Sweet Child Of Mine (part 1) (solo)

[Basha'ir]

Summer 83, 512 AV


Basha’ir walked at a sedate pace, the work day over. It had passed more quickly than she would have guessed, after having returned from the unexpected encounter with the acolyte, Tajin. The conversation they had shared together had left her in a contemplative mood, and she had worked in silence for the most part. That, and the potential meeting with Orion on the morrow, had her quite bemused and introspective. So she had been actually surprised when the other seamstresses had started to rise and get ready to depart, not realizing it had grown so late. She too had carefully put the skirt that she was working on up on a shelf, and straightened her work station. Making her good byes to Mistress Druva, she had left with the others, walking along together until one by one they each turned off to go in their own direction. As she now wandered down a narrow street, her eyes weren’t really focused on any one particular spot or person, so she had almost passed up the small child before she really noted her.

The girl was tiny, no more than three, four at the most, and seemingly all alone. At least, Basha’ir looked about but could see no parent that looked like they were in charge of the mite. The reason that Basha’ir’s attention had been attracted to the little girl was that she was crying. Not howling in great noisy wails, but her grimy face was streaked with tears, and as she rubbed at her eyes, she sobbed, in a heartbreaking way. Basha’ir watched her for a moment, casting her gaze about again for an adult that looked as if they might care, but the few people passing did so in abstracted and self-absorbed ways. The young woman crossed over the few steps to the girl and bent down, bringing their faces to the same level.

“What is it, little one?” she asked in a gentle voice. She knelt before the child, one hand going to touch her thin arm. The girl certainly didn’t look either well fed or well looked after, being dirty and her hair in a tangled knot.

The child stopped rubbing her eyes, dropping her balled up hands a bit to stare at the stranger before her. She didn’t seem alarmed in any way, though. She sniffed loudly and gulped and appeared to be assessing this pretty young woman who was showing her some attention. With a ragged breath, she answered.

“My dwess, miss.” One scrawny leg poked out from under the knee length edge of her very worn garment. “It’s torn, miss. I caught it, and it wipped.” Her words were slurred and imperfect as a very young child’s will be, but fairly understandable.

Basha’ir’s gaze dropped to the offending tear, and she assessed the situation much as the child had assessed her. The little garment was indeed a sorry sight. It was filthy and worn at every seam, looking as if it had been handed down a good dozen times before reaching this tiny urchin. It was far too tight across the chest and the sleeves stopped short somewhere between the elbows and her wrists.

“And where is your mama?” Basha’ir asked softly, fearing that she already knew the answer.

“I don’t have a mama, miss. She died, along with Ewick and Allys. They got sick.”

Her reedy voice was matter of fact. It was impossible to say if this was a numbness of trauma, or perhaps a facet of much time passing since the deaths she had listed.

Basha’ir’s heart went out to the little pint sized person, and she asked encouragingly, “And your papa?”

The girl shrugged her thin shoulders. “I don’t know, miss. I haven’t seen him. This many days.” She held up four fingers. She looked at her dress again. “This is the only dwess I have.” Her voice was now forlorn, bereft. “I don’t know where my papa is,” she repeated, his loss obviously a more deeply felt circumstance than the loss of her mother and the two others.

Basha’ir looked at the rent again, and then back into the child’s sweet, sad face. It was no hard decision to make. She stood straight, slowly, gracefully, and held out her hand. “Come. I work at a clothing shop. I’m not sure I can mend this, but perhaps we could find a little dress that will fit you better. A new one, hm? Would you like that?”

The child took her hand readily enough, but her face held a frown of doubt. “But, my papa…what if he comes back?”

Basha’ir squeezed the tiny fingers gently. “Don’t worry, this won’t take long. We’ll come right back. Have you eaten today?”

The little girl shook her head, her eyes gaining an expectant look. Basha’ir smiled encouragingly again. “Well I have some coins. Let’s buy something on the way to the shop, alright? I’m hungry. Will you help me eat some dinner?”

The child nodded happily, her errant parent temporarily forgotten with the promise of food so close. “Very good. Thank you, little one.” She began to walk, drawing the girl along beside her. “What is your name? I can’t keep calling you little one.” She laughed softly.

“Nondi, miss,” she replied, walking along willingly. “There is the baker’s.” She pointed a dirty finger across the way. “He has fwesh wolls. I smell them. Come on.”

Now she tugged at the young woman’s hand and eagerly tried to trot to the place of the manna from heaven.

[Basha'ir]

Basha’ir allowed herself to be tugged along by the little girl. Nondi, it was a pretty name, but an unusual one, the young woman thought to herself. Of course, she had not been out and about in Syliras at all, except for the past week or so. Her knowledge of its people, its customs, the names that were common here, were still by and large unknown to her. But she was learning more and more with each passing day. Within a few steps they were entering the bake shop, and indeed the smell of fresh baked bread filled Basha’ir’s nostrils and she felt a twinge of hunger. It wasn’t just food that brought her here, however. She had some hopes that she might gain some information about the child, if Nondi was even from around this part of Stormhold.

A middle-aged woman was bent over behind a simple plank table-counter. But she straightened and smiled at the entrance of potential customers. If she thought the young woman being towed in by the filthy little urchin looked exotic, or strange, or foreign, with her dusky skin and swathed as Basha’ir was in long dress, padmina and veil, the baker said nothing to that effect. She nodded amiably and asked, “What can I do for you mistress?” With an eye for business, the woman probably could overlook any amount of oddness amongst her customers.

“We’ll have a loaf, please, and two rolls as well,” Basha’ir replied, in her soft, polite, melodious voice. Already she was pulling her purse up from where it hung close to her sash and she stuck her finger and thumb in, plucking out several coppers.

The woman turned and fetched the requested items from a rack behind the table and handed them across to Basha’ir. “That’s four coppers, dearie,” she said in a friendly tone. Basha’ir handed over the coins and immediately passed one of the rolls to the little girl, who grabbed for it and crammed it in her mouth, biting off a huge chunk.

“Careful there, little one. I mean, Nondi,” Basha’ir cautioned with a smile. “Eat slowly, or you’ll gag on it.”

Nondi paid her little mind, the pangs of hunger urging her to fill her little tummy as quickly as possible. While she chewed, Basha’ir took the moment to turn back to the clerk, and ask, “Pardon me, but do you recognize this little one? I found her in the street, just over there.” She pointed across the way. “She says her father has disappeared? And her mother is…gone.” Basha’ir gave the woman a look that said clearly she meant the ‘gone’ that was the terminal type of ‘gone.’ “I thought perhaps you might know where he is?”

The woman had been ready to turn back to her cleaning, but she paused readily enough and gave the little child a close scrutiny. But then she shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seem that one before, mistress. I’m sorry, but there are so many you know. Especially since the storm, seems like there are more than ever, running the streets. The knights do what they can, to keep ‘em under control. Take them off to the Welcome Home, they do, if they can catch them.” She eyed Basha’ir speculatively. “Did she try to pick your pocket or something? Poor mites, can’t hardly blame them, running about half wild, and half starved.”

Basha’ir shook her head emphatically. “Oh no, no, nothing like that. She was just crying and I, well…” She shrugged. “I couldn’t just walk away.”

The woman looked sympathetic, and nodded. “Yes, it’s heartbreaking sometimes. But what can you do? Can’t feed them all. That’s what the home is for. They get well taken care of there.” She looked at Nondi again, who had finally swallowed the first gob of bread and was stuffing more in her mouth as fast as she could. “If her father’s fled the coop, that’s where this one belongs. She’d probably be better off there in any case, father or no.”

Basha’ir looked at the woman, puzzled. She had no idea what place this was that she kept referring to. “The Welcome Home? What is that?” she asked, curiously.

“Tis a place for orphans, or any child that’s not wanted, really. All set up nice and clean and comfortable, it is.” The woman gave Basha’ir a kindly look. “Want me to tell you how to get there? You take her along,” she nodded at the child. “They’ll take her sure enough, no questions asked. It’s a bit of an inconvenience, but, then you can be on your way. And able to sleep tonight knowing you done a good deed.”

Basha’ir felt the warmth of the grimy hand still curled in hers, and looked down on that sweet little face. Yes, indeed, an inconvenience. And here was a wonderful solution. The Welcome Home, it even sounded pleasant and nurturing. She wondered how different her own life might have been, if there had been such a place for her mother to take her.

Nondi returned Basha’ir’s gaze, big brown eyes filled with trust for the lady who had fed her. Her mouth was still too full to talk. Basha’ir gave the hand a little swing and a squeeze. She looked at the baker again.

“I think I’ll see to her dress first. Get her something that fits. Then, I’ll take her there. It sounds like a good place.”

The woman gave Basha’ir a curious look, then said, “As you will. That’s way more than most would do. You’ve a good heart, mistress.” She nodded to the child. “She’s a lucky one. Most would never find such gentle treatment, at least not at the hands of those who would bother to pay them any mind, if you know what I mean.” The woman shook her head darkly. “There’s some real bad folk in this world. Bad folk.” She made a tsk tsk noise.

Basha’ir gripped Nondi’s hand more tightly. “Yes,” she said softly. “There are.”

She handed the second roll to the child. “Thank you,” she said to the clerk. “You’ve been most helpful. Come, Nondi. Let’s get you into something decent.”

The woman turned back to her work with one final thoughtful look at the odd pair who exited her shop.

[Basha'ir]

Basha’ir felt the continued hunger, and the sense of confusion and instability, through the child’s little fingers, held so firmly in her own now. It took hardly any time at all to reach the shop again, and she was relieved to find it still open. Entering, she encountered the same clerk that typically closed up the place. She was the same woman who had left Basha’ir in charge for a few minutes the evening before, and she looked up questioningly from a piece that she was scrutinizing when Basha’ir came into the shop with the grubby child in tow. The younger woman was just about to explain why she had returned, but the clerk had a look of relief on her features and interrupted her.

“Oh goodness, I’m so glad you’ve come back. Just look at this!” The woman, her relief now mingled with annoyance, shoved a lovely vest of brightly colored linen under Basha’ir’s nose. It wasn’t a garment that the girl herself had worked on, but she recognized it as one that one of the other seamstresses had just finished up no more than an hour ago. It was a rush order, for a wedding to take place the next day, and the other seamstress had grumbled and complained about the idiocy of customers who changed their minds at the last minute and expected miracles. Miracles!

Basha’ir let the girl’s hand drop, and she took the vest and examined it, easily seeing exactly what the clerk was upset about. The side seam was split, along a length of at least three inches. There hadn’t been enough material allowed for the sewing, for such a tight fitting piece. The clerk was going on at a fast, high paced pitch, explaining how the customer had just left, having been in to pick up the vest, and trying it on the seam had promptly let go. What were they going to do? Mistress Druva would be livid! She had promised the customer this vest and here it was, unfit to be worn!

And of course, the bottom line was, that the clerk, who could easily have fixed the problem herself, was not wanting to take the time to do so. Already, she should have been gone, and now, she would have to stay, unless…

Basha’ir smiled sweetly. “Here, let me have it. I can fix it. And then if you tell me where the woman lives, I’ll take it to her.”

The clerk looked relieved, happy and yet skeptical. “But, the seam, there simply isn’t enough fabric to re-sew it. You’ll have the same thing happen all over.” Her face was both frowning and hopeful, all in one. Could this new girl really fix the problem, quickly?

“I know a way. I’ll just put in a plaque. There’s more than enough fabric left over. Don’t worry, it will be fine.”

She looked at the clerk and focused on her. Yes, certainly, this girl has the skill. What a god send! I can go along home and rest assured things will be alright. Basha’ir sent her suggestion and the woman’s worried look melted away.

“Alright, dear. I think that’s reasonable. Yes, I’m sure that will work.” The clerk was sounding more and more positive. “I’ll write down her address for you, and here, take the key again.”

For the second time in as many days, Basha’ir was privileged to be the late worker at the shop. But as long as it left her free to tend to Nondi, she was OK with that.

The clerk did cast another hard glance at the little waif, and asked, “Who in the world is that?” Her eyes remained on the child for a moment, before coming back to Basha’ir, who again gave the woman a very direct, focused look.

Really, I’m just too busy to ask questions. I’m tired and I need my home, and my dinner. My husband will be waiting for me. I should just go.

The woman’s sour look turned to one of fatigue. “Well, whoever she is, don’t let her go mussing up the clothes. You really ought to see that she bathes. She’s filthy!”

The clerk was already scribbling down the address on a piece of paper. “I’d stay and help you, but my husband…he hates it when I keep him waiting, you understand.”

Basha’ir only nodded, looking polite and respectful and obedient, looks she had perfected many, many years ago. She walked the clerk to the door with many reassurances, and then carefully closed and locked it behind her. She did not want to be disturbed or interrupted, or she wouldn’t be able to get this work done.

Nondi had eaten all the rolls and now had a sleepy look on her tiny face. Basha’ir settled her in the back room on a pile of bolts of cloth, hoping the dirt wouldn’t rub off too much. Then she set to work. Taking out both side seams entirely, she would have pressed all flat again. But the fire was out of course and the iron only faintly warm still from the day’s work. So, after stirring up the embers and adding a little bit of fuel, she hung the iron on its hook, close to the flames. She went to snip out two narrow plaques of the same cloth, careful to make sure the nap lay in the same direction as the already assembled vest. Threading her needle, her fingers flew as she attached one side of one of the narrow strips of cloth to the front piece of the garment. Then it was time to do the same on the other edge, attaching it to the back piece. The iron was well hot by this time and she ironed the seams smooth and flat, then began to hem top and bottom, curving it inward a bit on the side for the armhole. Then she had to repeat the whole process on the other side of the vest, so that each side was eased out a bit an equal amount, creating a nice, symmetrical enlarging of the girth of the garment. The whole operation took no more than two bells, and she looked at her work critically, but found it satisfactory. By this time, Nondi had fallen asleep on the pile of fabric. Basha’ir looked at her, smiling gently. She scooped her up, and the little girl promptly laid her head on Basha’ir shoulder and fell back asleep. With the vest held in one hand, and the child in her arms, Basha’ir left the shop, careful to lock the door behind herself.

The customer’s home was a good distance away, and Basha’ir’s arms were trembling with fatigue by the time she reached it. But upon being admitted to the rather nice set of rooms, Nondi awoke and Basha’ir gratefully set her down. The woman for whom the vest had been made was quite beside herself with excitement to see the new and improved garment. She took possession of it happily and in recompense for a job well and quickly done, she offered to send Basha’ir and her new little charge to her kitchen with an order that they be fed. The young seamstress was famished by this point of the late evening, and the child seemed hungry all over again, so they accepted with alacrity. Another bell later saw them leaving the woman’s home with full tummies and smiles.

Of course, Basha’ir’s original intent of securing some new clothing for Nondi had fallen by the boards. But her own little room was actually closer to where they were than the shop was, or the Welcome Home. Basha’ir felt the fatigue seeping through her body and she thought that she would just take the child home with her, just for this one night. She could bathe her after a fashion, with a basin of water and a cloth. And she could fix up something for her to wear, with some garment of her own, much altered of course. For now, though, she just wanted to get back to her little room. With Nondi’s hand in hers once more, Basha’ir led her the last leg of their little journey home.

[Chevalier]

Basha’ir

LORE

• Sewing Technique: Plaque Usage
• Location: The Welcome Home

EXPERIENCE

Skill	XP Earned
Persuasion	1
Interrogation	1
Investigation	1
Sewing	1
Rhetoric	1

Storyteller Notes

Secret :

Adorable use of the little girl . There’s one thing I was missing though, where was the Hypnotism use? I just noticed you asked about experience for it, but I looked through the paragraphs several times and I didn’t manage to catch any Hypnotism. Feel free to PM me or what have you whenever!