====October 11, 2013
====Cerise, Dimitri, Nora
====Nora comes across the siblings as they air out their wagon.

Who Cerise, Dimitri, Nora
What Nora comes across the siblings as they air out their wagon.
When There is 1 turn 0 months and 3 days until the 12th pass.
Where Clearing, Southern Weyr

cerise9.jpg dimitri6.jpg Nora7.png


The rise from sea to Weyr is made serene by a charming road winding sand-trodden from beach below to stonecut entrance above. The path wanders among a surprisingly green valley where purple flowers bloom in charmingly unfettered profusion. The meadows themselves are often in high demand as picnic areas, for dragons are not allowed to land in the narrow valley itself. No trees nor cliff lies near to shadow the clearing, however, and the intensity of sun can be unbearable for those not familiar with the humid drench of Southern's summers.

-- On Pern --
It is noon
It is 12:11 PM where you are.
There is 1 turn 0 months and 3 days until the 12th pass.
It is Summer and 98 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day.

"So I told her, get this." Thump-a-thump - this is the sound of Dimitri exiting the wagon that's standing in the middle of a clearing, and he's not wearing his white knot. Nor a shirt, apparently, because it's entirely too hot out. At least he's wearing pants. He hops down from wood into green valley grass, showing very little appreciation for that softness under his bare feet. "I told her how I didn't know what to do with my life! What with already being so handsome and so intelligent, I didn't have anything left to achieve. And she slapped me!" Though this might sound like a bad thing, he looks a lot more like he's just explained the happiest moment of his life! Wearin' a big smile on his face as he swiiings an arm through the air in front of him, to illustrate the supposed gale-wind force smack he received just earlier. He throws a brief glance back over to the wagon behind him, before sinking to the ground and sprawling out onto his back. The only logical conclusion: "Do you think it's the hair? Girls like curls, don't they?" His voice trails off, a little. "… Something to hold onto."

"Something to hold onto as they smash you facefirst into a wall?" Cerise is just clarifying that that's what he meant, her tone suggests- because surely that's what he meant, right? Her voice comes from within the wagon. "Honestly, Dimi, how are you aren't still a virgin…" There are one, two, three firelizards perched on the lintel above the wagon door. A larger brown and gold flank a much tinier brown, all three peering down at Dimitri and twittering amongst themselves like a flock of ravens discussing prospects for theft. They watch with extreme interest as items begin to emerge from the door beneath them: a rich crimson cloak of the sort a Lord might wear; a filmier cloak of sisal suitable to a Lady or an expensive woman of the night; a few rag-rug style boas of brightly colored fabric; a pair of sisal-and-wire crafted dragon wings appropriate for a human to wear; numerous hats both stylish and silly; dresses; trousers; shirts.

Long before the stream of fluttery costume components ends, Cerise can be heard complaining, "I have nothing to wear."

Dimitri watches the firelizards right back, his eyes narrowing at the trio. "The trick is to get yourselves into their bedrooms. Then once you're in there, they feel too bad to send you off, and you can ride the guilt straight into their beds." He says this almost as though it's the tagline to a joke, and whether he's joking or not shall likely forever remain a mystery. As a particularly pink boa comes spilling out of the wagon entrance, Dimitri reeeaaches for it, and drags it over to drape it around his neck and partway across his chest before he flops back down. Cerise's comment gathers a sceptical look in the wagon's direction. "Then come out naked! It's warm enough for it." Wait. His smile turns into sneer. "Wait, no, don't. I take that back. HhhrRRHh." He shudders, far too animated for it to be completely involuntary.

Speaking of hats and clothes, there's a hat arriving in the clearing now. Perhaps it's more notable that the person wearing it, being rather hugely brimmed and glaringly white in the hot sun, but as it draws closer it eventually turns out to be Nora. Today, some of the prim structure is missing from her usual attire, an extra bit of flounce in the softer materials, shoulders dangerously bare and her hem scandalously close to her knees. It's all white but for a few accents of soft pink. The wedge of sandals are a bit more reliable for all-terrain walking than her regular heels and there's an oversized woven bag slung on her arm, like maybe someone was headed for the beach. Instead, the flash of bold colors and the comfortable banter over by that wagon catch her attention and alter her path. She calls out no greeting, but in the shade of her sun hat, she's wearing a satisfied curl of a smile as her glance flicks over Dimitri. When near enough for casual conversation, she skips right to it. "Little warm to play in the wagon, isn't it?" Maybe it's loud enough for Cerise to hear from within.

"Ugh. Why are we talking about you gettin' fucked? It's too hot for this." The next item to come flying out of the wagon- a lady's slipper of satin and spangles- is better aimed, its target his face. With supposedly no witnesses about, Cerise's brogue is in full effect in all of its ripe, uneducated glory. But when another voice is heard, one soft and far too feminine to be Dimitri, even in a female role, her curly head pops around the doorframe to spy just who is visiting. The rest of her follows after Nora is recognized, revealing herself to be dressed in nothing but a linen undershift not dissimilar to a candidate robe. It's got a drawstring waist to differentiate it but otherwise… "Afternoon, ma'am! We don't air everything out now and again, it gets frightful musty in there."

Dimitri, wide-eyed, manages to BAP away the slipper aimed at his face right in time for a hat-shaped spot of shade to slide across his torso. "Oi! You're standing in my light!" He squints up with a grimace, though it melts away almost immediately after, only to morph into an ear-to-ear grin as he pushes himself up to lean onto an elbow and twists sideways to face her more properly. So comfortable in this here grass. "Nora! How're you on this lovely day, lovely day?" Then, to Cerise, "Your face gets frightful musty." TOSS. The slipper is thrown right back at her, halfhearted in its aim.

Is that what they were talking about? Nora arches a brow, brim lifted so she can angle a glance toward the wagon just in time to see a slipper come flying out. "I wouldn't think there'd be much to talk about," she remarks, that arched sing-song in her voice both reminder and question. They are candidates, after all. Rules and such. But this topic she's apparently interrupted, the sailing shoe, Dimitri's ready propping… Cerise's unfettered accent just tops it all off like a cherry and it stretches the assistant headwoman's grin wide and amused, waiting for that curly head to pop out and say hello. "Afternoon," she returns, though there's brightness in here eye for the comment on airing, the sweetness of her smile holding onto her own quips. "I'm baking," she answers, not sounding particularly thrilled with it, even though she tips her head back so that sun can hit her in the face and make her squint.

"Your mum." Nevermind that his mum is her mum too. The slipper is batted at, but too far for a decent hit. Bah! Cerise hops down the stairs to the grass and performs a stage bow to Nora, all wide flourishing arms and pointed toe. "It just so happens we've some shade right here, and a half-naked young man built to wave a fan at you! Have a seat, my lady, make yourself comfortable, and-" She pauses, rising out of the bow and aiming a toe at Dimitri's ribcage. Hey, that young man she was talking about is you dude. Get with the fanning. "We were speaking more of the before, in regards to his bedmates. Since coming here, the women have shown frightfully good sense in staying away from him."

Dimitri's all too happy to finish Cerise's sentence for her, in that pause, eyebrow quirking up at Nora. "- And maybe we can offer you something… sparser to wea—?" But he doesn't get to finish that sentence, promptly toed in the ribcage and giving a yelp. He throws a glare and a leg out to his sister, aimed more to scare than actually kick. This right before he pulls both legs inward. "If you ask me…" he starts, getting to his feet with a backwards roll across his shoulderblades, head tucked to the side before he lands back on his haunches, "it's that they're intimidated." He straightens with a perfect stage smile, which then almost immediately wavers as he plucks a blade of grass from his mouth and stares at it. Blegh.

Nora has to blink a bit when she tips her brim down again, a squeeze of lashes to chase the spots from her eyes so she can properly enjoy the flourish with which Cerise welcomes her. Her grin becomes a flash of teeth and she lets her weight sway forward and back, skirt catching the breeze as she plays the part of the fair lady, before she steps forward to avail herself of some of that shade, taking a seat on the wagon's step. "Don't mind if I do." She has, however, a little more skepticism for Dimitri's offer of hospitality. "Yes, you're both a little sparse." Or half-naked, she's noticed, tossing a glance at Cerise's dress. "Do you think it will get hot enough to convince them a little exposed skin never hurt anyone?" Them. Nowtimers. Meanwhile, she set her beach bag aside and leans forward, stretching a hand out to reach for the end of that pink boa.

Cerise doesn't bother to try to avoid Dimitri's foot- she's called his bluff and therefore wins when he doesn't follow through with it. "I think this weather could convince anyone to rethink their narrow opinion on proper dress," she says, plucking the makeshift dragon wings from the pile to toss them at her brother. Maybe she means for him to use them as a fan, now that Nora's opted to remain? "They're all hypocrites anyway. They like the look of less." A stiff-brimmed hat is snatched up for herself, wagged vigorously in the air before her face to help encourage wind movement. "It feels like the hatching caverns out here…Dimi, don't make that face, you'll scare her off."
"What face?" Dimitri's eyebrows pop up in a fairly convincing display of ignorance. Surely every face of his is irresistable! He stays standing, then distracted at the hand reaching for his newly acquired boa, which resummons his grin. Just in time for some human-made dragon wings to hit him in the ribcage, sending his arms flying upward in a delayed startle. "You and the throwing! … Oh hey." Yes, these will do as a fan just fine, thanks. He plucks them up and off the grass, using them to fan Nora — a little ambitiously, perhaps. WHOOSH. WHOOSH. He might be making a game of seeing whether he can blow that hat away. Let the others do their talking.

"They do," Nora agrees, not seeming the least bit distracted by Dimitri's stage-worthy smile. "At least the men do," and she lifts a bare ankle out before her for little reason other than to enjoy the fact that it's bare as always. Then she cocks a brow to Dimitri, but the question there isn't in regard to her own skin. "You'd know more about the women, if they think less is more, though if they're all avoiding you… Perhaps that says something." Her smiles teases and meanwhile, her grip slithers that boa up and around her neck, which sadly means she gets a mouth full of feathers thanks to someone's enthusiastic fanning. A mild spit and a bit of patting to pull it down from her chin and then she can use the end to fan as well, if uselessly so. "Mm, maybe not Renalde, though." For her boss she releases a light but long-suffering sigh and sticks her tongue out just a bit. Her moments recalling whatever interactions she's had with the headman are brief, since she's distracted by the delightful ruffling of pink in her hands. "This is gorgeous."

"That face. A face like that, small wonder I'm always throwing things at it." For Cerise, a blue and green boa, not to be worn but to sweep through the air like a ribbon wand. "Thank you! Most of our costumes, I made. He has the looks, I've the talent," she confides with a twirl and then a grin. Nora's bared ankles earn a glance, then a look at her own feet- wiggling, dirty toes from running around barefoot- before she opts to simply sit, covering up both dirt and bare feet with the folds of her simple skirt. "Renalde has a horrible bedside manner, aye?" Time and distance has made it easier to speak of The Event; her tone remains light. "But he's as susceptible as any other man. You know his son's in the barracks now? A Harper."

"If less is more, and they're avoiding me, then that clearly means I'm too much for them to handle!" Dimitri's logic! He's unbothered by comments of his face - he's likely heard them all before, after all - and simply focuses on Nora's teasing smile, offering up one of his own. A little lacking in subtlety and considerably less attractive, but what can you do; He's got that face. But then he freezes, cloth dragon wings dropping to the floor beside him. "Oh! Oh oh! Renalde!" The mere mention of the man sends the male Candidate darting back to the wagon, tripping very nearly over several items of clothing before he goes sailing face first into the wagon, crashlanding on his stomach, ass end hanging out. Whiiiine. He stretches forward to grab weakly for the shirt he'd left inside, before slooowly slinking back out. An arm pressed momentarily to his stomach and attempting to right himself without so much as verbally acknowledging his blunder, the same way a cat might tumble sleepily off a couch and then wander nonchalantly to its food bowl. Meant to do that. "This lovely of a day, it's the perfect time to get on the man's nerves!" And he's off! … After a wave and an oh so cheerful, "Nice to see ya, Nores!"

Dimitri has the looks, does he? Nora's eyes linger over him for a moment's consideration, one that has no impact on that smile he's admiring. But let's just say she probably wouldn't pay so much attention to his hair if she'd heard the comments that came earlier. However, more importantly, "You made this?" she asks Cerise, impressed and holding up the boa's feathery end just before Dimitri goes diving so suddenly into the wagon. Which is about the time that she realizes, with all of them at the wagon's entrance as they are, there isn't really so much room for her hat. It's bumped around awkwardly, jostling her, and while leaning away from Dimitri's back end, she slips the sun hat off and brushes quick fingers through her hair. She also exchanges a look with Cerise that gives the actress plenty of credit for the patience she must have. Herself, she's determined not to let the blunder cat distract her and does her best to carry on with the conversation. "I met him, actually — Taralde, right? — the other day. He seems… I don't know. How does he seem?" Cerise would probably know better. And by then their number is about to become smaller, so she haves her boa in lazy farewell. "Bye, Dims."

All of that flopping and flailing and zippy recovery? Yeah, that's hardly a blip on Cerise's radar, she's so used to it. A wrinkled nose and another grin marks the look given her but she has no comment in return: this is just her life. "Try not to get de-knotted, Dimiwit, that egg's out there waiting for you," she calls after him instead. Then she rests back on one hand, her other arm curled beneath the weight of her hair to lift it off of the nape of her neck in hope of a breeze. "I did all of the sewing, the boys were hopeless at it. If you ever need a costume…" A significant nod tips towards the wagon's hidden interior. Help yourself, that gesture says. "I haven't spoken to him much yet," she adds of Taralde, "but he doesn't seem quite so…stiff."

Nora has a little chuckle, "A costume," she repeats, weighing the possibility. But there's a bit of honest curiosity when she twists to peer into the darkness of the wagon, her eyes not just scoping out potential clothing but the size and shape of the space. It's rather thoughtlessly that she begins to unwind the boa from around her neck. "I got that sense, too," about Taralde. "But I'm not sure people come much more stiff than Renalde in the first place." If only she knew the jokes she could be making. Instead, oblivious, she's standing up from her seat, apparently ready to make the most of that 'help yourself' gesture and poke about inside. The heat and closeness, however, is almost unbearable and she has to take a deep breath before she can face it. "The two of you lived in here?" She mostly manages to keep that faint sound of horror out of her voice.

The interior of the wagon is indeed close, cramped, dark. There's a lone glowbasket left over from when Cerise was "airing" the place out, and the bunks are almost completely hidden by a number of crates, chests and mesh bags either stacked on the floor or strapped to the walls. One of these, the chest nearest the door, is open and empty- the source of all of those pieces she'd thrown out onto the lawn.
"You should've seen him during the goldflight," Cerise remarks, only just barely missing the joke by adding, "Even then he insisted on lecturing me while he was, ah…you know." Taking a page from Dimitri's book, she brings her hands around and makes honk honk gestures above the chestal region. But the fact that she's grinning, with dimples, marks full awareness of how close she's treading. As for the cramped quarters, well…the grin dims somewhat, as she avoids mentioning the wagon held three. "Aye, we did, until we were swept up for the first clutch on the sands. And in between. It's not so bad once you're used to it."

Nora blinks. It's the dust, surely. And it much catch in her throat, too, since she coughs out a bewildered note as she turns to look back at Cerise — surely her hunting eyes will find some reason to believe that's a joke. "You're kidding." But, no, there's honk-honking. Which is pretty straight forward. So Nora has to blink again as her mouth opens a little wider. "You're kidding," she tries once more. "You and Renalde? How does that even…" Maybe she doesn't want to know, since she doesn't finish and instead picks deeper into the wagon, a hand holding on to some part of something so that she doesn't trip. Except maybe the news is still a little too surprising to forget so quickly. "I mean, he's not bad looking. I just can't imagine." But there's a bit of a chortle starting in her chest, growing stronger.

Apparently, she is not kidding in the least, because a protracted sigh follows the woman into the wagon. "I wish I were. It was the goldflight. I was in the library, he came in to yell at me or…something. I'm not entirely certain, it's all a little foggy." Honk honking transitions to fingers twiddled beside Cerise's temple. Either she's blocked it from her mind or time has done a number on her memory. "The next morning I wake up in his bed and he's at his desk looking as if it never happened. And he had the gall to imply things about my morals. Small wonder the man's single, aye?" Oh, and… "Mind the floorboard second from the right next to the bunks, it's a bit spongy. Came down hard after the Long Jump, we were lucky not to lose the entire thing."

Perhaps Nora can be forgiven for her response of "In my library?" and the incredulous look she sends over her shoulder. But by the time Cerise gets to the morning after, the Headman's assistant is back to sister-solidarity, rolling her eyes at her boss's reported reaction. "Oh, that sounds about right. And here he is lecturing me about my hems." She waves her hat around the small space to brush Renalde and his peculiarities away. "We'll never speak of it again. Though… must be a bit weird with Taralde." Another glance is cast in Cerise's direction, questioning, perhaps, but she does manage to navigate to the bunks, even though she totally steps on that floorboard and wobbles. At least there's a bit of a bed to catch her, perhaps not so different from the 'I meant to do that' the witnessed a moment ago. She sits and looks for a moment, forcing another deep breath in the cloistered heat. "So the wagon came with you," is what she understands now, letting it color her perception as her eyes pick through the details. "Home," mused quietly. Rather gently, she lets herself settle back on the bed, expression all quiet curiosity. She was supposed to be looking at clothes, wasn't she.

"It would only be weird if I slept with Taralde when the next gold goes up." Cerise's tone is wry and only faintly amused. That is the voice of someone who is making a mental note not to do something. And voila, she appears in the doorway, backlit by (and blocking) the natural light that makes it into the interior. She leans there, shoulder propped against wood, arms follded loosely over her belly. Attention is paid to the way Nora is looking around, prompting her to look around as well. When the eyes have had some time to adjust, small and cheerful marks of occupancy can be seen- grafitti sketched on the wall over by that bunk, streaks of color by this one, a mural of stars on the ceiling where an unopened glowbasket swings. "Home, aye. We were lucky to find a dragon willing to bring it with."

A voiceless laugh of agreement pushes out through her nose. "Was it your first goldflight?" Nora wonders, giving in to the oppressive, sapping heat for a moment and letting her eyes close. "So hot," she breathes out. As an after thought, she lifts her hat to sweep a bit of air across her skin, not that it makes much difference in here. But lazily her lashes lift again, glancing around once more and studying the decorations of this particular bunk. "I can't imagine both of you in here. I'd have killed him. — Is this your bed?" And rather than actually fall asleep in it now, she pushes herself up to sit again, peering at that silhouette to try to make out Cerise's face.

"That it was and something of a shock, aye? You hear the stories but until you're there and see it for yourself…" The outline of Cerise's head shakes slowly. And then? Then she is all too happy to move on from the subject of Renalde. She steps forward, reaching up to pull a stick with a hook on the end of it from its place high on the wall. With the stick in tow, she…disappears, outside of the wagon again. The wall behind Nora shudders. There is rattling and scraping. And then, with a great heave of effort, much of the wall swings up, revealing itself to be a shutter of sorts with an open air window. Sweating freely, Cerise still makes certain the stick is wedged in place. "That might help a little…mm? Killed…oh, no. Dimi's not bad to bunk with now that he's not drinking. That one's mine, you're on his and…" There's a third, above hers near the ceiling, but it's so packed with cases it would be easy to miss. "…and then there's our stuff. We'd make a fortune selling to antiques collectors, I think."

For that point about finding out for yourself, Nora has an emphatic lift of her eyebrows, a glance cast sideward that could suggest she has her own first flight stories. But none she seems particularly eager to tell, as she doesn't speak up to keep Cerise from disappearing with her… stick. That does have Nora's attention. And though her hostess may not be there to see it, there's a touch of uncertainty when that scraping begins. By the time the side opens up, Nora is standing, fingers at her nape, teasing air into her damp hair, but a grin of delight on her face, augmented by the fresh air. "Oh, that is better," she praises, sliding her elbows over the rim of the window to watch as Cerise continues with the stick. She might very much enjoy playing in this wagon. "Drinking? He doesn't now?"

Time for Cerise to take a short break, which involves fanning herself and repeatedly plucking at the hem of her shift to encourage air to swoop in beneath the fabric too. She's not so out of breath that she can't flash Nora a quick grin, though. "S'nice, eh?" There's that accent again. All right! Rested, she bounds up into the wagon again- making it sway- and goes for the cases stacked above. One in particular is pulled down and dropped onto the bunk (clunk!) to flip open. "Not any more. Did for awhile, after we got here but candidacy's been good for sobering him up. These're my lady holder pieces in here, all sisal and special loomings." She promised costumes and here they all, silky pastels and jewel tones both revealed as she opens the case. Sleeves, bodices, shawls, all positively florid with embroidery.

It's safe to say that Nora has not spent much time in a wagon, and that swaying does threaten her balance, hands gripping tight to the window's edge as she tries to straighten up, weight unsteady on her wedged sandals. But she also falls easily into 'following' Cerise, as much as a person can follow along in such cramped quarters, fascinated now as she watches her move about her familiar quarters. And when the trunk is opened, Nora leaves her hat on the pillow so she can dive right into to those vivid colors and generous embellishments. "Oh, Cerise." She wants to touch it all, to examine it. "Oh, these are gorgeous. All of this? Did you do all of this? What are you wasting your time with dragons for?" Or maybe she said wagons. Either way.

"I didn't embroider all of this." Just some, her tone implies. But it's clear Cerise's ego isn't unhappy with the compliment implied in the question. "Thing is, this isn't real people clothes, aye? It all comes from our heads, the costumes, and it's just for fun," she explains as she plucks a vivid peacock-colored bodice from the case, shakes it gently out and holds it up near Nora's face to check for coloration match. Satisfied, she tosses it at the other woman, making it clear she's welcome to rummage through. "The Weavers would likely take one look and laugh me out of their Hall, same as the Harpers would. And s'no fun to make this sort've stuff for other people anyway."

"But if you can do this," Nora is ready to argue, even if she lets the second half go unsaid. "Besides, it's not just a matter of craftsmanship. Any old ninny can stitch two pieces of cloth together. Imagination is something else entirely." She catches the peacock item, pressing it to herself over the fall of her own white dress to see how it might look — there would probably be extra room in the chest. "I wear real people clothes. I think they're fun." Of course, there are probably throngs of nowtimers who would insist that she does not, in fact, wear real people clothes at all. She must recognize it, since she shrugs it off preemptively. "So it's just… it's fun for you because of the story, the performance."

Rather than a simple yes or no answer, Cerise reaches forward to adjust the bodice against Nora's torso. If she had pins, she'd likely make quick work of the breast issue. "This is for the character of the young conniving Holder's wife, who married him for his title but is plotting his death with his eldest son. She wears this at the ball where the loyal and hardworking groom reveals her betrayal. There's a headdress…" Which means she turns to begin rummaging through the other cases in search of it! "Stage clothing's different, in any case. You make it so it comes off easy, right?" she says as she searches, grinning to herself. "Quick changes…or liaisons. I caught the eye of a lord's son, myself, in that one."

Nora might not be unfamiliar with having a seamstress manhandling her clothes, but she's still a little surprised when Cerise goes right to it. Even without pins, she stands still like a good doll, and attempts to hold the bodice just as Cerise has adjusted it, freeing up the expert's hands to hunt for the headdress. "It's kind of strange, isn't it? The way they feel about skirts now? Like they're so proper and conservative. When really, they're so much easier than pants." Easier, as a matter of accessibility. "Which lord's son?" she asks, that teasing curve coming to her smile. After all, they aren't just names in distant history for Nora.

"I swore I'd never tell but it wasn't at a minor Hold." The headdress is found, a frothy whimsy crafted of wire, pearls and feathers. Cerise's expression shades towards the critical as she holds it over Nora's head- the thing is heavy so she supports it rather than letting it rest there- and gives her a once over. "…you have to wear this at the hatching feast. You have to," she finally decides, critical replaced immediately by glowing. "Imagine their faces. I can tack the pieces together, make it a gown for the night."

"Well, they're all gone now," Nora says, the reminder a bit blunt but true nonetheless and softened by the elfin grin that pries only in jest. Besides, she's readily whisked away from handsy holders by the sight of that headpiece. The dress, she likes. The confection of pearls and wire, she loves. "For the hatching feast? Are you joking? I want to wear this everywhere. Do you have a mirror?" Maybe, if she's careful, she can hold the bodice up with one hand and the headdress in place with the other. "We can totally convince everyone it's normal. Maybe it's just really traditional oldtimer style to wear a crown as one goes about one's daily life. What do they know?" Of course, she's laughing, so probably not serious.

"Vows are eternal," Cerise proclaims loftily, in the voice of the wicked lady holder. She'd put her air in the nose too but one has only so many hands. Nora is not allowed to hold the headdress, instead it's returned to its separate case, and then she's reaching all grabbyhanded for the bodice as well. "No mirrors until the entire effect is ready," she bosses, "and if I'm going to have it ready betwixt and between candidate chores, I'll have to start right away." Translation: it is time for the assistant headwoman to skedaddle! There may or may not be shooing motions once Cerise has everything put away again. "They won't know what hit them, we'll start a trend!"

There might be just a touch of nerves on Nora's face, the flatness of her cheek and the slightly widened eyes as Cerise not only goes reclaiming all the pieces but so certainly proclaiming that she's going to get right to work. It's one thing to play dress up in a stuffy wagon and joke about dressing to the nines for her first party at Southern, and another to actually release her strangle-hold on her wardrobe for a night. So maybe her laugh is a touch uneasy as she's let in just her white dress again. But the hint is taken, and so is her hat from the pillow. "Just don't stay in here all day. I'm pretty sure you'll be cooked through." She even points a finger, like it's an order. But with another flash of her smile, she vacates the wagon, back out into the sunlight and fresh air to carry on her way to the beach with her bag in tow.

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