[Mhakula's Tea-House] An Autumn Morning (Mara)

[Alses]

Timestamp: 14th of Autumn, 512 A.V. The morning dawned, bright and early over the city of stars. Clouds swirled lazily on the horizon, gilded by the lemon-yellow rays of the rising sun, and mist particles caught the light, blazing into short-lived supernovae. There was a definite nip in the air, heavy and cargoed with the promise of winter, especially when the mountain breezes decided to be playful. Fadeong trees were scribbles of flame against the powder-blue sky, thousands of tiny leaves swirling free from the branches with every breath of wind, and dragonsbreath billowed up from those Lhavitians who were up and about their business. To anyone from another city, the scene would have been almost impossibly twee – the vibrantly colourful awnings strung between the shops blazing in the clear sunshine, the wickerwork baskets on display full of fresh produce from the farms below Lhavit – glossy red apples, fuzzy peaches and bobbled raspberries, to name but a few. The bakeries, too, had been busy with all the flour from the wheat harvest – every morning, the entire Azure Market filled with all the scents of freshly-baking bread, pastries and other such delights which were, in short order, displaying their temptations to the passer-by, liberally garnished with sugar and chocolate and all sorts of other naughty treats. Everywhere, there was order and bustle, shopkeepers chatting with one another as they finished their morning set-ups – swapping little morsels and titbits – a handful of hazelnuts for a punnet of raspberries to share round during a break, some chocolate bread from an enterprising and kindly baker to bring a smile to tired faces (and more custom to the provider's shop, in the fullness of time) and, as this was Lhavit, the centre of the tea-addict's world, the usual swapping of brightly-wrapped packets of tea along with a few comments, from one connoisseur to another. The Azure Market – and, to a lesser degree, the adjoining Surya Plaza – was one of Alses' favourite spots in the entire city, and fast becoming a part of her routine. There were many reasons to like the place – simply by window-shopping at the various vendors and food stalls that choked the winding streets, she could feast as richly and well as the city's finest thanks to her auristic talents, and the sights and smells and sounds of the place were a heady rush of life battering on the senses, a balm for a melancholy composite soul – the sheer vibrancy of market day under Syna's light banished almost any sort of sadness. That wasn't why Alses had come to the markets today, though. The Change had occurred some two weeks previously, heralding Autumn and another new appearance, this time flooding her crown-of-horns with pure gold and making her hair burn crimson. It was becoming increasingly obvious that her light, summery dresses and tunics just wouldn't be enough to cope with the colder days. She shivered at the memory – she'd gone up to the Sun Temple at dawn a few days ago and been horrified to discover that the mountain winds were starting to be cargoed with snow. None of it had stayed, of course, almost instantly evaporating as the few, sporadic flakes met the warmth of her skin or the heat of the skyglass underfoot, but it was an unsettling sign of things to come. Yes, new warm clothes, now they were a must. Not for the first time, Alses rued not having studied reimancy – she knew just enough of the school to understand it manipulated some of the fundamental elements of the world, and a nice warm fire would never go amiss. She was aware that the Dawn Tower taught reimancy, but one apprenticeship at a time was quite enough, thank you so very much. A wry smile quirked her lips at that – she had all the time in the world, after all. She hitched her backpack up – ignoring, by dint of long practice, the way the straps cut into her shoulders, weighted down as it was by boxes and letters – and began her rounds of the shops, darting into this one or that, speaking quietly with proprietors or apprentices, handing over letters and boxes, leaving empty-handed from some shops and burdened down from others. Not all the places of business she stopped at were anything that the Dusk Tower could possibly have been interested in – bakeries and confectioner's stores featured prominently, the Ethaefal lingering for a long time outside the glass-fronted shops that proudly displayed edible delights for the discerning consumer, her growing skill with auristics letting her taste ever more subtleties in the foods she experienced. Actually putting food in her mouth, that was, well...she suppressed a visceral shudder, feeling her gorge rise, and abandoned that line of thought, moving hurriedly on from where she'd stopped to enjoy the delights of a violet and rose-petal cake, the pride and joy of a master baker. Her eyes alighted on a gilded roof in the blue distance, made hazy by the shredding remnants of a morning mist and the smoke from the city's fires, and a broad smile curved her lips. Mhakula's Tea House, a bastion of pleasantry, that was the perfect place to relax for a bit and get rid of that lingering taste of bile in her mouth. She had only a few more deliveries to make, after all, and then the rest of the day was hers – a little indulgence before spending her hard-earned kina on winter clothes wouldn't be going too far, surely. A Mhakula's prided itself on the finest teas and the sharpest swords in the city – and once you'd got your head around the apparent contradiction, you had a good handle on Lhavitian philosophy in general. Pointy metal wasn't what drew Alses to the place, but it did at least provide an interesting spectacle to observe whilst enjoying tea – and there was very little chance of a brawl breaking out or the place being robbed or any of the other thousand and one events which could make a meal taken at an inn or tavern an interestingly lethal experience. Perhaps it was something of the dichotomy which drew her there – the civilised serenity of the upper tea-house and its calm, friendly auras in contrast to the fiery, focused sensation of the lower levels. Or maybe it was simply to do with the atmosphere of easy camaraderie – the shared sense of 'we're all here to take a bell or two out of the hectic world and devote all our attention to tea and conversation'. Not that Alses generally managed much of the latter – talking to oneself was still frowned upon. Another point in their collective favour was that they were accommodating of, well, special needs. Alses was generally almost guaranteed a seat by a window, to drink in Syna's light, and – after a rather embarrassed explanation to an affronted tea girl on her first time there – they were accepting of undrunk cups of tea when she'd finished experiencing them. The Yhavao on duty as maître d' curtseyed politely as Alses shimmered through the portal with a relieved sigh. “Good morning, Miss Alses!” She covered a smile, adding that to her own personal list of titles. It was rapidly growing longer, rising from 'traveler' and 'outsider' or just 'hey, you!' through to 'Miss', 'Courier Alses', 'Apprentice Alses' and, most recently 'the lady magesmith' which, though she'd never admit it, brought her a glimmer of pride and vanity. Very few people liked to use just her name, which was something she'd never understood. They seemed uncomfortable with it, for some reason, always seeking to add something extra in front of it or behind it. She'd long ago given up trying to understand why – the stars had no need of many names, so why did she need more than one? Shaking her head – and finding the tea girl looking at her, concerned, she pasted on a smile to cover up the gap in her attention span. “Yes?” “I was just saying we are quite full this morning, and we were wondering if you'd mind potentially sharing your table? We don't like to turn away patrons, you understand, but it would be most discourteous if we didn't ask your preference first...” she trailed off, hopeful. Alses gave her a gentle smile. “We can't complain,” she murmured, after a moment's contemplation “And I should hate for you to lose business on our account.” She was rewarded by a smile like the noonday sun – Yhavaos seemed to have the most extraordinary smiles – and was soon ensconced at a table overlooking the dao arena and flooded with light from a large window at her back. All the paraphernalia for making the perfect cup was laid out in front of her – fired teapot, cups and saucers, a pot of water with a little brazier to keep it piping hot, the jar of tea she'd selected, an array of spoons and no biscuits – they'd learned not to bother giving them to her, since she found their taste somewhat lacking in any case. Tea couldn't be rushed – it was while Alses was peacefully absorbed in getting the perfect post-boil temperature for the water and listening, with half an ear, to all the conversations going on around her, that one of the staff curtseyed politely and mentioned she'd be joined shortly by another patron. Alses quashed an irrational butterfly of nervousness that made itself suddenly known in her stomach and kept her hands steady with some effort. Whilst outwardly absorbed in dribbling water onto tealeaves, she was inwardly curious about what sort of citizen would join her. A businessman, perhaps, an associate of one of the Towers, or a shopkeeper taking time out of their busy day. Maybe even an architect or a priest of Zintila...