==== December 24, 2013
==== Maryam, Erissa
==== Erissa attempts to imitate Maryam and reveals more than the trader wanted to know about Cha'el.
Who | Maryam, Erissa |
---|---|
What | Erissa attempts to imitate Maryam and reveals more than the trader wanted to know about Cha'el. |
When | It is the sixty-ninth day of Summer. |
Where | Bazaar, Igen Weyr |
Room
Central Bazaar
All roads in the weyr ultimately lead here, to this center of commerce. Canvas awnings jut out over time worn, sandy cobblestone, sheltering customers and wares alike from the majority of Igen's elements, and funnel scents both mouthwatering and vomit inducing through the thin streets. Almost all store fronts are open air, delineated by sandstone arches with intricately carved facades. The insides of these stone-shingled buildings act as an amplifier for the salesmens' bawled enticements, and are held up by the chipped swirls of marble pillars.
Characters
Maryam
There's little to distinguish this woman from others given her penchant for remaining veiled, even when indoors. It's clear that Maryam is tall for a woman, but slight and narrow of build. Her robes, which cover everything from neck to floor, leaving only her hands free, are layers of pale, sandy linen trimmed in sky blue. Those colors are echoed in the twisted linen that make up her turban, hiding her hair completely but for a few tiny blonde wisps visible at the nape of her neck. Pinned to the turban is a veil that sweeps across the Roman bridge of her nose, obscuring her lower face, with a string rising from its center up the bridge of her nose and over her forehead to help stabilize it in place. What is exposed are two large eyes of a dreamy shade of blue, and some skin which is both pale and lightly freckled: the reason for the constant veiling, perhaps.
When she walks, the tip of simple leather sandals are visible beneath the hem of her robes. She wears none of the beads, bangles or fripperies so often employed by women to attract attention from the opposite sex. Two firelizards are perched on her shoulders.
Maryam wears the knot of a Igen Weyr Bazaar Merchant.
She is a young adult of about 21.
Erissa
Erissa is a complicated woman. From her short, white-blond hair to her dark blue-gray eyes she seems undecided on who she wants to be. Even the cut of her hair, a wild mop of various lengths with longish bangs that tend to fall over one eye, refuses to lie in any semblance of order. Her height, at least, seems to be fixed at a generous 58, which she always tries to make the most of by standing straight and sitting back. Her frame is athletically slender, bred of hard work and meager means, but with enough generous curves to give her ego a healthy boost.
Riding gear is obviously well chosen to compliment her feminine figure and of craft-made quality, but the details are clearly not commissioned for her in particular. Slightly faded, a light blue blouse shows beneath the open fall of a black jacket that she almost never takes off. Trousers match the jacket, the legs flaring to encompass a pair of well-worn boots.
She is an adult of about 30. She is awake and looks alert.
Log
At a spot where rock-hewn wall separates two busy vendors sits a crate, and on that crate sits a young woman. She doesn’t seem to be a shopper of any of the goods on display to her left or right. Nor does she seem to be a seller hawking any of the wares strewn about.
No, she makes no sound nor shows any sign of being aware of her surroundings at all. She sits crossed legged, bare arms resting lightly along her thighs. Her posture is ram-rod straight, her chin slightly raised. Pale lashes feather light-hued cheeks, her eyes closed to the activity around her. Dressed in riding gear consisting of a black jacket and matching trousers, the existence of a bright orange towel wrapped in a lop-sided pile atop her head sticks out as an obvious oddity.
Oh, rest assured, there is more than one oddity at work here. Maryam has been breathing Bazaar air since her first, she knows this market as well as she knows her own face, and there are few things odd enough to make her come to an abrupt stop in the street. Spying Erissa, in this case, does the trick- and she didn’t need to be struck in the head to accomplish it!
The veiled young woman is treading carefully through the drifts of sand that have accumulated on the thoroughfare, robes lifted slightly in her hands, breath coming short behind that scrap of fabric as she tries to navigate slippery footing. But Erissa, in all of her orange turban glory, provides an opportunity to stop. To stop, and perchance to stare in as polite a fashion as Maryam can manage. And, after a moment of that, she begins to work her way towards the bluerider. Yes, yes, maybe she should be left in peace. Or…maybe not. The very lightest of cleared throat noises signals an attempt to gain Erissa’s attention.
A flutter of lash. A sliver of blue. Erissa cracks an eye at the distinct sound of a clearing throat. On the off chance it isn’t meant for her she only peeks, but seeing who it is she immediately closes her eye again and, although she tries to suppress it, a smile tugs her lips to one side.
“Good day to you, Maryam. What a pleasure to see you again.” This said with a very un-Erissa-like calm and serious mono-tone, etiquette exaggerated. The tiniest inclination of her head in greeting, however, is too much for her lopsided head-dress. The orange-topped configuration slips to one side and tumbles down over one shoulder. With a laugh Erissa catches it and gives her head a shake, white-blond layers more tousled than ever. Pushing it back up again doesn’t help much, the flat arrangement nothing near a proper turban.
Shoulders back and spine straight she strikes a stiff pose again and she looks to Maryam. “How do I look? Do I remind you of anyone?”
“Ma’am.” Surely Maryam remembers Erissa’s name; whether she’s capable of using a proper name is another matter entirely. That her tone is an unconscious echo of the monotone adopted by the bluerider appears to go unnoticed as well- or perhaps she’s simply distracted by the toppling leaning tower of orange that the woman has arranged upon her head. Slowly, so very slowly, pale eyes close in a blink while Erissa wrestles with the confection of fabric. And here it is where she shows a fatal flaw in imagination- or self-awareness. Very carefully, once the “turban” is settled, she looks the young woman over from crown to toes before shaking her head in a negative. There is concentration here, an intensity that defies humor. The fabric wound around her head actually stirs with the movement and still she doesn’t make the connection.
“I am afraid not, ma’am. It is not a color any of my acquaintances are partial to. Though…We’bey, perhaps.” Maryam lets her eyes shape a small small- either hopeful of this being a proper turn of conversation with this weird, fey creature, or pleased to have conquered the oddity of orange turban with etiquette. “Are you familiar with We’bey? He rides a green. Saytomarth, I believe. He is very fashionable.”
Erissa tries her best to hold her pose in suitable imitation of her muse for this particular effort, but as the woman guesses incorrectly she lets out a rush of breath, slender shoulders falling slightly.
“We’bey? No I haven’t. But if he likes bright orange head wear then I want to meet him!” she muses, unable to restrain the grin that rises at the thought of such an interesting personality. Giving herself a little shake that engenders yet another straightening tweak of her impromptu turban, she sits up even straighter and pushes her shoulders even further back, jutting her chin higher than before and casting pretty features in a thoughtfully serious expression. “Are you suuuuuuuuure this doesn’t remind you of someone you know?” she asks, blue shadowed eyes widening and flicking up at Maryam’s much more appropriate headwear. “Someone you know reeeeeeeeeeally well?”
“He has tights with dandelions on them. And clover as well. Perhaps he has an orange hat but…” But Maryam trails off to consider whether she’s ever seen as much. No, no, she hasn’t, as is indicated in another slight negative headshake. “Not his color, I think.”
How serious, no? So very solemn. She’s trying to be helpful! The little breadcrumb clues that Erissa is laying for her eventually begin to come together in a pudding of realization though it takes a second extended study of the young woman. When Maryam realizes just what the bluerider is implying…
Well, naturally she blinks again. “Are you pretending to be me?” she inquires in a tone that tacks on an unspoken question of, ”Whatever for?” “Or…” What else could it be? Oh, she knows! “Ah…you are not from Igen, you have yet to learn how to make a proper head covering, for the sun…can I help you, ma’am?” Verily, her fingers are twitching not that she’s ferreted out Erissa’s true intentions! Her hands lift, one turned palm up in offering. “It can be difficult, at first. Learning how things are done here. But once you have the knack, it seems easy.”
Erissa loses some of her facade as Maryam reveals further details of the intriguing We’bey’s fashion sense. Now there’s something she’d like to see! Fortunately the robed woman moves on before her posing efforts are lost entirely.
As realization begins to dawn on the trader Erissa finally frees a delighted smirk, eventually nodding and laughing again as her sloppy turban falls entirely to her lap. She hadn’t intended to imply her need of head covering but at Maryam’s eager offer she becomes curious and decides to take her up on it. What can it hurt?
“I was imitating you,” she affirms, flashing the woman an impish grin. Gray-shadowed blues glance upward where her ledge hovers along the rock wall of the weyr over the bazaar. “I’ve spent quite a bit of time watching the folk who roam through here.” One slender shoulder hitches, unapologetic for the enjoyment of judging people on sight alone. “But you have a unique viewpoint. I wondered how it would feel to be you so…..” One hand rolls in a gesture that flips part of the gawdy orange material. “It isn’t quite the same as yours but I thought it might help.” Leaning forward she narrows a curious look that roams over Maryam’s robes, pale bangs swaying absently across one eye. Finishing with a lingering gaze at the woman’s head covering she asks, “Is that why you wear one - for the sun?”
Now that she’s puzzled out the other woman’s intentions, Maryam indulges in a brief moment of good humor- at least, to judge by the angle of her eyes, she seems to be smiling, judging the level of malice here to be extremely low. Ignorance? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time she’s encountered that on Igen’s behalf. Carefully, she reaches forward in a bid to take the oh so loud fabric to help Erissa with her headwrap.
“For the sun, and for modesty’s sake. In my family, only unblooded girls and women too old to bleed go about uncovered,” she explains. Although would any choose a towel to venture out into public? Likely not. But she’s doing an admirable job of maintaining a calm expression, in spite of the material she has to work with. “Even my mother, who defied many conventions, would wear a veil when she fought on the Pit’s sands. But it is not the coverings that make a person, mmm? It is blood. And how one is raised. No proper Igen woman would be as…ebullient as you are.” A positive word and yet somehow she makes it sound regretfully negative. So sorry. The truth doth sting. “Where are you from, if I may ask?”
Erissa lets the material go without any resistance. She isn’t really fond of the color either, nor the material, but when one has limited resources one must take what one can get. In this case, a flutter of lashes and a bit of flirting had gotten her a remnant unwanted by a nearby vendor. Good enough for her purpose in creating the feel of a mop of material piled atop her head, anyway, while her imagination provided the rest.
But Maryam’s reply leaves her more disconcerted than ever, the sweep of pale brows slowly knitting further inward as she listens. “It’s no one’s business whether you’ve…. blooded, or not,” she insists. “Sounds like some silly rule made up by a man, if you ask me.” She’d had plenty of ‘proper’ feminine behavior shoved down her throat, thank you very much, with her perfectly proper mother at the vanguard of exemplary examples. Finally she sits up straighter, chin tilting at a suspicious angle. Pride keeps her from asking what the unfamiliar word means, however, if context serves her understanding correctly and it means she isn’t proper enough herself then good for that!
“From Ista, last,” she replies. “High Reaches before that.” Hot and cold. She thought she’d experienced it all. But then she’d come to Igen - and discovered dry.
It doesn’t take much, really, to fashion the scrap of terrycloth into something better suited to be called a turban. It lacks the yards and yards of turns, and of course the veil as well, but Maryam isn’t bothered by the lack. Erissa’s an outsider, after all. She probably won’t even notice!
So, stretching the cloth between her hands, she seizes the opportunity of the bluerider actually sitting up straight. Tucked behind the woman’s head, drawn forward a little and then up, she wraps and tucks and tugs until it’s been shaped properly…into something that’s really more “bathing beauty beehive”. But. It’ll do.
“It is my business,” Maryam murmurs as she works, “and I am happy to wear the veil. For me, it shows I respect where I am from, that what I do matters more than how I look. There. You look lovely.” Alas, if only she had a mirror. Instead, she steps back and tilts her head slightly to perform a more critical appraisal before nodding her satisfaction. This time, her smile comes with much more ease. “Ista…as the new Weyrsecond did?”
Erissa suffers the man-handling easily enough knowing the efforts being applied are for her benefit. Curiosity has bitten deep, as well as dismay, as she considers her newly gained acquaintance’s traditional views.
Respect? She simply can’t see it that way. Crooking stolen glances at the other woman as she works Erissa probably makes the job more difficult, but in true professional style Maryam manages to finish anyway and even seems quite pleased with the results.
“But it hides who you are,” Erissa persists. “Your personal preferences, style and tastes. That’s wrong. You should be able to express yourself however you want.” Watch out - rebel in the house! Emotions boil up as the topic touches a personal sour spot for the bluerider. She also doesn’t want to offend such an obviously kind and helpful young lady whom she’s quickly become fond of but at the same time she can’t stand the thought of her being smothered or dominated by ridiculously over-bearing male philosophies. “I don’t see why you can’t do something that matters and look good while you’re doing it,” is stated with a layer of heat not meant for Maryam but those who put her in this position.
Then Maryam mentions the Weyrsecond, however, and the change in Erissa is like someone flipped open a glowbasket. Consternation melts away, replaced by an almost shy smile that doesn’t match the assured confidence in blue-gray hues.
“Yes!” Erissa blurts. “I’m so proud of him!” Pale lashes flutter downward as she spares a moment for fond musing. Then, “Cha’el and I became an item at Ista. He’s completely in love with me.” A long suffering cast crosses pretty features as her lips tug to one side. “Poor boy has it bad. Totally smitten. I haven’t seen him yet though. I’m sure he wants to surprise me with his impressive news.” One hand rises to carefully touch the side of her newly erected beehive as she muses, “I wonder if he’d like something like this.”
Maryam’s argument to Erissa’s reasoning is simple: “And if my personal preference is to dress as I am dressed? If I think that this looks good and is comfortable for me?” She lets that logic stand as it is, without dressing it up with further arguments. Perhaps she feels they aren’t needed!
And it’s just as well she does favor the veil, as she settles the final tuck of the turban and steps back. As the young woman gushes about Cha’el, Maryam goes completely still. Not even an eyelash quivers as Erissa goes through the poses and expressions of someone madly in love, then speculates on his tastes. Just that, for several long minutes: stillness, silence. When she does finally stir again, it’s with an unsteady inhalation whose exhale ruffles the fabric draped over her lower face. Her eyes, wide and startled, lower to study the ground.
It takes even longer to muster an answer but when one finally emerges, it’s as cool, calm and collected as ever. “Congratulations to you as well, ma’am. Small wonder you are so proud of him.” She pauses for a beat. “Perhaps something like that in a different color? Something softer, to suit your complexion.”
Erissa is almost too far gone to backtrack and push Maryam’s logic through the fog of Cha’el admiration, but she manages enough for a light frown of confusion to waft across pale features. Lifting her chin, dark blue hues look intently into those of a lighter shade.
“But why would you? I admit when I was imagining it at first it was like I was hiding in plain sight, which was fun, but then…. all those layers started to feel smothering. Heavy. You have such pretty eyes - I bet the rest of you is just as lovely.” Arms rise in either direction; a wide gesture that encompasses the bazaar as a whole. “Have you ever walked through here and just let it all in?”
Of course her attention is quickly drawn back to the magnet of Cha’el and she sits up straighter, a smile that is indeed proud of her loverboy lighting up her face. Maryam’s suggestion peeks her interest. “You think?” Blue-ish hues roll upward as if she can see the orange configuration, imagination supplying a delighted look on Cha’el’s face if he saw her in one as elegant as Maryam’s. Wiggling her head she chuckles when the whole thing wobbles, but thanks to the trader woman’s expertise, it doesn’t topple. “I don’t know if I could keep it on my head when I walk around. Though I used to be good at doing it with blocks.” The last is added with a smirk, one of the few concessions she’s made to attempts at making her more ‘ladylike’ and ‘proper’.
This time, in spite of the compliment folded into the argument, Maryam doesn’t rise to the bait. She will not respond- either sensing that it is a lost cause, or still privately struggling with the revelation about Cha’el. It becomes much, much easier when Erissa preens and returns to talk of clothing. Fashion: always a safe topic.
Even though what she’s about to offer cuts, just a little.
“You should come with me to the Night Flight. The woman who owns it, she helped raise me, and she has the finest styles that Igen can offer.” Another breath is taken, and when this one proves not to ache as she draws it in, Maryam adds a smile to the mix. Her eyes lift, whatever storm of emotion she’d suffered there well and truly conquered. Gentle again! “It is the material you use, yes? You need something finer, and there are pins to help keep the drapery in place. But after you visit the Flight, you will look every bit the proper Igen lady and he will not be able to resist.”
A part of Erissa realizes that Maryam skims over discussing the reasoning behind her elaborate attire and files it away in her mental logs for further future consideration. Bucket list addition: Maryam the Streaker. You never know.
Unaware of the emotional disruption she’s caused her new companion, Erissa blithely carries on with talk of Cha’el and fashion. Pale features slowly scrunch as things such as style, pins, and draping pile up, forming an expression worthy of an impish cherub with a devilish streak. But it’s the final straw of setting a goal of ‘proper Igen lady’ that has the bluerider jerking aright, slender shoulders straightening beneath the thick cover of black riding jacket.
“I don’t want to be a proper Igen lady,” the blond woman informs, tone polite but firm. “I’ve had my fill of what people consider proper. I am who I am and that’s who I’m staying.” Unless, that is, she changes her mind. Which happens often. And frequently. Sometimes even sooner.
“I’m curious is all.” Like that. A glance rises through lowered lashes. “Would you come with me?”
As for attracting her brownrider, lips twitch upward to one side in an expression of self-effacing delight. “Oh he already can’t resist me. He may be hung like a runner but the key is knowing how to use it, of course. I honed him well in that area. Poor man was helpless but he’s quite the stud now, a regular insatiable green in dragon terms, you might say.” A light chuckle slips free, the sharing of intimate details not phasing the woman in the least.
On the other hand, it quite phases Maryam. So much so that rather than actually responding to anything else Erissa has said, the veiled woman is driven to simply staring at the bluerider. Once, twice, her lashes flicker down over winter-hued eyes, set in a face that seems to have gone rather pale beneath its shielding fabric. But that’s all for several long seconds- the sort of seconds that tick by for a person in a seeming eternity, unending. Did she just hear what she thought she heard?
Yes, yes she did. And perhaps unsurprisingly for someone who hides under so much fabric and speaks so softly, she seems as if she might faint as a result.
“I…” Maryam stops, in order to gently clear her throat. Words escape her; if this were a matter of business, maybe she’d have a reply readied! But this is most definitely not business and she’s stymied, flustered. “I would be honored. To visit the Flight with you. But…perhaps not today, ma’am.” Not given to fidgeting, she slips her hands inside the shadowed fall of her sleeves to hide the way her fingers have curled hard against her palms. That’s going to leave a mark!
“I apologize if I have offended. I did not mean you should try to be as we are. Only that…that it might be fun to dress up. Perhaps I should go.” Most definitely she should go, but in an agony of good manners, the young woman lingers until Erissa seems ready to part.
Things only get worse for poor Maryam. Erissa is on a roll now and not inclined to depart from her muse/fashion consultant/confidant. In the bright sun of day she doesn’t notice how the trader woman pales, nor how she stiffens beneath the loose layers of concealing cloth. Her only clue of the other young woman’s hesitation is the silence that initially ensues, making her wonder if her request will be denied. Unused to her make-shift turban she tilts her head up to gauge those light blue eyes but again has to quickly lift both hands to steady it when it leans.
Then Maryam replies and Erissa practically squeals in delight. Unfolding herself with an easy grace she hops off her perch and presses up alongside the robed woman, beaming a smile as bright as the noon day sun. Slipping an arm around one of Maryam’s she gives it a squeeze, physical filters that should warn her of potentially inappropriate behavior as disfunctional as verbal ones.
“Nonsense,” she insists to the trader’s apology. “You haven’t offended me in the slightest. In fact, you’ve been utterly helpful. Dressing up does sound fun… just… well, maybe not too girlish.” Pert nose scrunches at that and she dips her head with a chuckle, glancing around as if they’re planning some major secretive upheaval. “Come on, I’m starving. Being you is hard work! What’s good to eat around here?”
Apparently Maryam has been abducted, whatever might have been on her agenda summarily dismissed.
It might be easier to tell that Maryam’s stiffened up because she does it again when her arm is seized. All this touching! Even through several layers of increasingly fine cloth, it’s a simple matter to feel the lock of muscle lashed over a bony arm. This time, she opts not to go along with Erissa’s enthusiasm- the ground was laid for her escape with her previous statement and by golly, after this, she intends to follow it through.
Just…politely.
So it is that the bluerider’s fingers are gently patted before she curls her own beneath to lift them from her arm. “I recommend the booth with the violet awning, they have kebabs with a variety of spices to flavor the meat.” And with that to distract the young woman, she adds in undertone, “I really should be going. Clear skies, ma’am. My best to Cha’el, when you see him next.”
And then? Then she’ll flee. Erissa may give chase if she wants to but the tall woman is intent on plunging into the Bazaar’s crowds. There might be sneaky crossroads taken, hidden alleys and secret byways, just to shake off any pursuit and buy herself both the space and privacy needed to pull herself back together.
Though disappointed, Erissa isn’t the least bit put out with Maryam’s oh-so-gentle extrication. She has her recommendation and hunger enough to follow through even if she’s on her own. Not to mention plans for a visit to the Night Flight that should be interesting. With an amiable wave she sees the woman disappear into the milling crowd then turns to scan the awnings ahead.
Giving the open front of her black jacket a straightening tug she ducks around a pair of chatty women, ignoring the furtive glances sent toward her orange headwear. Absorbed in her own thoughts she murmurs thoughtfully, “I wonder if Cha’el likes spicy kebabs.”