Closed [Great Bazaar] Market Day (Cyrene Everwind)

[Dovey]

36 Winter, 516 AV The bazaar was massive, far livelier and louder than Dovey had imagined it, so that she felt forced to halt a chime at the outskirts and acclimate. Kenash was bustling, but as far as she was aware, nothing back in her hometown approached the scale of this marketplace. Everywhere she looked, colorful and sometimes exotic wares captured her gaze. Scarves, both fashionable silk and servicable wool, were hawked from a nearby booth; further back, a huge clay basin, glazed in bright red and set beside another merchant's stall, caught her eye. In one corner sat an elderly gentleman with a massive beard, gesturing at the fattest pot of ink on his crowded table as he talked with a customer. Dovey's mouth watered; she could smell what seemed to be a thousand different foods on the air, spiced and baked and lathered in oil. She could have spent days here under normal circumstances, exploring it all and depleting her modest store of mizas, but despite the sensory overload the bazaar provided she found herself only mildly stirred. A dullness was settled in her chest, grief for her mother half-suppressed and half unburied, and taking interest felt like too much effort. She was here for an errand, not to amuse herself looking around. Dovey had brought her backpack with her today, emptying its contents out beforehand into the small wooden chest she had back at her apartment. She'd left it a jumbled mess, but she would return soon enough and set everything back in order. For now she had greater use for the pack than keeping her things neat; when she headed home she'd have purchases to carry. She had realized, quite soon after she'd arrived in Syliras, that one dress was not sufficient for civilized life - not when she was living on her own, with no mother to wash it for tomorrow while Dovey went to bed. She couldn't afford to visit the bathhouse every time she needed something clean to wear. She had to have a spare outfit, and considering the bazaar's size, she had little doubt that she could find one here. She started into the crowd, weaving among chatting Sylirans of all descriptions, many of whom were carrying delicious-looking food or had a package under one arm. There must be some nearby stall selling practical, inexpensive clothing. Now she just had to find it. Some chimes later, she still hadn't seen one, and she was getting seriously frustrated. There were plenty of foreign foods around, and pottery, and several stalls carrying more fashionable apparel, but nothing that suited her needs. To top it off, she had caught some child with his hand in the pocket of her dress, looking for coin. She spun in the narrow thoroughfare between stalls, eyes flickering over the various wares around her. Still nothing - nothing she wanted, at any rate. She let out a little sigh of annoyance. "Come on," she murmured, "isn't there anything to wear around here?"

[Cyrene Everwind]

Description "Cyrene" Thoughts Isur Tukant Others

97-98-99-100 And that should do… The sweat dripped off of her as she finished. Panting lightly s she pulled herself up from the ground. Doing exercise this early in the morning. It was the right time to do it. And it felt damned good to know that she was keeping her scrupled form in shape, after all if this form decided to fade in its strength that would conversely affect her other form. Throwing on some clothes finally she made a mental sheck list of things she needed
Supplies. Ore. Steel. Clothes…Ah petch it. Being in the city this long was something that was starting to re-dawn on her. As much as she hated having to shop for clothes she still had too. Slipping her pants and boots on then her shortened shirt overhead she stepped free from her lodgings.

The beautiful think about the way she kept in shape was that unlike most she didn’t need a gym nor a set of expensive heavy weights. If she needed to get on with it she’d work on it herself. Slipping her coin pouch into her pocket she stepped out of the heralds arms with a look of minor satisfaction this morning but that was coupled with a look of dread from what she’d have to go and do. Since she wasn’t working in the forge until later today she’d opted to leave her hair open and hanging. And unlike her Ethaefel form it only fell to her shoulder blades at it’s longest point.

Taking a deep breath of the air that surrounded the bazar it was her second favourite place in the city. Second only to the forge, where she felt in all honesty the most at home. Though what caught her eye was the woman who seemed to be lost amidst the crowd. Almost reluctant to head over she eventually groaned and felt that spark of good in her pull her over.

“OI. Lass!” She called out loudly and very matter of fact, as she stepped over. Standing as usual shorter than everyone, she glanced up lightly folding her arms across herself but beneath her chest she glanced up at her. “Lass you look more lost than a mouse in a snakes nest. And ya might wanna try keepin yer voice down, people are starting to stare at ya.” Quinlain tilted her head to the side as she glanced around. Sending a strong look of “go back to your business” to the people around her.
“So yer lookin for something to wear? I mean look around there’s hundreds of things. But judging from the fact ya don’t want any of em there too pricy for ya. So ya may wanna come with me. I’ll take ya where ya can find something cheap and functional. Though…” She paused a moment looking at the rather modest figure of the woman before her. And then glancing at her own, and her choice of apparel. “I’d suggest ya don’t pick something similar to what I do. You might turn a few heads ya can’t deal with.” She finished with a rather abrupt and cocky smile

[Dovey]

Dovey pressed her lips together into a line, pondering where to search next, before startling slightly when a short Isur stepped in front of her and began to speak; she hadn't registered Quinlain's previous shout as addressed to her. "Er - they're staring?" She felt her cheeks heat, and glanced around surreptitiously. Two, three, maybe four people were looking her way, but nevertheless she relaxed immediately - the Isur's even bothering to bring the matter up had half made her think she'd attracted a crowd. She watched as the woman shot sharp glances at the passersby who had been looking. She appreciated that; the Isur's brusque demeanor had made her bristle a bit at first, but perhaps her new acquaintance was simply abrupt, rather than outright rude. She nodded in response to the next question sent her way, appreciative once again at the apparent help being offered, but the words which came after made her stiffen slightly. Yes, she knew there were hundreds of clothing items here to buy, that obviously wasn't her problem - oh, so the Isur understood that. Then why mention it in the first place? Still, she held her peace as she waited for the woman to finish what she had to say. Well. As Dovey had suspected, the woman was offering to help her find more affordable clothing options. How very courteous of her. The way she had chosen to end her little speech did not impress Dovey as being quite so polite. She knew she dressed plain - well, practical - but what kind of person gave a stranger that kind of patronizing advice on choice of apparel, and topped it off by bragging about her own figure, or love life, or possibly both? Besides, she thought herself perfectly capable of handling a few turned heads. She was really, really not in the mood for this shyke today. Shoulders stiffening, Dovey met the woman's eyes with her own hardened gaze, mouth curving into a tight and brittle smile. She badly wanted to retort, but then she'd lose her guide. "Kind of you," she said instead, her tone cool and her words clipped harshly; she never could pretend to like a person she didn't, not for her life. "Shall we go, then?" If her companion agreed she would trail the shorter woman through the bazaar, back stiff and straight, feeling utterly undignified at having to rely on the help of someone so rude.

[Cyrene Everwind]

Description "Cyrene" Thoughts Isur Tukant Others

Quinlain simply smirked lightly and tilted her head to the side. “Yes lass they’re having a good old gander.” She then turned on her heel and motioned to move through the crowd. Kind of hoping that the woman she’d just encountered was following her. “Don’t worry about it lass. Just need to get some new gear myself.” Quinlain then glanced over her shoulder to see the lass behind her look like she was moving almost mechanically.

“Lass, Ya don’t have ta walk around like y’ve a broom shoved up yer arse. Also I didn’t catch ya name” She spoke with a small joking tone as she sifted through the bazar towards the back of the bazar. Normally out on the front rows the best of the wares were often sold there to get the highest prices off of the running around travellers and more well to do merchants. Meaning that the best play to serch for the lower cost stuff was much deeper in.

“The name’s Quinlain by the by. And what we’re looking for is just over…Thar!” She spoke with a small smirk pointing over with her left hand she started to slowly walk over allowing her slightly taller tail to take off and head there first if she wanted. Cyrene however would get there in her own time and start picking up items a little bit larger than what she could theoretically wear like her current state. Which to be honest normally garnered a few odd looks from those around her. Garnering her collwection of garments for both of her forms a set of clothing somewhat similar to what she was already wearing just she’d have to get a pair of boots for both forms of hers separately and later on.

[Dovey]

"It's Dovey," she replied after a slight pause. Honestly, a broom? Did she have to - but then again, she sounded joking now, friendly. So had Dovey misunderstood, had the whole thing been meant lightheartedly? Or was she still being insulted and was simply too dim to realize it? Most people Dovey met didn't act this confusingly. She shook her head and pursed her lips. She was not going to have this conversation, either with Quinlain or with herself. She would get her clothing and go, and hopefully she would not have to deal with the brash Isur again. She followed Quinlain's finger to see a nearby booth, stacked high with various garments, most of which appeared to be linen or wool. Quinlain was right, that was definitely what they were looking for. Peeling off from behind her slow-moving guide, she wound her way between strolling passersby to reach the side of the stall. The first pile was trousers, the next was tunics. She moved down the table to the third and found what she had been looking for; skirts and dresses of various fabrics and shades were piled up to the level of her chin. She began picking through the pile, and the saleswoman noticed her at last. "They're organized by size," she said, coming over to lean against the table across from Dovey. "Smaller toward the top, larger toward the bottom. Let me know if I can help you find anything." And she bustled away to help another customer. Bit of an odd way to organize, Dovey thought privately, but she didn't comment. Disregarding the clothes near the two ends of the stack, she glanced through the available options, looking for something undyed - it would be cheaper. A grey-brown woolen dress caught her eye and she slid it free, careful not to topple the rest of the garments across the table. She gently shook the folds from the dress and held it against her form. Yes, that would fit all right. "I'll have this one," she said to the shopkeeper without more consideration. If it fit her, that was all she needed. "Oh, and do you have underthings? Linen, please." The shopkeeper did have underthings, and she wrapped them in the woolen frock before setting the bundle down on the table before her. "That's fifteen silver mizas total." Dovey affected surprise. "That's a lot, for just this." She indicated the package. "None of it's even dyed. One gold miza would be a fairer price." The saleswoman just raised her eyebrows; Dovey had the feeling that her opening look of shock hadn't been at all convincing. "Fifteen silver mizas is the price. If you don't like it, take your business elsewhere." Dovey dropped the act. "You know," she said to the woman, leaning forward to fix her with a frank look, "you're going to lose more than just my business if you refuse to haggle. I might have made a low offer, but that's where you make a counteroffer, you don't stick to your original price. Fifteen silver mizas is too much. Why not just knock a few silvers off? Say three? Bring it down to twelve." The saleswoman shrugged a single shoulder, eyes locked with Dovey's. "I'll knock off one." "Two." "Done." Dovey took the package under one arm, fished out the requisite number of mizas, and set them down on the counter. Finally she could leave. She thought she might be getting a headache. Still, she supposed it didn't hurt to be polite. "Thank you for showing me... er... Quinlain?" She trailed off - Quinlain was examining a garment which was clearly made for someone about a foot taller than the Isur. Dovey frowned. "You know that won't fit you, right?" (OOC: 1 GM 2 SM for one medium-sized dress of medium-quality wool, 1 SM for medium size linen undergarments.)