Closed Things Left Unsaid [Shahar]

[Naiya]

Summer 514 AV, Day 33

It had taken a few days, but Rue had finally managed to set the shop to rights. With a steady trickle of shoppers to take her away from the organizing - which filled her time between sewing together new items and tailoring or repairing old clothing - it had stretched out the usually empty time in her days into a blur of motion.

It served a wonderful mindless task that had allowed her more than enough time to sort out her emotions. Which was good, considering the mess that they had been after Shahar's visit to her shop. He had left her a tangled mess of knots that she had spent almost three days unwinding.

But that was good since she now found herself able to understand what had happened. Her memory of the night he had rescued her, for that was truly what he had done so long ago, had remained in her mind as something heroic. This paired with her family's constant pressure to find a husband, to become someone a man would want to marry, had twisted some little thing in her mind into overdrive. Adding this to seeing him in such an intimate setting had allowed all her childhood fantasy to run away with her, and she had projected her feelings onto the poor man.

It was embarrassing, and she shied from the thought that he had noticed her actions, reassuring herself that his confusion as he left was a sign he hadn't noticed the feelings that had flooded her. And they had flooded her, clouding her mind completely.

With a few days to clear her head, she had realized that, and with any luck she hadn't chased Shahar completely away with her antics. Maybe he would return to her shop and she could extend the offer of friendship and trade.

A small sound behind her revealed that the woman who had come in to try on dresses had emerged once more from the small dressing area. Her large gently curving frame was once more shrouded in a loosely fitting a-line dress - one Rue couldn't convince the woman was unflattering on her - and she looked wide and shapeless.

"I like that color better," Rue said, a kinder response than the first one that floated through her head. "But I really do think you would like something in a different shape." It would be bad for business if the woman left in something that looked so bad on her, others would think that people who worked here had no sense of how to dress.

There was only so much Rue could do, though. So she argued politely with the woman for a few tiring more minutes and then sold her the black a-line dress that had been the first one she tried on.

She walked the woman out with her purchase, her smile dropping into a frown as soon as the woman was out of sight. She wished more people would take her advice seriously, but being unwed at nearly her twentieth year did more against her standing than even her hard work could counter.

With a glance at the low hung sun and a shake of her head she stepped back into the shade of the tent. It was only a bell or two off from dark, and if she wanted to attend the communal prayer this evening she would need to close up soon. Not that many would notice, since more and more people were closing their shops early to attend.

[Colt]

The sun was well into her descent by the time the clanless hunter found himself amongst the red-woven tents of the Ruby district, the still-bloody hide of a freshly skinned coyote in hand. It wasn’t an especially fine hide, but it was serviceable, and after all, with the summer rains so late any hide was valuable.

There was an increased amount of activity as members of the district began to usher their last customers out of their shops; with the increasing popularity of near-nightly prayers to Makutsi, it was more common for pavilions to end their days earlier to lengthen the time for worship. Shahar couldn’t help the nervousness that fluttered in his gut; he’d thought that he had timed his trip correctly, but there was not a large margin for error. He needed to find the seamstress’s shop while it was still being closed down.

It had been bothering him for days, what had happened between him and Rue. He didn’t know exactly what had happened, but at his core he knew that, somehow, there had been a connection. He didn’t know how, didn’t know why, didn’t know if it was for better or for worse or even how he felt about it; all he knew was that he needed to talk to Rue. Her actions and reactions to the connection had confused him beyond measure; she had lingered upon it without words, but when her words had appeared they had been confused and contradicting. She had seemed almost threatened by his presence afterwards, and he didn’t know why.

He hoped to catch her before she left the shop and after her customers had left, when they could be afforded some measure of privacy––at least, as much privacy as a city of tents could afford. He would use the coyote as incentive; it had been slain not a few hours earlier, and it was too late to take it to the Spit Fire. A seamstress shop would surely have better abilities to keep it overnight than he.

He knew the way from his last excursion in the district, and as he neared he took care to approach the pavilion from the side, where he could assess the state of the place before making any moves upon it. It was not all that different from hunting, and he found the actions coming to him naturally; he paused casually by another pavilion, putting the corner between him and his quarry where he could see and still have enough leeway to hide should someone look his way. There weren’t a great many people about, anyway, and most were already too absorbed in their own activities to notice him.

The shop still seemed to be open, and there were voices drifting from within. Two women, one unknown––and one quite familiar. He didn’t know if there were any others that were simply not speaking, and so he chose to remain as he was. Waiting.

After a moment, a woman left the tent alongside the one he had been looking for: Rue Nightsong. They were both smiling, but once the unfamiliar woman left the shop Rue’s expression dropped to one of seriousness. She looked at the heavens, shook herself and stepped back into the pavilion. Shahar’s softness of step was out of habit more than necessity as he forsook his vantage point; with so much unknown to him now, it brought some measure of comfort to fall back on what he did know. And although he didn’t know why, he did know that he felt some odd, vague sense of danger in approaching she who had so confused him.

Shahar slowed as he neared the tent, hovering quietly about the entrance without actually stepping inside. He didn’t particularly want to cross the threshold––it seemed like surprising her wouldn’t help his cause––but he was certainly within sighting distance should Rue be inclined to turn around. He would let her make the first move.

[Naiya]

The summer rains were deeply missed, and many pavilions brought their entire families to pray. The more that voiced they prayers the more likely Makutsi would be to hear their call and grace them with life bringing waters.

Her father had also pointed out to Rue that her presence at these community gatherings, alone as she was, would broadcast her availability to any Drykas male who was in a position to take note. It was a situation that pleased her father to no end, and he had even encouraged her to braid her hair up for such occasions.

She had enough hair that putting herself through such trouble alone would surely cause her to miss the prayers, if not keep her half the night for the attempt, and she was only skilled at braiding others's hair so her efforts might not even return a passable look.

Still, in an attempt to please her father she had taken her lunch break one day to sew together feathers she had kept in her room, most natably one long tail feather colored green and red, the other a small dappled blue feather. She had been adding the ornament to her hair each morning, higher on her head than the amethyst and silver charms that fell beneath many layers of hair, and removing them before she took to bed.

These were her thoughts as she straightened the shop, hanging the many dresses the woman had tried on back where they belonged. When she finally turned herself from her thoughts to her surroundings she became quickly aware of the sensation of another person nearby.

She glanced around, her eyes settling on the opening in her tent where a familiar shape waited.

"Shahar." She was reluctant to admit how glad she was at his appearance, but she chased that thought from her mind before it could settle. She was pleased to find him here, or rather that he had found her here, she could extend to him her friendship by way of inviting him to attend the ceremony with her. Please, come in.

[Colt]

It was a moment before Rue noticed his presence. He braced himself for hurt, confusion, uncertainty, all the things that had made up their last encounter, but none of them came. Indeed, Rue seemed actually pleased to see him––something Shahar wouldn’t have suspected in a hundred years to be her reaction to another meeting.

He blinked and tilted his head, curious, bemused, respectful greeting, and obliged when she invited him into the tent.

He quickly ran through the strategy he had made for the conversation: pelt first, to see how she reacted to his presence, then the questions that had been burning in him for days. He didn’t want to go too quickly, lest he scare her off, but now it seemed that that wasn’t nearly the risk he’d thought it was going to be. All of the discomfort was just… not there.

Here, he said, hefting the pelt. Fresh, too late, can’t keep, offering.

He wasn’t at all sure how to move forward at this unexpected turn of situation; he had predicted and planned for things going wrong, but hadn’t made any plans for things going right. At least, if that was what this could be called. It was perhaps one of the most disarming reactions she could have had to him, and he needed to recalculate.

In the end, the clanless hunter opted to go carefully, at least in the business of the pelt; he would gauge her reactions as well as he could, and then he would try and find the best way to bring up what had happened days earlier.

[Naiya]

His head canted to the side at her greeting, and she got the distinct impression that he was studying her, wondering what kind of crazy she would throw at him next. She couldn't say she blamed him, but she would do her best to leave him with a better opinion of her after today.

She only just kept her embarrassment at bay, studying the pelt he offered her to steer her mind away from other more complicated topics. Coyote? The distinctive coat of the animal was roughly cut and a bit bloodier than she preferred to deal with, but she would not turn away something so valuable just because her nose wrinkled at the thought of getting the blood on her hands.

The squeamishness was new to Rue, and she took a moment to place the concern. Maybe it was having been on the butchering end of an animal in her recent escapades into cooking, or some forgotten dream appearing in her conscious mind. All the same she couldn't afford to let such a thing prevent her from acquiring it.

How much? She asked after a pensive moment, longing to feel the fur without risking the blood on her hands. She had some water that was to be used for the shop, the remainder of her daily allotment, and she wondered if she could clean the pelt without ruining it. Such things were not her expertise. She did know, however, that she would have to dip into the store of salt they had for such things.

[Colt]

How much? the woman asked.

Shahar shrugged noncommittally. The pelt itself wasn’t the reason he was here as much as it was a tool to an end. He wanted to see how she negotiated, to see if there was any explanation for her unexpected pleasure at his presence.

Open, he said. Flexible, more than five, less than twenty.

Taking the pelt in both hands, Shahar arranged it so that the bloody side was down and the fur side was facing up. There were some red smears here and there, but they were light and there were certainly clean places to touch.

Here, feel, he said. Some holes, not many, still useful.

[Naiya]

She knew her hesitation would not help her cause, would only act as the first chip in her facade, but she couldn't help but wonder if her barely controlled emotions would surface with proximity.

She had been sure she was ready to face him, and she was, mostly. She just wasn't sure how long she could stay neutral. She wanted to be his friend, and she could use his business, needed his business really, but she couldn't push his last visit from her mind now that he had arrived.

She took a deep breath, hoping it would help slow the beat of her heart even as she felt it begin to race, and stepped into touching distance of the pelt. It was soft beneath her fingers, thick and surely warm, but it would need to be cleaned and brushed to reach it's best quality. She traced a path in the fur, admiring the colors and patterns, until her hand brushed his through the hide.

Too much, her body screamed at her, and she smiled at him as she brushed the feeling off on her apron.

Nice, but in need of care. She told him her body unsure, as she worked through the rush of feelings in her to try and decide what the pelt was worth. Worth less if the blood stains the fur.

She dropped behind her curtain of hair as she counted in her head, hoping the time would be mistaken for consideration, not struggle to calm herself. Ten long ticks passed as she counted them, then ten more.

Ten she offered him, knowing she would pay the full twenty if he asked it.

oocSorry for the late edit, I was deliberating prices and realized she needed more room to negotiate.

[Colt]

She took a breath, then stepped close to feel the offered pelt. The air between them seemed suddenly thicker, if even by a small amount, which distracted Shahar for a moment. As before, he had to fight down the urge to become tense––a breath, two, three, in and out to keep his pulse calm as the space that separated them became smaller.

She reached for the pelt, running her fingers through the fur. Shahar’s hands catapulted into hyperawareness of her movements, sensing and predicting the path of her fingers through the miniscule stress on the skin he held. He was aware of her hand coming towards his, and the breath in his lungs came to a halt as her hand passed over the place where he supported the hide, two opposing forces meeting for a single instant and then apart once more. It sent shivers up his forearms.

She retreated almost immediately, turning to her apron for a moment before replying.

Nice, but in need of care, she said unsurely. Worth less if the blood stains the fur.

No reaction to their contact. No contradicting signs. It was as if the contact had been… nothing. Normal. Shahar sought for some indication that the touch meant to her what it had the last time they had made contact, but there was nothing.

Had… had he imagined the entire affair?

No, he couldn’t have imagined it. The pain and embarrassment that had so characterized the encounter were still fresh in his mind; there was no doubt that something had been there. Something that just... didn’t appear to be there any longer.

Ten, came the offer. Shahar nodded. He knew that he could probably get more for it somewhere else, but he didn’t want the money as much as he simply wanted the thing out of his hands so he could say what he wanted to say properly.

Agreement, he signed awkwardly around the pelt in his grip.

[Naiya]

Rue blanched at his sudden agreement, she had expected a counter offer, expected him to try and convince her that the pelt was worth more. She couldn't really explain that to him, not without looking like a fool, and honestly she had done enough of that in their last encounter. She would just toss in a few extra Miza, surely he would not argue the cost if she wanted to give him more.

She found she was reluctant to take the pelt, though now it was arranged neatly in his hands, she wasn't sure how long she could keep the carefully friendly tones if she continued to get close to him. Her heart began to race and her breath caught in her chest at just the thought. Shouldn't it be getting easier, not harder, to be near him?

She decided to stall, she would gather the coins and switch off with him both at once, so they would not have to prolong the contact.

Excuse me a moment? She signed, ducking into a section of the shop that was generally less visited. Once she thought she was out of sight, she fell against one of the tent's support beams, eyes closed, hands pressed over her heart as though she could slow the rapid beat by force. She took a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh before opening her eyes and pushing off the beam. She moved once more towards the small work desk in the back where they kept shop funds. She pulled fifteen gold Mizas from the stores there, dropping them into a small coin purse, and with one more fortifying breath she returned to Shahar.

She was presented once more with the dilemma of approaching him, and she hesitated again, eyeing the man, trying to decide how best to make the trade. She was drawing nothing but the obvious, and after a wary pause she realized that she was staring at him.

Her cheeks flushed pink, and she didn't have an explanation to offer for why. Instead she offered him the bag of Mizas as she stepped back into arms reach, tracing her hand through the fur again without really thinking about it.

oocIt's up to you whether or not Shahar notices Rue's moment of weakness as she went to gather Mizas for him.

[Colt]

The air continued to thicken. She seemed almost surprised at his agreement, as if she had expected more. Shahar didn’t press; he’d never been good at haggling anyway.

There was a moment of what Shahar assumed to be deliberation, and then Rue excused herself. Shahar acknowledged her departure and took a quick breath to settle the pounding of his own heart; the air still rang with her absence, and so he occupied himself with trying to figure out how best to hand her the pelt so that she would not have to touch the bloody side.

He was distracted momentarily as the weight of the pavilion shifted; there was a sudden stress on one of the support beams, although Shahar was not in a position to see exactly what had caused it. But it was from where Rue had gone, so it surely was either her or had something to do with her, and she knew this pavilion better than he did. He would assume that she was not going to destabilize the place and let the mystery be.

Shahar ended up folding the coyote hide neatly in half, blood-side in, so that the fur would not be stained and there would be no need to stain one’s hands. He was, as before, keenly aware of Rue’s movements through the shop––the quiet sound of her steps, the rustling of fabric when she brushed past something––pavilions by their very nature did not provide real privacy of anything save for sight, and it was not Shahar’s eyes that remained trained on the young woman as she moved about in the back of the tent.

Rue Nightsong returned soon enough, a small coinpurse in her hands. Shahar greeted her, but Rue said nothing in reply. It didn’t seem malicious, though… indeed, Rue seemed a bit distracted. She was looking at him, of that much she was certain, but it was an empty sort of looking. Shahar tilted his head curiously. Inquiry?

A moment passed before Rue arose from her strange stare, cheeks coloring. Just like before. He knew he hadn’t imagined it.

She moved back into arm’s reach, and the air once again grew tense. He could feel the heat of her body at such closeness, focused as he was. She reached out to touch the pelt once more, and he rose the thing by a hair’s-width to meet her.

Here, he signed softly. Yours.