These [nice things] came from Crom
WHO: Saliqa and Inviere, brief [npcs]
WHERE: Resident Common Room, High Reaches Weyr
WHAT: A first customer is also a kindred soul.
Resident Common Room, High Reaches Weyr
Just off of the main passageway lies the small cavern that forms the hub of the residents' quarters, kept immaculately clean by the headwoman's staff and warmed in cold weather by a stone hearth to the left and well back from the entrance. Comfortable chairs and a plush fur arrayed before the hearth make an inviting spot to curl up with a book or handicraft, or just to sit and chat. Beyond, additional chairs stand in clusters throughout the room, some upholstered with age-softened hide, some plain wood. At the widest point of the cavern, a round table gleams with polish, though its surface is nicked and scarred from Turns of use. Beyond the table, the very back of the cavern often lies in shadow unless the glowbaskets there are unlidded to cast cozy pools of light. The commingled scents of klah, smoke and polish permeate the air along with the sweetness of rosemary and lavender.
Tapestries hang across the entrances to dormitories and more private quarters as well as the exit to the outer hall, colorful protections from drafts.
Considering how the weather outside is looking, the stone hearth of the common room is that much more inviting. Today, it has been claimed as its own territory separate from the rest of the Weyr by a collection of women's things. Besides a suitcase, cracked open to reveal what may be a treasure-trove of shoes clearly designed for style than comfort, there is an array of what is suggested to be very fine clothing. Suggested because all of it is wrapped tightly in paper and stuck on wooden hangers to avoid extensive wrinkling or staining. These are laid over chair arms, not carrying that this blocks seating for other people. In the midst of this haven of fashion sits Saliqa, her legs tucked around her side modestly, and her wooden box in front of her. She hasn't opened it yet, she's only admiring the smooth polished lines of its engravings.
Enter Inviere, alone as usual, through the entrance from the main hall. She's in work clothes -- a heavy jacket, thick gloves, even (woe!) a lumberjack-style cap pulled down over her ears. Her work boots are matted with mud and hay, and the melted remnants of snowflakes create dark damp patches along her shoulders and chest. She looks tired. So tired, in fact, that as she shuffles towards the Resident Caverns, she almost doesn't notice the picture of beauty and warmth that is Saliqa and her wares-- but then, as if hit in the chest, she grinds to a halt and cries, "OH. Oh my freaking-- you're here. You're REAL. Do not move. Do not. MOVE." Inviere disappears into the dorms at a dead run.
Poised in getting to the first lock of that wooden box, Saliqa politely attempts to ignore this surely accidental outburst until it becomes clear that she's actually the one being referred to. Batting an astonished eyelash, her forehead creases slightly, but she otherwise manages to remain, for all other purposes, exactly how she was when the yelling started. Then, after a second of this, she indulges in flipping up the lock she was holding. Cautiously, she dares a glance over her shoulder, scanning each of the niceties behind her to make sure that not a single thing has been misplaced in her distraction.
Inviere is back in one, /maybe/ two minutes, her outerwear shed to reveal not entirely appalling attire underneath. The boots are still on, alas, and the musky smell of horse probably won't be coming out of her until she's soaked in a bath for an hour or five. But as it turns out, there's definitely a woman under all that mess, and that woman may be working herself up to tears as she approaches Saliqa with purse in hand. "I'm sorry I'm not more... appropriate," she says by way of introduction, gesturing to her scuffy daywear. "I haven't seen civilization for two months."
The wary lines in Saliqa's face smooth out as the newly revealed woman approaches, and she daintily sets her set of keys off her lap in order to stand. "You don't have to apologize, ma'am, I understand it's been a difficult time here for everyone." After a short but distinguished curtsey, her hands go out towards Inviere's, meaning to take her gently by the fingers and use this connection to draw them both back down to a seated position where they are surrounded only by the fire's warmth and Crom's best evening wear. "The others are taking lunch, but I'm Saliqa and I may speak on their behalf a little bit. Would you like to take a look?" And she gives that wooden box an encouraging tap with both hands.
Inviere isn't dressed for curtseying, but she does bob her head in the breath before she's seated. She winces some at the attention given to her hands, but the gloves seem to have done a fair job keeping dirt and muck and -- well, you don't want to know -- off of them. "Saliqa," she says in a sigh, as if it's a breath of fresh air or a weight off her shoulders. She moves to sandwich Saliqa's hands in hers. "I'm Inviere. Yes, please, I would love to see."
If she notices anything undesirable about Inviere's hands, Saliqa is not betraying any of it. She only bends forward, chin raised, to give the other woman a quick appraisal. Her attentiveness is professional only, and when she's back looking in the taller woman's eyes, she comments, "You have a very regal structure, ma'am Inviere. Might I suggest something in... gold?" So saying, she takes her hands gently back in order to flip up the lid of the box. Inside, each pair lying precisely on a bed of protective fabric, are rows upon rows of earrings. They are separated by the color of their wire, as well as that one side contains those purely made of shapes, while the those on the other side are decorated by fine tiny gems. There is a variety, but the majority tends towards hoop-style. It's to a collection of long, dangling earrings that Saliqa gestures Inviere's attention.
Inviere knows this ritual well, and prepares in perfect form: back straight, her hands settle in her lap, crossed over her purse, and though her sandy brown hair is restrained in a short ponytail, a toss of her head sends the stray bits away from her face. As the earrings are revealed, her eyes take on a brighter shine and, despite herself, her left knee begins to bounce excitedly up and down. "Oh," she breathes appreciatively, "those are /just/ gorgeous. Where did you find them?"
In a break of character, Saliqa's lips turn childishly up into a big, giggly grin before she finds the poise to cough politely into her hand. When the hand drops back down, the expression is gone. Dripping with all the politeness of a proper salesperson, she uses her other hand to select a fine set. A fine string, nearly invisible, contains layer after larger layer of curved gold plates, like waves of richness. The last wave would probably nearly touch the shoulder of someone slightly shorter than Inviere. "I have made these," she informs the other woman, not quite managing the modesty she should. Instead, her tone and eyes both wear a hint of accomplishment.
Inviere's eyes widen. "You MADE these?" She reaches to take one of the earrings between two careful fingers. "But you're-- you're like-- how OLD are you?" Her brow furrows, then, and her mouth spreads into an awkward, apologetic smile. "--I mean. I wouldn't presume to ask a lady her age. There aren't many of /those/ around here, you know. Please excuse my manners. But these are beautiful."
Saliqa is yet young enough to startle at the exclaiming question. Pulling her shoulders back, she momentarily appears to go on the defensive but the continued stammering from Inviere does some good to calm it. At the smile, she offers back one of her own, placating and pacifying. "Your manners are excused, of course," she mentions, though notably not brushing off that this /was/ a breach in conduct. "If it means much to your estimation, and just between us... I am just nearing my twentieth turn." Placing the earring she had been displaying into its slot, she brings her hands to smooth her skirt self-consciously. Her gaze flickers to the floor, hiding her eyes as she asks, quieter but with a certain hardness. "It's as bad here as they say, then."
Inviere sighs. "Still so young," she says distantly, although she can't possibly be more than a few years older than Saliqa. "I'm so envious of your talent. You have a real gift." She can't /entirely/ hide her disappointment as the earring is replaced in its box, and her eyes remain on it until Saliqa brings up this next piece of Very Serious Business. "Worse," she growls, leaning in. "They do this to all the girls. They /hate/ girls."
This time Saliqa perks up in definite glee at the admiration of her trade but it's not long before the feeling is crushed under the heels of /hating on girls/. Although she balks a second at Inviere leaning in -- the smell, it lingers, it does -- there's a conspiratorial move of her own after a thought. "Indulging in gossip is rude," she prefaces carefully, more like she's reminding herself than anything else, "But when I gathered information shield myself, I became under the impression that... well, I'm not sure how to say... that women roamed /freer/ here."
Inviere rolls her eyes and -- luckily for Saliqa -- leans back dramatically in her seat, one trousered leg crossing over the other. "They certainly do /that/," she admits. "But-- so do the men." Her eyes attempt to convey something significant, and if Saliqa doesn't take Inviere's meaning on her own, she helps the young tradeswoman out: "...amongst /each other/."
Even if Saliqa got the meaning, it'd be a mark against her own purity to admit she had, so she stares with those wide brown eyes until an explanation is planted. "Men amongst each other..." she tests out. Evidently, the words taste bad. There's a rabbit-like twitch to her nose, the corner of her mouth. The twitching pulls into the makings of a real distrustful frown in no time. "I don't follow," is finally expressed in a low, I'm trying not to let my emotions burst out of me in an improper manner but I'm /this/ close-tone. "Men and women are meant to be together. Thus is how we make our homes."
Inviere looks tired again, suddenly, and exhales a long-suffering sigh as she reaches to brush still more tendrils of hair from her eyes. "The rules don't apply to the Weyr, it would seem," she intones. "Faranth knows they do whatever they want the rest of the time." Her gaze, hitherto roaming the immediate space, switches sidelong to land on the merchant. "Saliqa," she says urgently, "do you know where I work?"
"Yes, I was afraid as much. They ignore other traditions, why not this one, too." Saliqa curls her legs underneath her to sturdy her seated position, her fingers coming up to caress the comfort of her wooden earring box another time. "It's a shame how any of it happened." Clucking with her tongue and previously eyeing her wares, she lifts her gaze to meet Inviere's eyes at the question. The urgency compels her to bow her head in attentive listening. "How could I," she intones neutrally, "We've only just met... are you going to tell me?"
Inviere looks pained. She angles in again and lowers her volume to sotto voce, as if conveying a terrible secret. "The stables," she hisses, biting down hard on the first syllable. "The /stables/. The Weyrwoman-- she put at least half a dozen girls there. Wretched tomboy girls. They LIKE it." Her gaze drops to the jewelry box again, longingly. "I haven't worn earrings in months. The work. I can't."
Saliqa releases a soft breath she seemed hardly aware she was holding. Those dark fingers dart out to pet Inviere's, though her face betrays less disgust than the other woman might be hoping for. "If the stables is what their lot is, I'm glad for them to be happy with it. We should all be so proud to do our duties. But it feels to me that this is not yours. Not at all." Her glance goes over her shoulder, towards the other fineries, "Nor of my companions. I'm negotiating better terms for them even now." Returning to what started their encounter, Saliqa carefully picks up the top layer of fabric the earring sit on, setting it aside. Below is revealed a second layer. None of these are quite so shiny, no gems in sight, and are made instead of string, feathers, and other knickknacks-- though they retain a certain artfulness. "Here," the girl motions, picking up a set made of wire circles twined about each other delicately in a loose vague knot-shape. "Easy to clean. Close to your ear so as not to be in the way. And nothing helps a day of chores than feeling a touch of beauty about your person. Tomboys don't have that, do they."
Inviere's disappointment deepens as the gold and gems are set aside, her fingers clutching more tightly at the soft suede purse in her lap. Her dubiousness is evident as she scans the craftsier work of that second layer, and she seems ready to beg the first selection back when Saliqa interjects with logic. "No, they don't," she agrees after a long moment's contemplation. "I-- I /love/ those others, but... I suppose I have to be practical." She breaks again, considering them further. "That knot is very graceful. It must have been hard to make, so small and intricate."
Though her head is bowed towards the box's contents, Saliqa's eyes are peeking up over her eyelids at Inviere's expression. She isn't surprised by what she sees there. "Nothing says you can only have /one/," she reminds the other, warmth bubbling underneath her controlled tone, "I'm only thinking of your long, difficult time in the stables. Surely, even a Weyr finds occasion to celebrate where gold might befit a person of your standings." Her spiel delivered, she touches the curves of the selected earrings with obvious affection. "It took a long time. I'll admit it will be hard to part with them. I never quite managed another pair with the same touches." A crease of frustration. Now it's gone.
Inviere brightens at this, her mouth drawing up into what really is a very pretty smile. "Of course you're right," she acknowledges. "And nothing says I need to spend all my money today, either." If Saliqa's apparent fondness for her own work gives her bargaining power, Inviere is either totally on to her or completely oblivious. "--well," she says, "I promise to take perfect care of them. I never neglect my jewelry." She pauses. "How long will you and your companions be with us?"
For now, Saliqa's reluctance is exactly that; it's her newfound kinship with Inviere in this time that rises above it. Her eyes finally lift off the delicate wires when she has to contemplate an answer. "The arrangement is for a few months. I-- well, I may be recalled back to Crom to see an engagement done, circumstances so lucky." But this smile has a wavering quality to it that not even the expert in courtesy can contain. So she simply avoids the look, pursing her lips businesslike instead. "Ah, but the others, I apologize I should have mentioned. If you come back when they are, you may peruse shoes, dresses, and such things for your hair. So you may not even find you'll want to spend it all on earrings." When she notes them, she also half-turns in her spot to gesture out where each pile is waiting for its seller around the hearth.
Inviere breathes a slight "Oh," as she lifts her head to survey the remaining wares, as startled and interested as if she were seeing them for the first time. And, well, "I didn't even really notice them, truth be told." She looks from the cloth and the shoes and the accessories to her purse, which she strokes with one thumb, thoughtful and perhaps a little forlorn. "I'm afraid my budget isn't what it was," she says. Whatever internal battle she's fighting with her dignity comes to the surface as a pink flush in her cheeks. "Since you lovely ladies will be here for a while, I may have to... see where things are, once I've had this month's stipend." A still longer silence settles in, broken at last by the reappearance of a small, apologetic smile. "Well. At the very least, I'd love to have those."
"Here's something to think about," Saliqa offers as she leans in to remove the wire-knot earrings, "When the stables are smelling particularly bad," -- she's not /suggesting/ anything by the smell, but she /does/ sound a little more humored in saying it, "focus on the money you'll be making. Nothing is without reward, if you find your right strength." While she's talking, she pulls out a rectangle of fabric and expertly folds up the earrings inside, tying it off with a touch of ribbon. "If you'd love to-- then have them." This fine red-ribboned package is offered out to the woman.
Inviere doesn't seem entirely comforted by that -- why would she be? -- but puts a brave face on for the girl. "Wisdom to belie your age," she says with something between gratitude and wry humor. And then, even as her fingers go to the drawstring on her purse, the flash of ribbon, the cloth and the offer. "--oh, no, no, I couldn't," Inviere rebuffs, appalled. "Please, let me give you something for them."
Saliqa's shrug comes when she's still holding the earrings out, waving them temptingly in front of Inviere's face. "I'd like to think I was raised well." The wisdom might, therefore, be borrowed, but she presents it with complete confidence anyhow. There's barely a hesitation when the potential buyer seems so taken aback; she is a businesswoman, after all. "Well. If you insist." There's a second where her gaze flickers elsewhere. After another beat, she names a price that she surely just now tailored back from the original-- a bit low.
Inviere does herself seem taken aback by the smooth acceptance of her counter-offer -- but her smile hardly wavers, and when the price is given, she doesn't dicker. "I do." Insist, she means. Her fingers take a few seconds longer to find the marks, and if there are more of them in slightly lower denominations than perhaps they might be, she recuses herself from further apologies: the sum is offered to the merchant with one hand; the fingers of the other twitch in anticipation of the prize.
Saliqa waits with utter patience for all the reorganizing of that purse Inviere needs in order to bring out the price asked. She accepts the money into the palm of the hand holding the earrings, then clenches down several fingers to keep those earnings while depositing the sale into Inverie's. When she pulls the hand back, she sidles the marks about in her grip a bit then brings out a smaller wooden box from inside the first. This is where the money goes, the first of its kind to sit there. As she's doing so, there's a ruckus -- but a girlish, well-mannered one -- from the entryway. Here enter two other finely dressed ladies, shaking heads full of equally finely done hair. A blonde strolls up to the large casement of shoes she left behind. "We had to wait in line /forever/, Sally, but it's your turn." They both take time to bob polite curtsies at the apparent customer.
Inviere, with equal care, puts the earrings into her purse -- not as large as it might be, but enough for her change, some personal items, and, of course, her new purchase -- and, the transaction completed, gives her happiest, winningest smile to Saliqa. "Thank you," she says, deliberately ignoring the girls lurking in her blind spot. "This is exactly what I needed." Keen on torturing the new customers, she takes a long moment to close the purse, brush imaginary lint off her tunic, etc., before getting to her feet. "I look forward to our next meeting, Saliqa."
Though she's vaguely distracted into looking up at the arrival of her companions, Saliqa keeps enough poise to return all attention back to Inviere for the farewells. "I'm very glad to help, ma'am Inviere. May all future ones be as pleasant as this. And do take care in those stables..." Her saleswoman voice opens up to something more genuinely maternal -- in a nineteen turn old? -- at the last. Then she picks herself up, eyeing the blonde that spoke. "What do you mean a line? Well, if you did it, I'll do it. But I am quite hungry, let me say." So everyone will excuse her if she departs from the room towards the living cavern with a purposeful stride.
WHERE: Resident Common Room, High Reaches Weyr
WHAT: A first customer is also a kindred soul.
Resident Common Room, High Reaches Weyr
Just off of the main passageway lies the small cavern that forms the hub of the residents' quarters, kept immaculately clean by the headwoman's staff and warmed in cold weather by a stone hearth to the left and well back from the entrance. Comfortable chairs and a plush fur arrayed before the hearth make an inviting spot to curl up with a book or handicraft, or just to sit and chat. Beyond, additional chairs stand in clusters throughout the room, some upholstered with age-softened hide, some plain wood. At the widest point of the cavern, a round table gleams with polish, though its surface is nicked and scarred from Turns of use. Beyond the table, the very back of the cavern often lies in shadow unless the glowbaskets there are unlidded to cast cozy pools of light. The commingled scents of klah, smoke and polish permeate the air along with the sweetness of rosemary and lavender.
Tapestries hang across the entrances to dormitories and more private quarters as well as the exit to the outer hall, colorful protections from drafts.
Considering how the weather outside is looking, the stone hearth of the common room is that much more inviting. Today, it has been claimed as its own territory separate from the rest of the Weyr by a collection of women's things. Besides a suitcase, cracked open to reveal what may be a treasure-trove of shoes clearly designed for style than comfort, there is an array of what is suggested to be very fine clothing. Suggested because all of it is wrapped tightly in paper and stuck on wooden hangers to avoid extensive wrinkling or staining. These are laid over chair arms, not carrying that this blocks seating for other people. In the midst of this haven of fashion sits Saliqa, her legs tucked around her side modestly, and her wooden box in front of her. She hasn't opened it yet, she's only admiring the smooth polished lines of its engravings.
Enter Inviere, alone as usual, through the entrance from the main hall. She's in work clothes -- a heavy jacket, thick gloves, even (woe!) a lumberjack-style cap pulled down over her ears. Her work boots are matted with mud and hay, and the melted remnants of snowflakes create dark damp patches along her shoulders and chest. She looks tired. So tired, in fact, that as she shuffles towards the Resident Caverns, she almost doesn't notice the picture of beauty and warmth that is Saliqa and her wares-- but then, as if hit in the chest, she grinds to a halt and cries, "OH. Oh my freaking-- you're here. You're REAL. Do not move. Do not. MOVE." Inviere disappears into the dorms at a dead run.
Poised in getting to the first lock of that wooden box, Saliqa politely attempts to ignore this surely accidental outburst until it becomes clear that she's actually the one being referred to. Batting an astonished eyelash, her forehead creases slightly, but she otherwise manages to remain, for all other purposes, exactly how she was when the yelling started. Then, after a second of this, she indulges in flipping up the lock she was holding. Cautiously, she dares a glance over her shoulder, scanning each of the niceties behind her to make sure that not a single thing has been misplaced in her distraction.
Inviere is back in one, /maybe/ two minutes, her outerwear shed to reveal not entirely appalling attire underneath. The boots are still on, alas, and the musky smell of horse probably won't be coming out of her until she's soaked in a bath for an hour or five. But as it turns out, there's definitely a woman under all that mess, and that woman may be working herself up to tears as she approaches Saliqa with purse in hand. "I'm sorry I'm not more... appropriate," she says by way of introduction, gesturing to her scuffy daywear. "I haven't seen civilization for two months."
The wary lines in Saliqa's face smooth out as the newly revealed woman approaches, and she daintily sets her set of keys off her lap in order to stand. "You don't have to apologize, ma'am, I understand it's been a difficult time here for everyone." After a short but distinguished curtsey, her hands go out towards Inviere's, meaning to take her gently by the fingers and use this connection to draw them both back down to a seated position where they are surrounded only by the fire's warmth and Crom's best evening wear. "The others are taking lunch, but I'm Saliqa and I may speak on their behalf a little bit. Would you like to take a look?" And she gives that wooden box an encouraging tap with both hands.
Inviere isn't dressed for curtseying, but she does bob her head in the breath before she's seated. She winces some at the attention given to her hands, but the gloves seem to have done a fair job keeping dirt and muck and -- well, you don't want to know -- off of them. "Saliqa," she says in a sigh, as if it's a breath of fresh air or a weight off her shoulders. She moves to sandwich Saliqa's hands in hers. "I'm Inviere. Yes, please, I would love to see."
If she notices anything undesirable about Inviere's hands, Saliqa is not betraying any of it. She only bends forward, chin raised, to give the other woman a quick appraisal. Her attentiveness is professional only, and when she's back looking in the taller woman's eyes, she comments, "You have a very regal structure, ma'am Inviere. Might I suggest something in... gold?" So saying, she takes her hands gently back in order to flip up the lid of the box. Inside, each pair lying precisely on a bed of protective fabric, are rows upon rows of earrings. They are separated by the color of their wire, as well as that one side contains those purely made of shapes, while the those on the other side are decorated by fine tiny gems. There is a variety, but the majority tends towards hoop-style. It's to a collection of long, dangling earrings that Saliqa gestures Inviere's attention.
Inviere knows this ritual well, and prepares in perfect form: back straight, her hands settle in her lap, crossed over her purse, and though her sandy brown hair is restrained in a short ponytail, a toss of her head sends the stray bits away from her face. As the earrings are revealed, her eyes take on a brighter shine and, despite herself, her left knee begins to bounce excitedly up and down. "Oh," she breathes appreciatively, "those are /just/ gorgeous. Where did you find them?"
In a break of character, Saliqa's lips turn childishly up into a big, giggly grin before she finds the poise to cough politely into her hand. When the hand drops back down, the expression is gone. Dripping with all the politeness of a proper salesperson, she uses her other hand to select a fine set. A fine string, nearly invisible, contains layer after larger layer of curved gold plates, like waves of richness. The last wave would probably nearly touch the shoulder of someone slightly shorter than Inviere. "I have made these," she informs the other woman, not quite managing the modesty she should. Instead, her tone and eyes both wear a hint of accomplishment.
Inviere's eyes widen. "You MADE these?" She reaches to take one of the earrings between two careful fingers. "But you're-- you're like-- how OLD are you?" Her brow furrows, then, and her mouth spreads into an awkward, apologetic smile. "--I mean. I wouldn't presume to ask a lady her age. There aren't many of /those/ around here, you know. Please excuse my manners. But these are beautiful."
Saliqa is yet young enough to startle at the exclaiming question. Pulling her shoulders back, she momentarily appears to go on the defensive but the continued stammering from Inviere does some good to calm it. At the smile, she offers back one of her own, placating and pacifying. "Your manners are excused, of course," she mentions, though notably not brushing off that this /was/ a breach in conduct. "If it means much to your estimation, and just between us... I am just nearing my twentieth turn." Placing the earring she had been displaying into its slot, she brings her hands to smooth her skirt self-consciously. Her gaze flickers to the floor, hiding her eyes as she asks, quieter but with a certain hardness. "It's as bad here as they say, then."
Inviere sighs. "Still so young," she says distantly, although she can't possibly be more than a few years older than Saliqa. "I'm so envious of your talent. You have a real gift." She can't /entirely/ hide her disappointment as the earring is replaced in its box, and her eyes remain on it until Saliqa brings up this next piece of Very Serious Business. "Worse," she growls, leaning in. "They do this to all the girls. They /hate/ girls."
This time Saliqa perks up in definite glee at the admiration of her trade but it's not long before the feeling is crushed under the heels of /hating on girls/. Although she balks a second at Inviere leaning in -- the smell, it lingers, it does -- there's a conspiratorial move of her own after a thought. "Indulging in gossip is rude," she prefaces carefully, more like she's reminding herself than anything else, "But when I gathered information shield myself, I became under the impression that... well, I'm not sure how to say... that women roamed /freer/ here."
Inviere rolls her eyes and -- luckily for Saliqa -- leans back dramatically in her seat, one trousered leg crossing over the other. "They certainly do /that/," she admits. "But-- so do the men." Her eyes attempt to convey something significant, and if Saliqa doesn't take Inviere's meaning on her own, she helps the young tradeswoman out: "...amongst /each other/."
Even if Saliqa got the meaning, it'd be a mark against her own purity to admit she had, so she stares with those wide brown eyes until an explanation is planted. "Men amongst each other..." she tests out. Evidently, the words taste bad. There's a rabbit-like twitch to her nose, the corner of her mouth. The twitching pulls into the makings of a real distrustful frown in no time. "I don't follow," is finally expressed in a low, I'm trying not to let my emotions burst out of me in an improper manner but I'm /this/ close-tone. "Men and women are meant to be together. Thus is how we make our homes."
Inviere looks tired again, suddenly, and exhales a long-suffering sigh as she reaches to brush still more tendrils of hair from her eyes. "The rules don't apply to the Weyr, it would seem," she intones. "Faranth knows they do whatever they want the rest of the time." Her gaze, hitherto roaming the immediate space, switches sidelong to land on the merchant. "Saliqa," she says urgently, "do you know where I work?"
"Yes, I was afraid as much. They ignore other traditions, why not this one, too." Saliqa curls her legs underneath her to sturdy her seated position, her fingers coming up to caress the comfort of her wooden earring box another time. "It's a shame how any of it happened." Clucking with her tongue and previously eyeing her wares, she lifts her gaze to meet Inviere's eyes at the question. The urgency compels her to bow her head in attentive listening. "How could I," she intones neutrally, "We've only just met... are you going to tell me?"
Inviere looks pained. She angles in again and lowers her volume to sotto voce, as if conveying a terrible secret. "The stables," she hisses, biting down hard on the first syllable. "The /stables/. The Weyrwoman-- she put at least half a dozen girls there. Wretched tomboy girls. They LIKE it." Her gaze drops to the jewelry box again, longingly. "I haven't worn earrings in months. The work. I can't."
Saliqa releases a soft breath she seemed hardly aware she was holding. Those dark fingers dart out to pet Inviere's, though her face betrays less disgust than the other woman might be hoping for. "If the stables is what their lot is, I'm glad for them to be happy with it. We should all be so proud to do our duties. But it feels to me that this is not yours. Not at all." Her glance goes over her shoulder, towards the other fineries, "Nor of my companions. I'm negotiating better terms for them even now." Returning to what started their encounter, Saliqa carefully picks up the top layer of fabric the earring sit on, setting it aside. Below is revealed a second layer. None of these are quite so shiny, no gems in sight, and are made instead of string, feathers, and other knickknacks-- though they retain a certain artfulness. "Here," the girl motions, picking up a set made of wire circles twined about each other delicately in a loose vague knot-shape. "Easy to clean. Close to your ear so as not to be in the way. And nothing helps a day of chores than feeling a touch of beauty about your person. Tomboys don't have that, do they."
Inviere's disappointment deepens as the gold and gems are set aside, her fingers clutching more tightly at the soft suede purse in her lap. Her dubiousness is evident as she scans the craftsier work of that second layer, and she seems ready to beg the first selection back when Saliqa interjects with logic. "No, they don't," she agrees after a long moment's contemplation. "I-- I /love/ those others, but... I suppose I have to be practical." She breaks again, considering them further. "That knot is very graceful. It must have been hard to make, so small and intricate."
Though her head is bowed towards the box's contents, Saliqa's eyes are peeking up over her eyelids at Inviere's expression. She isn't surprised by what she sees there. "Nothing says you can only have /one/," she reminds the other, warmth bubbling underneath her controlled tone, "I'm only thinking of your long, difficult time in the stables. Surely, even a Weyr finds occasion to celebrate where gold might befit a person of your standings." Her spiel delivered, she touches the curves of the selected earrings with obvious affection. "It took a long time. I'll admit it will be hard to part with them. I never quite managed another pair with the same touches." A crease of frustration. Now it's gone.
Inviere brightens at this, her mouth drawing up into what really is a very pretty smile. "Of course you're right," she acknowledges. "And nothing says I need to spend all my money today, either." If Saliqa's apparent fondness for her own work gives her bargaining power, Inviere is either totally on to her or completely oblivious. "--well," she says, "I promise to take perfect care of them. I never neglect my jewelry." She pauses. "How long will you and your companions be with us?"
For now, Saliqa's reluctance is exactly that; it's her newfound kinship with Inviere in this time that rises above it. Her eyes finally lift off the delicate wires when she has to contemplate an answer. "The arrangement is for a few months. I-- well, I may be recalled back to Crom to see an engagement done, circumstances so lucky." But this smile has a wavering quality to it that not even the expert in courtesy can contain. So she simply avoids the look, pursing her lips businesslike instead. "Ah, but the others, I apologize I should have mentioned. If you come back when they are, you may peruse shoes, dresses, and such things for your hair. So you may not even find you'll want to spend it all on earrings." When she notes them, she also half-turns in her spot to gesture out where each pile is waiting for its seller around the hearth.
Inviere breathes a slight "Oh," as she lifts her head to survey the remaining wares, as startled and interested as if she were seeing them for the first time. And, well, "I didn't even really notice them, truth be told." She looks from the cloth and the shoes and the accessories to her purse, which she strokes with one thumb, thoughtful and perhaps a little forlorn. "I'm afraid my budget isn't what it was," she says. Whatever internal battle she's fighting with her dignity comes to the surface as a pink flush in her cheeks. "Since you lovely ladies will be here for a while, I may have to... see where things are, once I've had this month's stipend." A still longer silence settles in, broken at last by the reappearance of a small, apologetic smile. "Well. At the very least, I'd love to have those."
"Here's something to think about," Saliqa offers as she leans in to remove the wire-knot earrings, "When the stables are smelling particularly bad," -- she's not /suggesting/ anything by the smell, but she /does/ sound a little more humored in saying it, "focus on the money you'll be making. Nothing is without reward, if you find your right strength." While she's talking, she pulls out a rectangle of fabric and expertly folds up the earrings inside, tying it off with a touch of ribbon. "If you'd love to-- then have them." This fine red-ribboned package is offered out to the woman.
Inviere doesn't seem entirely comforted by that -- why would she be? -- but puts a brave face on for the girl. "Wisdom to belie your age," she says with something between gratitude and wry humor. And then, even as her fingers go to the drawstring on her purse, the flash of ribbon, the cloth and the offer. "--oh, no, no, I couldn't," Inviere rebuffs, appalled. "Please, let me give you something for them."
Saliqa's shrug comes when she's still holding the earrings out, waving them temptingly in front of Inviere's face. "I'd like to think I was raised well." The wisdom might, therefore, be borrowed, but she presents it with complete confidence anyhow. There's barely a hesitation when the potential buyer seems so taken aback; she is a businesswoman, after all. "Well. If you insist." There's a second where her gaze flickers elsewhere. After another beat, she names a price that she surely just now tailored back from the original-- a bit low.
Inviere does herself seem taken aback by the smooth acceptance of her counter-offer -- but her smile hardly wavers, and when the price is given, she doesn't dicker. "I do." Insist, she means. Her fingers take a few seconds longer to find the marks, and if there are more of them in slightly lower denominations than perhaps they might be, she recuses herself from further apologies: the sum is offered to the merchant with one hand; the fingers of the other twitch in anticipation of the prize.
Saliqa waits with utter patience for all the reorganizing of that purse Inviere needs in order to bring out the price asked. She accepts the money into the palm of the hand holding the earrings, then clenches down several fingers to keep those earnings while depositing the sale into Inverie's. When she pulls the hand back, she sidles the marks about in her grip a bit then brings out a smaller wooden box from inside the first. This is where the money goes, the first of its kind to sit there. As she's doing so, there's a ruckus -- but a girlish, well-mannered one -- from the entryway. Here enter two other finely dressed ladies, shaking heads full of equally finely done hair. A blonde strolls up to the large casement of shoes she left behind. "We had to wait in line /forever/, Sally, but it's your turn." They both take time to bob polite curtsies at the apparent customer.
Inviere, with equal care, puts the earrings into her purse -- not as large as it might be, but enough for her change, some personal items, and, of course, her new purchase -- and, the transaction completed, gives her happiest, winningest smile to Saliqa. "Thank you," she says, deliberately ignoring the girls lurking in her blind spot. "This is exactly what I needed." Keen on torturing the new customers, she takes a long moment to close the purse, brush imaginary lint off her tunic, etc., before getting to her feet. "I look forward to our next meeting, Saliqa."
Though she's vaguely distracted into looking up at the arrival of her companions, Saliqa keeps enough poise to return all attention back to Inviere for the farewells. "I'm very glad to help, ma'am Inviere. May all future ones be as pleasant as this. And do take care in those stables..." Her saleswoman voice opens up to something more genuinely maternal -- in a nineteen turn old? -- at the last. Then she picks herself up, eyeing the blonde that spoke. "What do you mean a line? Well, if you did it, I'll do it. But I am quite hungry, let me say." So everyone will excuse her if she departs from the room towards the living cavern with a purposeful stride.