn't mark it up, and I won't mark it down." His eyes drift back to her face, though, and his smile twitches a bit higher. "I'll see if I can't get them to measure a little /generously/ for you, though."
June is looking at the book, too, pondering the price of the fabric rather than dwelling in the compliments she's getting. When he looks up, though, she mirrors him again, even down to the widening smile. "You have yourself a deal," she states firmly, the final word punctuated with a toss, the flip book suddenly tumbling toward his head. "The red. Thirty yards of it." A pause lingers as she almost visibly runs the calculations through her head. "No, make it thirty-five. And twenty of the green. Can you find thread to match?"
"The red's a fourth," her informs her - i.e. the most expensive one. "Green's a nice sixteenth, though." So there's some balance to it. He hops nimbly back onto his feet, not bothered at all by his scraped calf anymore, and brushes his palms off on his shirt. "You want it embroidered? I can do it, but that'll add cost, and time. Getting it done at the same place I get the cloth will get it done more quickly, but at more cost. For a little more time, and a little less money, I can get that done elsewhere." Skinner looks at her, awaiting instructions with his eyebrows raised.
For all her haggling, June seems wholly unbothered by the fact that she chose the most expensive fabric, fielding his comment with a short but gentle nod. "No," she answers him then, "just the thread. I have a sister who can do all the sewing and embroidering we need." Though from some of the muttered talk being spread around the Weyr about her, that sister of hers is less of a familial tie than she lets on. "But thank you for the offer. You know, you keep offering me such good deals and we may have to create a more permanent working relationship. Do you like beer?" She waits, evenly ignoring the seemingly random nature of that question of hers.
Skinner nods, his eyebrows relaxing. "Just the thread," he repeats obediently, a grin stretching across his face again. He tips his head at her, considering the proposal of a working relationship. From the cant of his smile, that's not a displeasing thought. "I do like beer," he admits. "And if you're thinking of discounts, I like those too. But I'm mostly the sort of fellow who likes the feel of marks, or goods, flowing back into his pocket. My own satisfaction, I can't sell," he explains, with a wink.
"We do have the ability to bottle our beer," June replies gently, but with an faint overtone of mocking, as if he should have seen such an obvious path to profit. "Get the fabric to me within the seven, and you can be one of the first to taste our newest batch."
Skinner missed the hint, it's true, so all that's left for him is to take his mocking in good grace. Surrendering her a smile, he dips a bow. "Within the seven," he promises. Look closely at his eyes, and you can probably see gears turning as he plans the best route. "I'd enjoy trying that beer of yours. I know you looked hard for the right kind of supplier. And frankly, I'm tired of the Sandbar and its endless fruit cocktails." Straightened up again, he watches her slyly.
"I'm hoping you're not the only one," June responds, her tone settling easily back into the rut of casually calm notes. Her arms cross and she tucks them comfortably into the curve of her waist. "We have quite a lot of money to make back once we've finally opened."
Skinner just nods, absorbing whatever it was he wanted out of that answer of hers. Relaxing along with her, he leans back into the wall, propping his elbow on the jut of stone that was his backrest not long ago. "Well, you've got them humming." He tugs his head back at the weyr. "A little bit. The only business I know is the mobile kind," he walks his fingers through the air, "but that seems like a good starting sign." He tilts his head at her again.
"Mobile kind is just fine with me," June returns, teeth showing in a sudden smile. "Their marks are as good as any, as I'm sure you know. Shards, they were pretty much the only kind we had back at The Crossroads." Whether he's heard of The Crossroads or not will depend on how far into the Lemosian region he's gotten in turns past. She doesn't seem eager to explain the reference, though, if he doesn't catch it on his own.
June's last tavern is no secret to him; there's not a flash of surprise or puzzlement when she mentions it. Instead: "Never got out there myself," Skinner says, shrugging. "I was working up Bitra way for a few turns before coming down here, so I knew men who had. Of course. But it was too far out of my route." He spreads his hands out to her; what can you do.
June favors him with a seconds-long gaze, broken only by a few spare blinks, before she looks away, eyes again finding the sliver of new wood through the trees. "It's a shame," she continues on, just as conversationally as before. "It was quite a tavern. Hopefully this one will be as successful," she muses while she again smooths her moisture-laden hair.
Skinner meets her gaze head on, but where she looks away after those few seconds, he keeps on looking. Perhaps he's feeling confindent after making that deal, or perhaps his hurt leg distracts him from thinking through his next words, but eventually he lets the conversation go off the rails. "Now or when you open, people are going to find out your girls are prostitutes," he says frankly. "It doesn't matter to me. If I like one, I might even pay for her company, at least if I can't sweet-talk it out of her. I happen to think I'm quite charming," he explains in a low, secret voice, then laughs softly. "But it's a Weyr, and Faranth knows what they'll make of it. Odd lot." He twists up his mouth.
"Odd lot," June agrees as her lips taking on a wry little turn of a smile. She accepts his knowledge of her 'sisters' and their true vocation as calmly as she accepts most things, and settles into talking about it easily. "I'm betting they'll be the lot to outwardly gossip and reproach, but secretly approve with their marks. Which is all I need." She pauses, seeming to let her attention wander again, but hardly a beat passes before she returns it to him again. "I wouldn't waste too much time trying to charm my sisters, by the way." Old habits must die hard with that term. "You might be subjecting yourself to quite a number of cold showers." Confident in her assertion, she gives him a dazzling smile.
The dazzling smile meets its match in Skinner's perfect confidence. He smiles right back, in exactly the same manner. "If she weren't much of a challenge, she wouldn't be much of a girl," he says cheerfully. "I can hardly expect a woman with eager men at her fingertips to jump me for the promise of sex alone." Whatever else he might have to promise her hides unmentioned behind his winning, confident smile. "Besides, who's to say? I might not take that much liking to any of them. But the beer," he tilts his chin down to eye June solemnly, "the beer I expect to be worth coming for."
June shrugs, leaving him to his own decision; they're his cold showers, after all. "Oh, it is," she heartily promises him of the beer. "Petra would swear up and down that it's a better draw than all of us combined." She lets that acclamation speak for itself. "You can see for yourself," she tells him, her arms dropping to her sides again as she starts past him back to the staircase part of the path, then finishes with the sly reminder, "within the seven." She picks her way carefully up a couple of steps then turns back to add, "And those shoes there at the bottom just behind that rock, they aren't a good find. They're mine." Just in case.
Skinner's willing to be convinced. His eyebrows go up, but his smile widens. And when she turns to address him from a few stairs up, it breaks into a grin. "Skinner, not stealer," he reminds her, patting his chest. "Although I'm not sure it's a good spot for them. Not everyone's as honest as me," he says, and starts laughing. Traveling salesmen were never known for their honesty, and to anyone but a sly customer like June, odds are he's no exception.
"Right," is June's only answer, a nice, smooth one with only a hint of subdued mirth. She turns back again and, over her shoulder, says, "See you soon," in parting. Then, eyes again riveted on the stone staircase, she picks her slow way to the top.
Location: Garden and Pool, Ista Weyr
Date: 3-3-09
Rain and spray from the waterfall on the cliffs above have made the steps down to this garden treacherous, and Skinner can only do so much to stay on his feet in those conditions. He slips, of course, when he's no more than halfway down, and with a shout of surprise goes thudding down a few more steps before he can catch himself. Gritting his teeth, he pulls up the leg of his trousers, looking at red scrape on his calf. "Ouch," he grumbles, more bitter than hurting. Gingerly, he pulls the cloth back down over his injury and resumes his careful downward trek, favoring his right leg a bit for the first few steps.
While Skinner is on his way down, June is one her way up, progressing much more quietly and injury-free. The back hem of her skirt has been brought forward between her legs and tucked into her waistband, giving her the appearance of having a pair of quite ridiculous but much more practical trousers. Her bare feet negotiate the stone steps that she never moves her eyes from, until she hears the masculine grumble from above. She pauses and cranes her neck to peer through the twilight and the mist to confirm what her ears have told her, and when she indeed sees that there is someone heading her way, she edges up a few more steps to the broader landing that exists at one of the sharp switchbacks. Rather impatiently, she waits, one hand on her cocked hip, the other held up so that she can investigate the ruin that her nails have become of late.
Skinner's stride evens out the more steps he takes, and the more he gets used to the stinging from his calf. By the time he reaches June's landing, he's pretty much walking normally again, but he still takes the opportunity to rest up and investigate his injury a bit better. You'd almost think he hadn't seen June at all, from the most unceremonious way he plops down on the ground, but after he's settled down there he gives her a grin. "Hello, there. Wasn't expecting to see you around for a while."
June recognizes his face far sooner than he (seems) to notice her, but the only change in her demeaenor is a new softness to her red-stained lips, the shred of a glimmer of a beginning of a smile. That smile doesn't grow much more even after he's acknowledged her presence. "No?" she asks, tilting her chin down at just enough of an angle to talk to him. "I would have thought you'd be planning to make it around to see us soon enough, if just to peddle your wares into our newly moneyed hands." The gently-sloped roof of her new, much-gossiped-about structure can just be seen through the thick Istan foliage. She lifts a hand to run over the back of her smooth bun, taking with it all of the waterfall-deposited droplets.
"Well, I confess to swinging by for a peek at how your building's coming along." Skinner flashes a wink. Twisting around to look behind him, he notices a slight outcropping of rock and decides it'll do for a backrest, so he scoots along on his butt till his back is leaning against it. He throws an arm back over it and smiles cheerfully up at June. "But you, the esteemed proprietress, are always busy, and understandably so. It's an unexpected pleasure to run into you by chance."
June lets her smile spread prettily in response to the obvious flattery, dipping her head into a gracious nod. But her response comes back just as dryly pleasant as before. "Why, because you have a pair of earrings to unload?" The only indications that she's joking are the upward tilt of her eyebrow and the smug set that her lips take as they drop away from that fuller smile. She remains standing all the while he settles into his seat; her glances down to the moist moss covering the rock pretty clearly explains why.
Skinner's pants already got dirty (and damaged) in the fall, so he's not half so picky about them. He even stretches his legs out, then crosses them, getting perfectly comfortable here on this perfectly /un/comfortable stone. Pretending to pat his pockets for a few moments, Skinner smiles at her. "Not on me, sadly. But," he raises his eyebrows, "I can offer you better. I've got a line on some cloth you might like. Sturdy, handsome stuff, perfect for dressing up your tables, chairs... anything else." Oh, that's a perfectly innocent smile, that. "Originally bound for Fort, so you know it's good stuff. High quality. But it couldn't get through, and it's not wanted here. Unless /you/ want it," he suggests, his smile turning charming.
Business talk brings out a business tone in June's voice. "How soon can you get it?" Quite a change from the swindle-resistant June of the past, now that she has marks to pad her pockets.
"Eight days," says Skinner, equally to the point. His eyes are fixed on hers, his gaze locking her to the sale. "Maybe sooner. No later."
June doesn't falter from that locked gaze, returning as much intensity as she's receiving as she grills. "What colors? How much?"
Skinner reaches into his pants pocket, pulling out a pinned-together flip book of colors. He gives it a quick perusal himself, making sure nothing was damaged in his fall, then holds it out to June. According to a fussy little note scribbled on the leather front cover, they're dark blue, saffron yellow, bamboo green, and coral red. "Depends on the color. One-sixteenth to one-fourth a mark per five square feet." Which is a damned decent price, especially for dyed cloth. Either his profit is very slim, or this cloth is very cheap indeed.
June lifts her hand from her hip to accept that little flip book and shuffles through the colors, giving each only a quick look before she closes it and lets it drop to her side. However cheap the quoted price, June tries to ferret out a lower one, asking smoothly, "Now is that the price you use for good friends?" Her eyes, batting, turn up to look at him again and she favors him with a slip of a smile.
Skinner's smile is just as smooth. "June, I have an appreciation for a good businesswoman. Too much appreciation, in fact, to try pulling one over on you." He points at the sample booklet. "That's the price. I didn't mark it up, and I won't mark it down." His eyes drift back to her face, though, and his smile twitches a bit higher. "I'll see if I can't get them to measure a little /generously/ for you, though."
June is looking at the book, too, pondering the price of the fabric rather than dwelling in the compliments she's getting. When he looks up, though, she mirrors him again, even down to the widening smile. "You have yourself a deal," she states firmly, the final word punctuated with a toss, the flip book suddenly tumbling toward his head. "The red. Thirty yards of it." A pause lingers as she almost visibly runs the calculations through her head. "No, make it thirty-five. And twenty of the green. Can you find thread to match?"
"The red's a fourth," her informs her - i.e. the most expensive one. "Green's a nice sixteenth, though." So there's some balance to it. He hops nimbly back onto his feet, not bothered at all by his scraped calf anymore, and brushes his palms off on his shirt. "You want it embroidered? I can do it, but that'll add cost, and time. Getting it done at the same place I get the cloth will get it done more quickly, but at more cost. For a little more time, and a little less money, I can get that done elsewhere." Skinner looks at her, awaiting instructions with his eyebrows raised.
For all her haggling, June seems wholly unbothered by the fact that she chose the most expensive fabric, fielding his comment with a short but gentle nod. "No," she answers him then, "just the thread. I have a sister who can do all the sewing and embroidering we need." Though from some of the muttered talk being spread around the Weyr about her, that sister of hers is less of a familial tie than she lets on. "But thank you for the offer. You know, you keep offering me such good deals and we may have to create a more permanent working relationship. Do you like beer?" She waits, evenly ignoring the seemingly random nature of that question of hers.
Skinner nods, his eyebrows relaxing. "Just the thread," he repeats obediently, a grin stretching across his face again. He tips his head at her, considering the proposal of a working relationship. From the cant of his smile, that's not a displeasing thought. "I do like beer," he admits. "And if you're thinking of discounts, I like those too. But I'm mostly the sort of fellow who likes the feel of marks, or goods, flowing back into his pocket. My own satisfaction, I can't sell," he explains, with a wink.
"We do have the ability to bottle our beer," June replies gently, but with an faint overtone of mocking, as if he should have seen such an obvious path to profit. "Get the fabric to me within the seven, and you can be one of the first to taste our newest batch."
Skinner missed the hint, it's true, so all that's left for him is to take his mocking in good grace. Surrendering her a smile, he dips a bow. "Within the seven," he promises. Look closely at his eyes, and you can probably see gears turning as he plans the best route. "I'd enjoy trying that beer of yours. I know you looked hard for the right kind of supplier. And frankly, I'm tired of the Sandbar and its endless fruit cocktails." Straightened up again, he watches her slyly.
"I'm hoping you're not the only one," June responds, her tone settling easily back into the rut of casually calm notes. Her arms cross and she tucks them comfortably into the curve of her waist. "We have quite a lot of money to make back once we've finally opened."
Skinner just nods, absorbing whatever it was he wanted out of that answer of hers. Relaxing along with her, he leans back into the wall, propping his elbow on the jut of stone that was his backrest not long ago. "Well, you've got them humming." He tugs his head back at the weyr. "A little bit. The only business I know is the mobile kind," he walks his fingers through the air, "but that seems like a good starting sign." He tilts his head at her again.
"Mobile kind is just fine with me," June returns, teeth showing in a sudden smile. "Their marks are as good as any, as I'm sure you know. Shards, they were pretty much the only kind we had back at The Crossroads." Whether he's heard of The Crossroads or not will depend on how far into the Lemosian region he's gotten in turns past. She doesn't seem eager to explain the reference, though, if he doesn't catch it on his own.
June's last tavern is no secret to him; there's not a flash of surprise or puzzlement when she mentions it. Instead: "Never got out there myself," Skinner says, shrugging. "I was working up Bitra way for a few turns before coming down here, so I knew men who had. Of course. But it was too far out of my route." He spreads his hands out to her; what can you do.
June favors him with a seconds-long gaze, broken only by a few spare blinks, before she looks away, eyes again finding the sliver of new wood through the trees. "It's a shame," she continues on, just as conversationally as before. "It was quite a tavern. Hopefully this one will be as successful," she muses while she again smooths her moisture-laden hair.
Skinner meets her gaze head on, but where she looks away after those few seconds, he keeps on looking. Perhaps he's feeling confindent after making that deal, or perhaps his hurt leg distracts him from thinking through his next words, but eventually he lets the conversation go off the rails. "Now or when you open, people are going to find out your girls are prostitutes," he says frankly. "It doesn't matter to me. If I like one, I might even pay for her company, at least if I can't sweet-talk it out of her. I happen to think I'm quite charming," he explains in a low, secret voice, then laughs softly. "But it's a Weyr, and Faranth knows what they'll make of it. Odd lot." He twists up his mouth.
"Odd lot," June agrees as her lips taking on a wry little turn of a smile. She accepts his knowledge of her 'sisters' and their true vocation as calmly as she accepts most things, and settles into talking about it easily. "I'm betting they'll be the lot to outwardly gossip and reproach, but secretly approve with their marks. Which is all I need." She pauses, seeming to let her attention wander again, but hardly a beat passes before she returns it to him again. "I wouldn't waste too much time trying to charm my sisters, by the way." Old habits must die hard with that term. "You might be subjecting yourself to quite a number of cold showers." Confident in her assertion, she gives him a dazzling smile.
The dazzling smile meets its match in Skinner's perfect confidence. He smiles right back, in exactly the same manner. "If she weren't much of a challenge, she wouldn't be much of a girl," he says cheerfully. "I can hardly expect a woman with eager men at her fingertips to jump me for the promise of sex alone." Whatever else he might have to promise her hides unmentioned behind his winning, confident smile. "Besides, who's to say? I might not take that much liking to any of them. But the beer," he tilts his chin down to eye June solemnly, "the beer I expect to be worth coming for."
June shrugs, leaving him to his own decision; they're his cold showers, after all. "Oh, it is," she heartily promises him of the beer. "Petra would swear up and down that it's a better draw than all of us combined." She lets that acclamation speak for itself. "You can see for yourself," she tells him, her arms dropping to her sides again as she starts past him back to the staircase part of the path, then finishes with the sly reminder, "within the seven." She picks her way carefully up a couple of steps then turns back to add, "And those shoes there at the bottom just behind that rock, they aren't a good find. They're mine." Just in case.
Skinner's willing to be convinced. His eyebrows go up, but his smile widens. And when she turns to address him from a few stairs up, it breaks into a grin. "Skinner, not stealer," he reminds her, patting his chest. "Although I'm not sure it's a good spot for them. Not everyone's as honest as me," he says, and starts laughing. Traveling salesmen were never known for their honesty, and to anyone but a sly customer like June, odds are he's no exception.
"Right," is June's only answer, a nice, smooth one with only a hint of subdued mirth. She turns back again and, over her shoulder, says, "See you soon," in parting. Then, eyes again riveted on the stone staircase, she picks her slow way to the top.