Solo When in Rome

Ayatah learns how to 'do as the locals do'

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Center of scholarly knowledge and shipwrighting, Zeltiva is a port city unlike any other in Mizahar. [Lore]

When in Rome

Postby Ayatah on August 18th, 2014, 11:32 am

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When in Rome.

|| 1st Summer, 514AV || Zeltiva ||


It had been well over a year since Ayatah moved to Zeltiva, and the one of the first things she had learnt was that a Myrian accent was not a welcome one. Whenever she first spoke, people would comment on how foreign she sounded, how exotic. And these were good words! She was interesting, unique. But as soon as she had answered 'I am Myrian', the intrigue ended and the wary looks ensued. Mothers would gather up their children to pull them away from the strange, glittery savage, and shopkeepers would suddenly have no interest in her custom.

It was the children who were her favourite people in the city. They were honest and more trusting in their confusion: you don't look like a savage, does that mean you won't eat me? It gave Aya an opportunity to explain herself; no, I have not come all the way to Zeltiva to eat children, I came here to learn.

Once, completely fed up with being treated like a beast, Ayatah had done the unthinkable. She had claimed to be Eypharian. She'd even lied and said that there was such a thing as two-armed Eypharians, they were just much rarer than their four- or six-armed counterparts. When this explanation was used, the woman she had been speaking with had allowed her daughter to touch Ayatah's gilded skin whilst the two woman chatted away. She had made her first friend based on a lie.

It made her sick to think that for a brief tick she had abandoned her Myrian heritage in favour of the desert-dwelling people. Ayatah of the Scattered Bones had denied her clan and Goddess-Queen. It had taken her two whole days pluck up the courage to leave her university dorms and venture out into the streets after that episode. She would not lie again, but it was nearly impossible for Aya to exist in a city that detested her maternal people.

But there was a glimmer of hope.

Clearly, people did not realise she was Myrian straight away; they had to be told as such. So, if she did not speak with that intriguing accent, it would not come to light that she was Myrian, and so nobody would cower away from her. She might even be able to have an actual conversation! She would need to drastically alter how she spoke Common, but the promise of socialisation and potential friendship was enough to make her want to try.

Ayatah started the process by listening. Despite having been surrounded by the Zeltivan accent for a year, she had not truly listened to how the words were shaped, where the emphases were and the highs-and-lows of sentence structure. The places of Zeltiva were always busy, so Aya would sit outside for bells at a time, listening in to snippets of conversations. She quickly realised just how diverse the accents in Zeltiva were: the brutish, gruffness of the sailors at the Docks, how those living in West Street spoke in haughty-taughty voices as if a Tskanna tusk was permanently wedged in the anus. Her favourite place was the Kelp Bar, where she could melt into the shadows with a drink and not be bothered. People got drunk there, and when people got drunk, they spoke more. She would constantly make notes of what people said, and slowly the linguistic patterns of Zeltiva began to appear in her records. For example, 'darling' (or, if the speaker was a sailor, 'darlin') was a term of endearment that men used for women - but not, as Ayatah had first expected, just their lovers. 'Darling' could mean barmaid, pretty woman, whore, shopkeeper, child, old woman, homeless woman, and -- most confusingly -- a close male friend. Women barely said darling, and if they did it was usually in a catty way to show their dominance to a rival female ('Oh darling, that scarf is just div-ine!).

It was a confusing mass of strange lexical rules that Aya would never have known to exist had she stayed in Taloba. A woman on West Street and a woman on East Street would say the same words in completely different ways: the first would say 'Pardon me', whereas the latter might say 'Par-dun meh', after passing gas (actually, Aya learnt eventually, the former woman would never admit to such a ghastly activity).

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Last edited by Ayatah on August 19th, 2014, 3:02 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Ayatah
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When in Rome

Postby Ayatah on August 18th, 2014, 12:09 pm

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Such diverse means of speaking posed Ayatah with a new challenge: How would she speak? Like a sailor, a whore or a rich woman? There were no obvious differences in the people of Zeltiva - other than their vast wealth or vast poverty - so Aya assumed that the way one spoke dictated where one stood in society. The decision on where she would place herself in society was therefore an important one, and Aya did not want to make any rash decisions.

She had started by practising Common in her room, reading books in a variety of muddled accent to her own reflection and pet bird. Kiwi, the little sun Conure who was her only true friend in the city, seemed disturbed by his master's change of language. She used to only speak to him in Myrian, but now Aya pranced around her room, mimicking a fine lady or a homeless beggar whilst having full-blown conversations with herself. Kiwi was really quite concerned for her wellbeing, he just didn't know how to show it other than shitting on her paperwork.

It became an obsession for Ayatah, who would spend a whole day out and about in the city, only to return home and spend the evening and night practising the accents she had heard. Should anyone (other than Kiwi) have realised what she was doing, they would have claimed that Ayatah was having an identity crisis. But she was blinded by her own determination.

I will fit into this Myri-damned city. I did not come here to be chastised and hated.

There was another reason as well: Ayatah did not want the locals of Zeltiva to simply believe that the Myrian people were stupid savages incapable of anything academic. Yes, they were violent and bloodthirsty, but their culture was just as complicated as any other. If she could trick the local people into thinking she was no different to themselves, they would realise that Myrians were more than the jungle-dwelling barbarians everybody seemed to believe they were.

Since the start of her linguistic mission, Ayatah had set herself a deadline, by which date she planned to go into the city and practice her well-rehersed accent with an actual person.

Today was that day.

It had been a restless night, with Aya lying awake balanced between excitement and nervousness. She was dying for socialisation, but she was also well aware that if she truly messed up her speaking, it could well be even more harmful to her stance in society than wearing a shirt that read 'I am Myrian. Hear me roar'. "I'd be a Myrian wearing in a Zeltivan's clothing. An impersonator."

Aya had spent the early morning pacing up and down her small home, repeating various greetings in various different accents: ''ello darlin', 'good morning, sir', 'alreet m'love'. Of course, whichever greeting she would use depended on the location in she was heading. In order to decide what accent she would give herself permanently, Aya had decided that she needed to practice each accent - highborn, common, or pauper - in the matching social situation. For today, she planned to visit West Street, and be a lady of luxury of the afternoon.

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Last edited by Ayatah on August 18th, 2014, 8:25 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Ayatah
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When in Rome

Postby Ayatah on August 18th, 2014, 4:14 pm

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By late morning, the day was cool and fresh, and Aya walked briskly to her desired location. She had brushed her hair for a good ten chimes today, ensuring it lay sleek and shining. Bad hair was not tolerated in the richest area of the city (something Aya had learnt first-hand). She was wearing a simple blue dress, fitted around her waist and ending just at her knees. It was not the most fashionable of attires, but Ayatah was equipped with a quick excuse should anyone make a comment. Lesson number two of speaking Zeltivan: it's not just how you say it, but what you say.

Yvette's was one of the first shops Ayatah had seen when she arrived in Zeltiva. She might be Myrian, but she was still a woman, and appreciated pretty things, and the dresses that stood in Yvette's storefront were the prettiest damned things Aya had seen. They were clearly good quality, and highly desirable (she had heard countless women boast about wearing a dress from Yvette's).

There was no other place Ayatah would prefer to reinvent herself as a Classy Zeltivan Lady (or CZL, as she planned to refer to herself once the transformation was complete). So why was she so nervous?

"You can do this, Aya." She muttered to herself - in Myrian. Old habits die hard.

With a final deep breath, she gently pushed open the door and stepped into the immaculate shop. Dresses hung along the walls, in a variety of soft shades that made Aya want to touch them. She managed to resist the urge, and simply wandered amongst the fine silks and delicate cottons. This is going well. Walk softly, slowly. Nobody can rush you, you're a Classy Zeltivan Lady.

"Can I help you?" The voice was suspicious and cool. Ayatah glanced up - trying to epitomise casualness - and saw a young woman with dark hair. The girl was blatantly eyeing up Ayatah, and her pink lips curled in a little snarl as she saw the poorly laced hem of the half-breed's skirt. "Are you lost? Perhaps you need directions?" The half-Eypharian had been deemed as unworthy, a confused pauper who had wandered into the wrong store.

Do not stab her. Do not punch her. Do not bite her.

Ayatah counted two ticks - she had noticed that the finest of Zeltivan ladies never answered a question too quickly. She guessed it was because the strain of thinking was too much for their pretty little faces. Licking her lips, she spoke in the slow, plum voice that belonged to the majority of women of West Street "I am in need of a seamstress. Perhaps you can direct me to one, darling.". The 'r' in 'perhaps' was rolled for half a tick, and the word 'darling' was drawn out alongside a tight smile. It seemed a little unreal for Ayatah to be speaking this accent in a scenario other than in her bedroom -- but at the same time, it was exciting. She was having an actual conversation, with an actual Zeltivan woman, and there were no questions about where she was from!

The brunette blinked, entirely surprised at the accent and words that had tumbled out the poorly dressed woman in front of her. Her beady eyes were still suspicious, and she folded her arms stubbornly before she opened her mouth again.

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Last edited by Ayatah on August 18th, 2014, 8:33 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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When in Rome

Postby Ayatah on August 18th, 2014, 4:15 pm

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But the voice that Ayatah heard belonged to another woman.

"Natalie, please do not interrogate our clients. They come here for the finest dresses in the city, not to answer your questions."

The younger woman, Natalie, skulked off like a scolded dog. Ayatah allowed herself the tiniest of triumphant smiles, though she tried to hide the smug upturn of her mouth when she addressed the other woman. "Thank you. Are you the proprietor--" Ayatah mentally high-fived herself for managing to pronounce that word so spikely, "of this store?"

A thin-lipped smile appeared on the tall woman's mouth. "I am Yvette Mercer." Her introduction was accompanied by a flurry of graceful movements; the woman extended her forearms to her sides, pointing to the huge collections of dresses that framed he shop. A piece of red silk held in her left her hand added a dramatic flair to her gestures. "You are more than welcome to browse, madam. May I ask what, in particular, are you looking for?"

Ayatah noticed a quirk in Yvette's eyebrows as the seamstress looked back to the Myrian. She too, was weighing up this unknown woman in her shop. The dress Aya wore indicated no real wealth or class, but her accent - so carefully said that one would think she must have been punished as a child for mispronunciation - suggested otherwise. Not wanting to waste her time with a wannabe, Yvette posed a few more questions to the half-Eypharian. "I have not seen you before, madam. Might I ask what brings you to Zeltiva?"

May you ask? Aya repeated the phrase in her head incredulously. Wealthy women hardly actually asked an actual question, they were always too busy asking if they could ask it! Where's the logic in asking if you can ask a question, when you ask it anyway? A flash of Myrian temper flared in Ayatah, and she found herself practically biting her tongue to keep her own question in her mind. She cleared her throat and reassumed the role of Classy Zeltivan Lady again. "I am from the West." It wasn't a complete lie; Taloba was to the West of Zeltiva, "and I seek a dress for everyday wear. As you can see, I am yet to find a seamstress suitable for my needs."

Yes! Badmouth the work of a non-existent rival! Ayatah had learnt that women, especially wealthy ones, loved nothing more than to talk about someone else behind their backs -- and who was to say that the person in question had to actually exist?

Yvette gave a tight, controlled smile. Yes, she was still a little unsure about this strange woman from West, but her spunky attitude was intriguing. "I can certainly guarantee you will find something more than suitable for yourself here. All my garments are handmade, with only the finest of silks and cotton. I can also make you something personalised -- a one of a kind, if you will."

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Last edited by Ayatah on August 18th, 2014, 8:39 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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When in Rome

Postby Ayatah on August 18th, 2014, 6:39 pm

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Aya had always thought that the women who needed things to be one-of-a-kind were hugely pitiful. What sort of person needed to prove their individuality with a dress, or a pair of shoes?

"Sounds wonderful, though I hope all your garments are equally precious to you."

A challenge! Yvette was silent for a tick, her mind working frantically as to whether this was woman was a prankster or not. She dressed like a commoner, but spoke like a highborn lady. Appearances could always be deceiving, and the truth of an individual's social status always became clear when it came to payment. She would play along, but warily so. "Of course, madam. Dressmaking is my passion, and I put all of my devotion in each of my wares."

What a sad life that must be.

Ayatah smiled in response, not daring to speak too much in case her endless rehearsals came to nought. Her personification of a wealthy woman was good - it was fairly easy to waltz around a store looking snobby - but every so often her accent slipped and a syllable would be slightly mispronounced.

She was aware of Yvette's even gaze following her around the store, and as she browsed and pretended to feel the quality of the various material surrounding her, it also struck Ayatah just how little she knew about dresses. What material would be good to wear for the Summer, what colour? What length was suitable? What cut? Did she really want this dress with five little beaded roses on?

Quick, Aya. The façade is slipping.

"Might I offer you some guidance?"

Thank Myri!

"Please do, madam." Ayatah nodded, in what she hoped was a graceful manner. People were always more willing to offer their aid to a graceful woman, even if she did not entirely appreciate the help. "Purple is a favourite colour of mine," she suggested, fingertips brushing a dress cut with blue and amethyst chiffon, "and something... airy, of course."

Yvette smiled meekly,"of course." the woman agreed, before hurrying to the opposite end of her store. After ruffling through a row of hanging dresses, she pulled one out and revealed it to Aya. "This is perhaps more -- lilac, I suppose. The sweetheart neckline reveals the collarbone without giving too much away. It's made out of the finest cotton, with a silken underlay that clings to the body to avoid any mishaps in the wind. "

Oh yes, m'lady doesn't want to reveal her bare arse cheeks to the people of Zeltiva.

The dress was beautiful - it truly was - but Ayatah did not want to seem too easy to please. She held up a hand and gave a tiny shake of her head, "lovely, but perhaps not my colour. Maybe something more vibrant?"

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Last edited by Ayatah on August 18th, 2014, 8:44 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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When in Rome

Postby Ayatah on August 18th, 2014, 6:39 pm

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Yvette nodded, clearly peeved that her suggestion was rejected (Aya later realised that the true source of the proprietor's displease was that the lilac dress was thrice as expensive as any other in the shop). The woman shimmied across her store, her slippered feet making close to no sound. This time, the dress she selected was violet. "Now this is truly something special. Again, there is a silken underlay, but this time the outer body of the dress is made out of this gorgeous chiffon. And the most wonderful thing about this garment is, as you can see, the high-lo hemline!" The seamstress could hardly contain her excitement for the dress, and Aya actually found herself smiling in mutual eagerness. Yvette strode out, holding the dress away from her body so the longer train of the hemline caught the air and swished around behind her narrow frame.

The woman handed the dress to Ayatah for inspection, who held it up to herself and admired the reflection in a nearby full-length mirror. The front hemline of the dress would reach just above Aya's knees, but it extended in length gradually until, right at the back, it would brush the top of her ankles. The silken underskirt was all the same short length, meaning the layer of chiffon would blow in the gentlest of breezes. "It's stunning."

The seamstress nodded proudly - perhaps this woman had good taste after all. "The violet would compliment your skin tone as well, madam."

"Yes." Aya lowered the dress away from her body, keen to distract the other woman's attention away from her skin, which was glinting softly in the morning light. The fewer things Yvette noticed of Ayatah, the better. Few cracks in her persona were needed before the whole character melted away and Ayatah the Savage Myrian was revealed. "I'll take it!"

Yvette clapsed her hands together and beamed. "Wonderful! That will be forty gold mizas, please."

Ayatah hoped her stunned choking was concealed by her throaty coughs, though she very much doubted this. In Taloba, she would never accept the first price a merchant offered - especially one as high as forty gold mizas! But fine ladies of Zeltiva did not haggle prices; they had no need to. She nodded tightly, cleared her throat for a final time and offered the seamstress her money. Yvette took it, half expecting the coins and notes to evaporate in some magician's trick. But fortunately, they didn't, and the two women parted ways with equally pained smiles.

For Aya, an important lesson was learnt that day: there was no way she could afford to be a Classy Lady of Zeltiva.

"Perhaps a whore or pauper would be more likely." She grumbled (in Myrian) as she made her way home.

cost-40GM

Ayatah's Dress :
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.....But in violet :)

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Ayatah
The Scholarly Savage
 
Posts: 737
Words: 667148
Joined roleplay: December 27th, 2012, 11:30 am
Location: Riverfall
Race: Mixed blood
Character sheet
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Plotnotes

When in Rome

Postby Perplexity on September 13th, 2014, 1:47 pm

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Ayatah :
Skills:
  • Observation | +2 EXP
    Anthropology | +2 EXP
    Acting | +3 EXP
    Cosmetology | +1 EXP
    Socialization | +3 EXP
    Negotiation | +2 EXP
Loot:
  • -40 GM for purchase
  • Classy Violet Zeltivan Dress
Lores:
  • The Burden of Prejudice
    Anthropology: Studying Common Accents
    Anthropology: Comparing Myrian Dialect to Common Dialect
    Acting: Impersonating A Zeltivan Accent
    Acting: High Born Lady Persona
    Cosmetology: Grooming One’s Hair To Be Neat and Tidy
    Social Study: Becoming A Classy Zeltivan Lady
    Observational Insight: Signs of Derision
    Natalie: Associate of Yvette’s Dresses
    Yvette: Proprietor of Yvette’s Dresses
    Negotiation: Haggling Over Quality Clothing


Comments :
If you have comments, questions or concerns feel free to contact me at your earliest convenience.
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