Who

Siliya, Yasnaah

What

Two poised and professional women meet. One of them has a proposition.

When

It is evening of the first day of the first month of the seventeenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

The Tea Room, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 13 May 2019 07:00

 

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"The Akzhan are mere traders, not masters of their craft."


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The Tea Room

This shop is easy to miss from the street. It bears the same striped awning that most shops have, this one in shades of lilac and sand, but it has no sign save for a plaque of sandstone hung beside the door, on which a teacup has been carved. When open, the heavy curtain that covers the doorway is pulled aside to allow entry. After stepping through, one will find themselves in a tiny space decorated with classic desert touches.

The walls are whitewashed to increase the sense of light within but the floor is tiled in hues of blue and green, with each tile bearing in its center a brilliant red lotus. There are only five small tables, all of them of dark, heavily carved wood set low to the ground. To sit at one requires reclining on the plethora of pillows and cushions and layered rugs provided for that purpose; each seat is provided with a carved wooden back-prop to rest the pillows against, for those who want spinal support. Tea is served from the service at the rear of the room, where a tiny smokeless hearth keeps water heated, and a row of trays are kept loaded with teapots, tiny cups, and containers for sweetener. There is a small selection of fruits, breads and cheeses also available for those looking for a snack but this is not a place for heavy meals.


Prim. Proper. That is Yasnaah to a 'T'. Every element of her outfit is perfectly applied with perfect creases, though she throws the edicts of man out the window by converging on the Igen world without any form of head covering. Her gaze meets those around her, direct, cobalt blue eyes measuring for immediate flaws. Her steps carry her forthright into the Tea Room, leading her to the hostess. "A seat for one, please," she requests, unapologetic for being alone. She likes it that way for with her is an ancient tome with an old leathered look. Her expression is neither forbidding nor encouraging; Yasnaah is merely a woman here to have tea and spend time (alone) with her book. Unconsciously slender fingers caress the worn spine.

Tsetsiliya is a woman who considers herself too old for the false modesty of a veil, and too young yet to forego a carefully manicured appearance. Though her work may be considered immoral by many, it is a lifestyle which has afforded her a decent wage, and she dresses in the clothes of a lady rather than those which hint at her profession. Although she enters the shop in search of tea — ignoring the looks which she receives from the girl taking orders — her attention is shortly drawn toward Yasnaah. A well-bred young woman, sans veil, alone? That certainly is a curiosity worth exploring. After requesting her tea, Siliya moves gracefully to occupy the space opposite the object of her interest. "That's a beautiful book."

Yasnaah is ensconced in her chair, rooted in her right to what her marks afford her. By the time Tsetsiliya has meandered to her table, the book is laid open to the middle, the guts of the pages on display. Nothing more interesting than a myriad of tiny, tiny rows in perfect, precise handwriting that's almost too small to read. "It is priceless," she answers, not unkindly, but not immediately looking up either. She makes a single notation after checking a smaller notebook held together by old, worn bone rings. It is equally tidy in precise, handwritten notes. With a snap, she close it and tucks it away into a small satchel slung on the back of her chair. Finally, she raises her eyes and pins Tsetsiliya with her measuring stare. "But yes, it is beautiful. It was bound by hand by my great-grandmother." Yasnaah's eyesight is perfect, but something about her features gives hint to the idea that if she weren't, she'd be pushing up a pair of spectacles on her nose. "You are?" Genteel she is, but direct too. Like an arrow aimed at a target she wouldn't deign to miss.

"I can see that," Siliya observes, studying the shape and form of the tome spread out before her, but making no attempt to read the text. Her gaze drifts toward that notebook, studying the worn rings, and the young woman who owns both pieces. A smile of satisfaction slowly tugs at her lips as she watches every movement. "Your great-grandmother had great skill," she answers, easily meeting that stare with one of her own. While there is something calculating in the measured way she takes everything in, and her careful choice of words, there is nothing cold about the way she observes the world around her. "Siliya." She offers the shortened version of her name, as she always does. "And you?"

Lips press together in thought, fleeting though it is. Yasnaah gestures to the other seat after only a second's hesitation. "Yasnaah, of Keroon and of the Herdercraft." Her knot sits in pristine adornment on her shoulder with nary a yarn out of place to give disorder to perfect Order. "She did. She worked hard to make the perfect bindings. Many sought her craftsmanship, though few could afford it." With precision, she closes the book and tucks the edges together after slipping in a thin leather bookmark. Gold inlay adorns the corners and across the front are embossed lettering that are hard to make out — seems more like initials than not. Her tea arrives and after quietly thanking the server, she lifts the corner of the cup with prejudiced delicacy and takes a tiny sip. Her features tighten and she sets the cup down. Sweetening with sugar and a touch a cream follows until once more she tastes the beverage. Ah, perfection. "Well met, Siliya." Each syllable is carefully enunciated without a trace of accent as if the girl rejects any form of formal constraint but that which she chooses.

That knot did not go unnoticed, but Siliya still gives an earnest nod when Yasnaah introduces herself fully. "And what is it that you do in the Herdercraft? Forgive me, but you seem… better groomed than some." She utters a quiet thank you as her tea is brought to her, slipping the girl who brings it a bit extra as she does. It's that sort of generosity which sees that she's always treated well at this establishmen, despite her profession. She doesn't touch the tea immediately, allowing the steam to waft off the cup as the liquid within slowly begins to cool. "An impressive woman, then," she asserts with a smile, private smile. "And do you aimto follow in her footsteps, at least in that?" There is no attempt to disguise the fact that there is a direction behind her questioning. Although she is not nearly so precise in the forming of her words, each is still chosen to accomplish her intent.

"I specialize in runner breeding and training," Yasnaah states, uttering a truth with the confidence born of a woman strong in her abilities. "I work with the best in the industry, it would not behoove me to go about looking like a ragamuffin. My family takes pride in their knowledge of runner flesh." She eyes a tea patron with a hint of disapproval as if to emphasize her ragamuffin comment. "I cannot. My strengths do not lie in the finery of detail," she turns the measuring weight of her stare back on Siliya, a hint of private smile curving her lips before she tightens her features and sips her tea, emotion once more wrested under control. Her attention sharpens on her companion for she asks, "And you? What do you do?" A single, well-groomed eyebrow lifts expectant.

"Do you intend to compete with the Akzhan, or work with them?" Siliya inquires with a curious tilt of her head. "There are many who believe that skill alone is enough. But of course, many of them are men." There's a slightly sardonic smile which accompanies those words, but it's shortly hidden behind the lip of her teacup as she tests its contents carefully. Deeming it still too hot, she sets it aside. "I did not mean in bookbinding. I was talking about her place as an impressive woman." Her level stare does not waver, blue eyes fixed with earnest — if calculating — curiosity on the woman across from her. "I work at Rosie's," she answers easily, long past the time where she might have shown some trepidation in exposing herself as a paid companion. "And I invest in local businesses."

Yasnaah sniffs. "The Akzhan are mere traders, not masters of their craft." The girl obviously has a very firm stance on the educated (ie, craft driven) versus the uneducated (those without craft education) and it is not favorable. A show of teeth, however, ups the ante of her intent. Once more her attention is like an arrow loosed to the target and a bullseye, she intends. "My family has studied runners for generations. I welcome any that question what we have learned of their like. Keroon is the best Hold in the land for runner racing and I believe," once again a show of teefs, "even the Akzhan have shown runners there." Siliya's confession of her workplace earns another one of those perfectly groomed eyebrows lifting. She taps a manicured finger against the edge of her teacup. "Interesting choice, but if you are good at your craft, I am not one to judge what a woman chooses to be." As direct as a cudgel, Yasnaah can be. "Do you now? You are a woman of means." A tiny smile, as sharp as a piranha's tiny teeth, follows and holds until she sips her tea. Ugh, it's cold and the cream has congealed at the top.

Siliya laughs, seemingly delighted by Yasnaah's dismissal of the Akzhan as breeders. "I wouldn't dream of arguing with your family's authority on the matter. I'm certainly no expert in runner flesh." Although the Akzhan would likely have something very different to say on the matter of their mastery, Siliya has no loyalty to them. She answers to no family but that of sisterhood. "I've never been to Keroon, so I cannot offer any argument in that respect, either," she states graciously. One hand reaches for that cup again, and she blows gently across the surface for a moment before taking another sip. Better. No cream or sugar for her; she takes her tea black. A nod and a subtle lift of her brow is the only answer to that first statement, but the second causes her to pause with teacup poised to say, "It is easy to have means when you do not throw your marks away." And she earns a bit extra, helping Rosie to keep the books in order and train the new girls. "If you were starting a business and needed a local financial backer, for instance, I could be of assistance."

Yasnaah does not bother to add in that she, herself, is but mere junior journeyman, of course. Her confidence lies in what her future outcome will be and she learned early that power is more in how you project yourself rather than in what you can do. So, the young woman acts the part she wants, not the part she is. "Indeed," she smiles, thin-lipped but unshaken. "You speak the truth," Yasnaah pushes her cold tea aside after another, hopeful taste. She is worth more than wasting her time on soured drinks. "Saving goes a long way towards the future," she slips out of the chair, standing. "Should I have a need, I know where to find you." A quick fingertap against her bottom lip, though for now, Yasnaah is embroiled in her craft. "Should you have need of a herder, please do let me know. I am staying in the weyr." Formality curtails her words, though only from economy of action — not from any intended slight. "I must go," she states, unapologetic for time yields to no one. "Take care, Siliya of Rosie's. Until we meet again." A quick dip of her head, and she gathers her book and walks off, every step as measured and purposeful as her stare.

Confidence may not speak to capability, but it certainly doesn't hurt in the pursuit of ambition. It's that confidence which drives Siliya's offer — Yasnaah's current position is of very little consequence, because there is certainly the potential for much more. And if Siliya is to build an empire, she needs those with self-assurance in spades. "Good. Do reach out. I have a number of connections you may find beneficial," she states smoothly, offering up a warm smile to this new acquaintence. "And I'll keep that in mind. Take care." Her gaze studies this odd young woman a moment longer, before Siliya returns to her tea, sipping slowly at her drink with a calmness which belies the careful plans being laid out in her mind.

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