7th of Spring, 515 AV
Spring was a time of rebirth. Spring was a time of light and sun and dazzling hope. Spring was a time of peace.
All of this and more Hirem understood of the spring season, yet apparently his understanding of the time was limited compared to what Rosela knew of it. For the seamstress of Red Diamond Fashions had very different ideas about what spring was, about what spring could be; in her eyes, Spring was colour. It was dresses. It was flowing. It was free. And it was adorned with many, many belts.
Giving a quiet sigh, the Benshira unsealed the last box he had brought in from the workroom and dipped his fingers gently inside, withdrawing a magnificent dress the colour of a pale lily, and finding a place for it on the nearby women's rack. Once he was satisfied with the arrangement, with how the dress looked to his untrained eye after being hooked onto the rack, he grabbed another piece of Rosela's spring attire. And then another, and then another, and another after that. For such a small, light box, the Eypharian had been able to fold a surprising amount of clothes within. Hirem worked at this task as quickly as he could manage, but took extra care not to damage any of the dresses or scar any of the leather pieces - he would never be able to forgive himself if he botched this simple job. And not only that, but the Benshira also admired these articles of clothing... while he didn't understand the fashion that guided their design, they looked finely-made and all felt rich to the touch. Clearly, Rosela was a master at her craft, and Hirem could not stand to watch a master's work come into harm's way. Gingerly, he worked at this task until the box was empty and all of the clothing within had been displayed properly on the appropriate racks.
Taking a small step back, Hirem folded his arms and examined the effort he had managed so far. In about a bell of work he had managed to take down all of Rosela's winter line up from the clothing racks and replace each rack with about half of her spring pieces. The rest quietly waited for him in the empty workroom, whispering to him from their small boxes that it was time to be unleashed upon the world. The Benshira was aware that he should not leave a task unfinished, but there were confessions bubbling in his throat that desperately craved release, and that made him eager to seek Rosela's company. Glancing once more about the storefront to make sure that there was no customer lingering about in a secret corner, he turned about on his heel and made for the back of the store, heading into the secluded philtering lab. Knocking just once on the door to make sure that he did not surprise his friend with his entrance, Hirem pushed his way inside and found Rosela just where he had left her, busily attending to her future cosmetic line on the lab table.
Offering her a quiet nod, the Benshira approached the Eypharian slowly, his eyes glancing down at her many hands to see if he could understand what she was attempting to do. After the answer came back to him - a decided 'no' - he decided that he should still at least try to help with whatever it was possible to help with. Though he had come into the lab just to talk more with Rosela, to share the burgeoning feelings that were threatening to overwhelm his heart, the words now faltered when he tried to summon them to his lips. Staring into the woman's eyes made the words seem silly, or else made him realize the true depth of what he was entrusting Rosela with. This is no matter that she needs to worry herself with, especially not in her condition... I cannot expect her to comfort me when she too is facing a difficult time of change. Yet there was no point in trying to back up across the bridge that he had already crossed. Rosela already knew the worst of what he had to say... now there was just the matter of working through his thicket of emotion.
Taking up a silent position beside the woman, Hirem grabbed the nearby mineral block he had see her struggling with earlier, as well as the nearby hammer. Whatever she needs this for, it's surely of no use to her in it's current condition. Taking a deep breath, he struck down upon the block with the tiny hammer as hard as he could, satisfied at seeing some minor fractures developing along the edges. At least it's farther than what she managed to achieve. Grunting, Hirem took another two swings and did his best to target the far right edge of the block, but ended up clumsily hitting it in the dense centre. His efforts were not in vain, for the block continued to bend and crunch until finally, with one loud pop!, the block snapped in half. Smiling now, relieved to have finally broken the damn thing apart, the Benshira focused on pulverizing one of the halves into smaller and smaller chunks, hoping to eventually wear it down until it was a fine powder. He did his best to ensure that none of the shrapnel ended up hitting Rosela, angling his body between the exploding block and the pregnant woman. As he worked, Hirem could feel his tongue begin to gradually loosen, and finally he felt confident enough to turn his head to the Eypharian and pronounce the words he had been dreading:
"I know that he is mine."
And then, immediately, a frustrated sigh. "I mean... I have no real proof that he is mine, but I feel it deep in my heart. Whenever I look at the boy, I see the green eyes of his mother, and I know he is Stella's child. But as for me..." He shook his head, slamming the hammer down again on the mineral. "Tim looks nothing like me. He doesn't have my skin, my hands, my hair, my anything. He looks the farthest from me as I could ever imagine a boy looking. How is it that I can be sure he is mine when such is the case? How can he be mine when he is just a small little northern mouse, unknown to the desert?" Hirem ran a hand through his cropped hair, taking a deep breath. "But he speaks of Yahal, and that may just be fate playing a cruel trick on me, but I feel that perhaps it might be more than coincidence. And, on his wrist, he bears a bracelet that looks... very similar to one that I sported in my youth. One I wore for many years, into the beginning of my adulthood, in fact. Is that a sure symbol of my influence? I cannot be sure." The words overcoming him then, the Benshira set the hammer down and closed his eyes. "His mother was a prostitute. There is no way of knowing whether he is mine or one of the other men she had the habit of seducing. Am I just mistaking this meeting as a sign of something that is not there? Am I assuming something that is not real? I feel that it is real, but I cannot know if it is..."
Falling silent for a moment, Hirem laid his hands on the table and bent his head low. "Well... I suppose that it doesn't matter if he is mine or if he is not. He is a boy of twelve years, alone and without a father. Timothy Mered needs me, and I will be damned if I do not honour his mother." Clenching his fists as a way to work off his tension, the man then turned his head and smiled softly at Rosela. "What do you recommend I do? What can I do, really? My hands have been chained to this boy."
Spring was a time of rebirth. Spring was a time of light and sun and dazzling hope. Spring was a time of peace.
All of this and more Hirem understood of the spring season, yet apparently his understanding of the time was limited compared to what Rosela knew of it. For the seamstress of Red Diamond Fashions had very different ideas about what spring was, about what spring could be; in her eyes, Spring was colour. It was dresses. It was flowing. It was free. And it was adorned with many, many belts.
Giving a quiet sigh, the Benshira unsealed the last box he had brought in from the workroom and dipped his fingers gently inside, withdrawing a magnificent dress the colour of a pale lily, and finding a place for it on the nearby women's rack. Once he was satisfied with the arrangement, with how the dress looked to his untrained eye after being hooked onto the rack, he grabbed another piece of Rosela's spring attire. And then another, and then another, and another after that. For such a small, light box, the Eypharian had been able to fold a surprising amount of clothes within. Hirem worked at this task as quickly as he could manage, but took extra care not to damage any of the dresses or scar any of the leather pieces - he would never be able to forgive himself if he botched this simple job. And not only that, but the Benshira also admired these articles of clothing... while he didn't understand the fashion that guided their design, they looked finely-made and all felt rich to the touch. Clearly, Rosela was a master at her craft, and Hirem could not stand to watch a master's work come into harm's way. Gingerly, he worked at this task until the box was empty and all of the clothing within had been displayed properly on the appropriate racks.
Taking a small step back, Hirem folded his arms and examined the effort he had managed so far. In about a bell of work he had managed to take down all of Rosela's winter line up from the clothing racks and replace each rack with about half of her spring pieces. The rest quietly waited for him in the empty workroom, whispering to him from their small boxes that it was time to be unleashed upon the world. The Benshira was aware that he should not leave a task unfinished, but there were confessions bubbling in his throat that desperately craved release, and that made him eager to seek Rosela's company. Glancing once more about the storefront to make sure that there was no customer lingering about in a secret corner, he turned about on his heel and made for the back of the store, heading into the secluded philtering lab. Knocking just once on the door to make sure that he did not surprise his friend with his entrance, Hirem pushed his way inside and found Rosela just where he had left her, busily attending to her future cosmetic line on the lab table.
Offering her a quiet nod, the Benshira approached the Eypharian slowly, his eyes glancing down at her many hands to see if he could understand what she was attempting to do. After the answer came back to him - a decided 'no' - he decided that he should still at least try to help with whatever it was possible to help with. Though he had come into the lab just to talk more with Rosela, to share the burgeoning feelings that were threatening to overwhelm his heart, the words now faltered when he tried to summon them to his lips. Staring into the woman's eyes made the words seem silly, or else made him realize the true depth of what he was entrusting Rosela with. This is no matter that she needs to worry herself with, especially not in her condition... I cannot expect her to comfort me when she too is facing a difficult time of change. Yet there was no point in trying to back up across the bridge that he had already crossed. Rosela already knew the worst of what he had to say... now there was just the matter of working through his thicket of emotion.
Taking up a silent position beside the woman, Hirem grabbed the nearby mineral block he had see her struggling with earlier, as well as the nearby hammer. Whatever she needs this for, it's surely of no use to her in it's current condition. Taking a deep breath, he struck down upon the block with the tiny hammer as hard as he could, satisfied at seeing some minor fractures developing along the edges. At least it's farther than what she managed to achieve. Grunting, Hirem took another two swings and did his best to target the far right edge of the block, but ended up clumsily hitting it in the dense centre. His efforts were not in vain, for the block continued to bend and crunch until finally, with one loud pop!, the block snapped in half. Smiling now, relieved to have finally broken the damn thing apart, the Benshira focused on pulverizing one of the halves into smaller and smaller chunks, hoping to eventually wear it down until it was a fine powder. He did his best to ensure that none of the shrapnel ended up hitting Rosela, angling his body between the exploding block and the pregnant woman. As he worked, Hirem could feel his tongue begin to gradually loosen, and finally he felt confident enough to turn his head to the Eypharian and pronounce the words he had been dreading:
"I know that he is mine."
And then, immediately, a frustrated sigh. "I mean... I have no real proof that he is mine, but I feel it deep in my heart. Whenever I look at the boy, I see the green eyes of his mother, and I know he is Stella's child. But as for me..." He shook his head, slamming the hammer down again on the mineral. "Tim looks nothing like me. He doesn't have my skin, my hands, my hair, my anything. He looks the farthest from me as I could ever imagine a boy looking. How is it that I can be sure he is mine when such is the case? How can he be mine when he is just a small little northern mouse, unknown to the desert?" Hirem ran a hand through his cropped hair, taking a deep breath. "But he speaks of Yahal, and that may just be fate playing a cruel trick on me, but I feel that perhaps it might be more than coincidence. And, on his wrist, he bears a bracelet that looks... very similar to one that I sported in my youth. One I wore for many years, into the beginning of my adulthood, in fact. Is that a sure symbol of my influence? I cannot be sure." The words overcoming him then, the Benshira set the hammer down and closed his eyes. "His mother was a prostitute. There is no way of knowing whether he is mine or one of the other men she had the habit of seducing. Am I just mistaking this meeting as a sign of something that is not there? Am I assuming something that is not real? I feel that it is real, but I cannot know if it is..."
Falling silent for a moment, Hirem laid his hands on the table and bent his head low. "Well... I suppose that it doesn't matter if he is mine or if he is not. He is a boy of twelve years, alone and without a father. Timothy Mered needs me, and I will be damned if I do not honour his mother." Clenching his fists as a way to work off his tension, the man then turned his head and smiled softly at Rosela. "What do you recommend I do? What can I do, really? My hands have been chained to this boy."