A Return of Investments (Nessani please)

[Anora Eventide]

Early Morning 33rd of Imperos, Summer, PF XIV

In the Inn's room, Anora adopted a clipped pace as she took her valises from Nessani's hands and began to remove their contents. With little attention given to her cousin, she began to transfer the strange array of glass and fabric to a chest and various shelves.

"Help me put this all away, please. Careful with the garnet vials, especially."
Loathe to see any spirit water go to waste, Anora began to gather the little bottles herself. The clinking gold vials she was less concerned about, those could be produced easily.

Anora paused in her work, looking at the blood colored dose in her hand. Her brow furrowed, a simple thing in others, but it was the height of expression for cool featured Anora. Deciding something, her fingers closed around the ruby tube.
"I'm not telling you this to provoke your curiosity like one would a child."
There was a catch of something in the woman's tone, but it was strange. She spoke like one who understood but could not feel the care in her words. Her logic had told her this was what one would say if they experienced worry for the gypsy.
"Vitsa, try to avoid these little glasses as much as possible, and never drink one." A quiet, mirthless laugh, "I would almost call them a poison."

Anora fluidly came to life again, slipping into her graceful mummery. As she put things away, there was a fastidious adherence to order. Every piece of fabric perfectly folded, edges clean and sequestered into rightful place. Without explanation, she would amend things Nessani had already done. Her room had the air of a temple, a mixture of peace and precision.
When one looked at her writing table, though, the adage came to mind that a clean desk was the sign of a sick mind.

Finished with unpacking, Anora sat on a chair, cradled by the folds of her pale lavender skirts. Her posture was pristine, as if her spine was crystal. She placed her hands in her lap and looked to Nessani, resembling a patient governess.
"I'm glad you followed. I had almost thought you would not make good on your promise. But then, the heart of the desert is not a kind place to run away in."
Tilting her head, Anora considered Nessani, a little plan formulating.
"Vitsa, would you come here a moment?"

Only if her cousin obliged, did Anora withdraw a folded fan. It was longer than the sort she usually used, and glimmered dully.
Like the day she had purchased her, Anora took a lock of Nessani's hair in her hand. Her touch was affectionate, until her fan opened a degree with a metallic shiver. A brief tug, and the edge of a black curl was in the woman's palm.
"Thank you."

[Nessani Kemenlo]

Stepping into the doorway of the room, Nessani took a moment to take stock of her surroundings. She almost didn't even notice when Anora took the valises from her grasp. Most of her life had been spent in the outdoors and she was surprised to find herself feeling a little claustrophobic inside the inn room. Granted, a vardo was much smaller, but a wild Air'riela child didnt have to spend much time in one when the wide open spanse of the world was calling. Nessa had been one of those children who would run ahead of the kumpania, or somewhere off to the side, climbing trees to watch the parade of vardos pass and catching lizards and birds to bring back as pets, only to have some baba make her set it free again. Every clear night was spent out, under the stars, staring up dreamily at the pathways of her ancestors and imagining them whispering in her ear with the wind.

The closing of the bedroom door felt like the cage door being slammed shut on a dancing bear, reminding Nessani of her slave status. It was easy to forget when she'd been given as much freedom as Anora had awarded her, and easier still when the job took one abroad to exotic places that even her Kumpania hadn't visited in her lifetime. But occasionally, the thought would steal through her mind, teasing her tender pride. And then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone again as Anora's voice brought her out of her reverie.

Nessani glided over to where her cousin sorted through the contents of the cases. Reaching out, she took up one of the vials and held it before her eyes, letting the suns' light filter through the glass, leaving a red shadow across her features. She nodded absently in acceptance of Anora's warning, though she wondered how something so beautiful could be deadly. Her fingers slipped on the little bottle and for a moment, it seemed that it would drop to the floor and break, but the Air'riela snatched it out of the air at the last moment and quickly set it with the others.

She turned her attention to the golden flasks, deciding they would be a little safer. Her movements were slow as if something rested heavily on her mind. In truth, she was just once again pondering the mystery of her cousin. Vitsa she had said. So Morwen admitted some kinship, though the word could be generic enough. In their first meeting, the lady had mentioned the name Nicolesza, but did not say how the name related to her. A little probing surely could not hurt.

"I've had no reason not to fulfill my promise to this point. Indeed, you've been more than... fair."

The reply came from over her shoulder as Ness threw her boots unceremoniously in one corner, neglecting to notice her mistress' preference toward fastidiousness. She wouldn't say exactly kind. Anora had not mistreated her in any way, but she certainly hadn't gone out of her way to win Ness' affections.

She turned and folded her arms across her chest, covering the bare skin between her blouse and the waistband of her skirt. Her head bobbed in acquiescence of the rather simple request. Stepping forward, she cocked her head to one side as if considering something for the first time.

"I'm sorry for the loss of Nicolesza," she said, her husky voice barely audible as she crossed the space between them.

She might have said it with predetermined calculation, but Nicolesza was her aunt, so the words were true. Her gaze was rivetted to Anora's face, watching for any tale-tell signs that might give away whether they were related to the same woman. She would have said more, but was interupted by the thieving of a lock of her hair. Her eyes sparkled with anger as she pulled back from Anora.

"Why did you do that?"

Any sorrow that was in her voice before was now gone, replaced by a furious hiss. Air'riela women were prideful of their hair and Nessani was exceptionally so. To have one's hair shorn short was a punishment to their people and though this was only a small strand, it was almost enough to bring tears to her eyes.

[Anora Eventide]

Anora seemed puzzled by the gypsy's reaction, but then she recalled the significance of an Air'riela woman's hair. The sanctity applied to the trimming, actually made her future work easier.

There was no obligation to tell Nessani the truth or anything at all. But for all the smoke and mirrors of Anora's manners, she was strangely honest.

"There, there don't look so cross." Her voice was a low bewitching sound, as if she uttered a spell instead of consolation.
"I could have taken blood like I did from Dimitri, but that strikes me as an unnecessary discomfort."
Anora balanced the bladed fan across her lap and pulled a bit of ribbon from the pockets of her dress. It was a slim bit of crimson, pleasingly apropos to represent the gypsy before her. Tying it about the little lock, Anora explained further.

"In time, this will allow me to know where you are, or so I hope, when it is necessary to find you."
There was a shadow of a placating smile, as Anora looked up from tying a knot.
"Don't worry, Vitsa, it's more for your protection than my benefit. Barbari vanish at an alarming rate."

She tucked the fan and the vibrant twist of jet and rouge into the fold of her dress. Suddenly irritated by Nessani's thrown boots, she rose and crossed the room to put them away properly. As the prim woman moved, she spoke in a muted tone. The subject was too ungainly to be spoken of while looking directly at the Air'riela.
Anora's inability to display the level of feeling appropriate to the matter would betray her. The gypsy was intuitive enough to discern some of the falsity in Anora's looks and breathing, an unpleasant ability of the mesaka kissed.
Branded by a spirit's fervor, Nessani could know the intimate shape of a moved heart. Like a jeweler memorizes his stones, her experience of true emotion could make her more sensitive to false. Or so Anora believed. It was akin to dealing with Avrie, save her sister resurrected honest feeling that could mask Anora's half-heart.
"My thanks for your previous condolences."
Anora hovered over her task, "But Nicolesza was not attentive or even present in my life." The shoes were neatly tucked beneath the bed. "I have only letters and they were… gray."

The woman paused before a burnished disc of bronze on the wall, and adjusted a pin in her hair. She beheld her own reflection without enjoyment or censure.
"I prefer her absence, it allowed me a finer upbringing. She was wise enough to see that and I am grateful for it."
An errant strand was tucked into the complicated coil of hair, with more concentration than she gave the recently departed.
"Living amidst the Barbari you probably knew my mother better than I."
Turning away from her reflection, Anora watched the Air'riela for a breath. She read the curve of her arms and the shifting shape of her eyes.
"Still a lupunza chirilo indoors. Why the touch of dread bitti Vitsa?"

[Nessani Kemenlo]

The truth be known, Nessani would have been less offended by the drawing of her blood than she had by the mere trimming of a lock of hair. Pulling her mane protectively over one shoulder, Ness twisted it all together into one thick strand. Her nostrils flared with indignation for a moment or two longer before she allowed herself to be mollified - somewhat - by Anora's bewitching words. The harm had already been done and it seemed that she wasn't in danger of losing any more of her treasured locks.

One tattooed arm snaked back to where it had rested across the flat of her stomach, this time to support the elbow of her other arm. Nessani absently chewed the nail of her thumb as she listened to the proffered explanation. So her cousin would know where she was at all times. That sounded like a double edged sword. On one hand, she would never be able to get completely free of this woman, should she decide to run. But on the other, it implied a bit of freedom not usually awarded to one of 'slave' status. Nessani decided she would withhold judgment for now.

The girl stood silently as she watched her cousin move about the room. Some of the puzzle pieces were falling into place as the woman spoke. The words themselves delivered no new information to the gypsy - Nessa had known Nicolesza, even though she lived with another kumpania, so of course, it wasn't a shock to know that Anora hadn't been raised by her. The implication of the words, however, suddenly crashed in on the girl. To be raised without a mother's love, it was no wonder this creature seemed incapable of true feeling.

"Air'riela don't generally take to writing things down like the gaje do. Our expressions are better when seen, heard and felt, so... yes... I imagine her letters would be flat," she offered as Anora regarded her reflection. It wasn't said as if it were an excuse or an attempt to reason, it was simply stated as a matter of fact.

Ness couldn't relate to her statement of what a 'finer upbringing' might entail. If it meant one was stiff and cool and had more feeling for the bondage of one's hair, then she certainly didnt want it. She had grown up amidst love and freedom and joyfulness. To her that was the greatest gift - the gift that Anora had been robbed of. Pity filled her heart, a pity that she knew would not be appreciated by her poshrat cousin. The woman couldn't even bring herself to say the word "Air'riela" so it must be an offense that was still tender to her heart. It was a beginning of what would likely become a protective motherly feeling, even though her cousin had a few years on her, but once it started, Ness would be fiercely loyal.

"The room is merely too stuffy," she replied, the quick change in subject jerking her out of her thoughts.

Crossing the room, Nessani pushed open the shutters, letting the stuffy air out of the room. Or more accurately, letting the stuffy air of the city in. There was absolutely no breeze in this oven of a city, but at least she could see the sky. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the windowsill and leaning halfway through. From there, she continued the conversation with Anora from over her shoulder.

"You say the word 'Barbari' like it is an offense to your senses," Ness said with a derisive snort, though she sounded more amused by the observation than offended. It wasn't really a word that Nessani associated with herself. Her people weren't 'barbaric' in the least, just... misunderstood.

"So now, what? You have your poisons, are we here to kill someone?" It was said with no regard for the open window or the people who might be lurking beneath. "And just who is Dimitri? This is the second time his name has been mentioned - the first was by the slaver in that pit."

[Anora Eventide]

Anora quirked an eyebrow at Nessani's question.
"Why? Do you enjoy killing people? You speak rather lightly of it. And with no discretion I may add."
The woman opened a chest, withdrawing a few tools of embroidery. It was a hobby that did not demand her to make strange bargains with the gods, and as a genteel lady she could not help but adopt it.
Reclaiming her seat, she began to focus on her stitching, washed in the arid light of Arakmatian morning.
"And I said they were like poison, Vitsa. Not poison itself. A sip or two is not enjoyable, and if caught, you can be killed."
A troublesome stitch made her frown.
"So, no. I'm not here to kill anyone, and neither are you." The woman shook her head with a rueful smirk. It was after the killing that her intervention would begin.
"I'm not the paradigm of goodness, but last I heard killing without provocation is not just."
What Anora considered provocation, remained to be seen.
"We are here on business. I hope to establish a spice trade, and have also spoken with a merchant about the rare blue gold found here. It would be a lucrative endeavor."
Anora pulled at a scarlet thread.
"I was hoping you might assist me in this. With caravans and whatnot, gypsies like to move about, I recall. If you have any talent for it, you could secure a living."

The embroidery lowered into her lap with a somnambulistic gravity and she looked out the window to mark the hour.
A fat crow was weaving in the street, Anora watched it amble and caw until her hand drifted against her needle. She made no sound of surprise, but drew her pricked finger to her mouth a moment. When she glanced back the bird had vanished. It was neither the season nor locale for the glossy bird.
Was it her malicious mesaka dancing after her, the curse of Drabarni and deities? Or vision water being washed slowly from her blood? Perhaps merely a lost bird that plummeted in the dessert, soon to starve and wither in the heat.

Nessani's hovering inquiry rang out Anora's reverie. She murmured an answer, resuming her seat.
"Dimitri Wladisyaw is my fiancé. Possibly a Barbari Duke of the city, but such titles mean nothing to the Empire now."
Anora looked a delicate thing in some Daltinan alcove as she embroidered, her eyes never lifting from the design.
"He oversees city guards, soldiers, the gaol, trades slaves, and deals with varying houses and sects in Har'oloth. A man of Vortex if you will. Taulkis, the dark elf you met, is in his service."
Anora's eyes raised to Nessani.
"I left his company for here with only a note, so I do not welcome our first reunion. He is a trace possessive."

[Nessani Kemenlo]

"I don't know. I've never tried," Nessani replied in a tone just as flippant as her question had been. "But I'm willing to try anything... once."

She turned in place, leaning back until her ample tush rested on the windowsill. A lopsided grin graced her lips as if she found the subject amusing. Her hands came to rest on the windowsill, one on each side of her chad. She listened impassively to Anora's mild rebuke answering with nothing more than a shrug of her slender shoulders, sending the sleeve of her dress falling further down her arm.

The suggestion of the spice caravan grabbed her interest, but she said nothing for the moment, chewing it over in her mind. It was an honest day's work - something within her cried out against such - but it would allow her to see more of the gaje cities. And it would certainly allow her to repay her debt to her cousin, and perhaps offer her a chance to burden her own pockets. An interesting proposition for one so recently enslaved.

One dark eyebrow rose curiously as Anora told her about this 'Dimitri' that she kept hearing about. If his titles meant little to the empire, they meant even less to the Air'riela. The only title that she noted was "slave trader".

"So, your future rom was my host in the last city? I should remember to thank him for his hospitality. Taulkis suggested I avoid him at all costs. Your words dont reassure me otherwise."

Her hands pushed against the windowsill, propelling the gypsy toward the middle of the floor.

"I'm starving," she suddenly announced. "I haven't eaten since yesterday. Have you anything to eat? Maybe some balovas and a shant?"

The gypsy girl began rummaging around the room like a stray dog, sniffing for something to fill her stomach.

"This spice trade sounds interesting," she said without turning from her hunt. Her words were accentuated by the rumbling of her stomach leaving one to wonder if she would be just as interested when she wasn't so hungry. In truth, it was the promise of gold, blue or otherwise, that secured her interest. A traveling caravan would be very similar to the lifestyle that was most familiar to the gypsy but with a freedom that she couldn't find under her familiya's noses. It was ironic that she had to become a slave to find freedom.

Nessani twisted halfway around in her search to stare at Anora, a pensive look on her face.

"I will do this, simensa, if you will do something for me."

She was well aware that Anora was under no obligation to do her any favors, but this was one she was fairly certain the lady would gladly perform, if only to keep Nessani from embarrassing her any further.

"Teach me how you do... this..."

She waved her hand generically in the air as if to include everything. She didn’t mean the embroidery that Anora was currently performing - many an Air'riela baba had already tried to teach stitching to Ness. The only needlework she would ever be any good at would be with a stiletto.

"Teach me some of this 'finer upbringing' that you are so proud of."

Any Air'riela who found out that she was asking to learn how to act like a rawnie gaje would likely slap her upside her head, at the least, but Nessani had an ulterior motive. She intended to someday surpass her mother as a master thief. Having people underestimate you, as Ness had underestimated Anora, would be a great asset in that endeavor

[Anora Eventide]

"Did Taulkis say that?" the straightness of her stitches seemed more important than ever.
"Dimitri has a weakness for the fairer sex. He once collected slave women like art, but I suspect art was never handled so liberally."
A look of deepening focus creased her smooth brow, and her hand raised to brush away a slipping curl from her temple. It may have been the tangled knot or the subject matter that summoned the look.
"I will not suffer such behavior, though. As long as he is loyal, I will remain. But he has some odd tempers otherwise, Vitsa. So do stay in my company."

Nessani's further inquiries were met with silence, until she asked for Anora to instruct her in the art of social graces.
"I think I have done you enough favors," more indeed than Anora liked, "But your idea is… quaint. Especially since we are making a visit to the sultan. I would not like to be embarrassed."

The cadence of Anora's speech was a lingering arabesque: emphatic stillness but when in motion, each pose blurred into the next. She did her stitching in quietude now, allowing clouds of thought to gather between them before she spoke.

"I know why I behave this way, Vitsa, but enlighten me as to why a gypsy suddenly has a mind for etiquette. Even as you rummage through my things."
Anora stood, with her embroidery in her chair and patiently followed Nessani's trail of displaced things, righting each object as she passed.
"Barbari have no love for order. I do not think manners will suit you."
Softly clasping her hands in front of her, Anora faced Nessani. When still, the woman was almost an object of art. Not for any natural beauty, but there was a comeliness to her balletic postures. Her eyes and smiles did not flare or singe with bucking tempers, but were oh-so-soft. Like she heard mild piano and the clink of thin crystal drifting in from some nearby sitting room.

"Can you feel something powerfully and act contrary to it? Or can you feel nothing at all, but glow with the appropriate charm? I think not. You have too much of yourself."
Before Nessani could protest, Anora's gentle pressing voice began to winnow itself in her ears.
"It is the Barbari that wander who are taken. Not only have you shunned the Empire but you insisted on straying from your kumpania. Filled with a reckless independence. Gusted about by whim until forcibly chained and bartered."
A soft click of her tongue.
"When was the last time you gave up some thing or temper you wanted to keep to preserve another's well-being? Was it without coercion and quietly done?"

Anora's look was polite serenity, unmoved by her appraisal. A woman of her acquaintance had once remarked a wilingness to claw that porcelain look from her pretty face.

"It is a wonder you follow me at all. Or perhaps you are the clever fox, I thought you. The desert is inhospitable and I would miss my luggage, sorely."
A maternal glance was paired with a sardonic mouth, "But my company is not so dreadful."

Knocking at the door splintered the instant, and Anora slipped away to open it. A rough tray bearing spiced Arakmatian tea and a native flatbread was left on the bed with a tiny pot of honey and goat's milk. The man was dismissed with a few coins, leaving the women to themselves again.
Anora moved to the window perhaps searching for her crow again.
"I asked the house to bring food at a later candlemark before I left to fetch you."
Nessani's comfort was not entirely neglected.
"Would you be so kind as to prepare tea?" Never really a question with Anora, "Milk and honey in mine."

A simple little exercise, but Anora turned from the window to watch the Air'riela.

[Nessani Kemenlo]

"Even a bear can be taught to dance, Morwen."

It was the first time Nessani had used the name given to her by her mistress. She rolled the word on her tongue as it came out, tasting it and deciding it suited the woman before her. She was very dark, indeed. And still a perpetual puzzle. Perhaps it was a testiment to the very different upbringings they'd had - every time Ness thought she had her cousin figured out, she was baffled all over again.

Her arms folded defensively across her chest. Too many of Anora's remarks hit close to home. Among her people, it had always been an asset to wear her feelings openly for all to see. She was accepted for who and what she was, with little effort to change her, even for the sake of discipline. Even now, she didn’t really want to change who she was, fundamentally. She just wanted to know how to put on this persona, much like one dons a cloak or a dress.

Anger flared briefly in the gypsy's eyes, but she kept her lips shut tight against whatever retort would spew itself forth as if to prove that she could, indeed, learn. She stood mutely as Anora continued her pointed observations and the tray was delivered.

The request for tea was met with a curt nod, though Nessani's mood was softened somewhat by the presence of food. Moving to the side of the bed, the gypsy girl poured a single cup of tea, using the chore as an excuse to gather her thoughts before responding to Anora's comments. She added a conservative amount of milk and honey - Anora couldn't want much or certainly her personality would be sweeter - before offering it to her cousin.

Returning to the tray, Ness poured the remainder of the milk into a second mug. "Firstly, I would like you to know, " she began as she slathered a dollop of honey onto a piece of the bread. Her movements mirrored her words, slow and methodical. Her voice was unusually soft. Her eyes remained on the bread as if it required all of her attention.

"I would like you to know that I did not abandon my people." She allowed herself a quick glance to where her cousin stood before returning her gaze to where her hands were still mechanically working on breakfast.

"It may not matter to you, but I need it to be said. My kumpania was traveling very near to Vortex. I had no intention of leaving them. I merely wanted a chance to see the gaje city from a distance before we departed in the morning."

Abandoning her efforts, she turned to face Anora full on. With the source of her ire out in the open, she felt strangely peaceful.

"The only reason that I have not returned to them is that I gave you my word I wouldn't run.” In Nessani’s estimation, that qualified as ‘acting contrary to something she felt passionately about’.

“I would work off my debt to you, and so I intend to. If I can learn a bit of your ways to make my time here easier, then should I not?"

It was only half a lie. Learning to be a 'lady' would definitely make her work in the gaje cities run more smoothly, but that had nothing to do with her reasons for the request. She couldn't tell Anora the real reasons that she wanted to learn. Pickpocketing was a handy skill to have if one needed a quick coin, but it would hardly leave the mark on the thieving world that Ness intended to leave. But a con, now that was the way to true wealth. It seemed the first person she was going to have to con would be Anora. She was right about one thing, though. Ness wouldn’t get anywhere if she didn’t learn to control her expressions.

Taking up her cup and bread, Ness moved to the side of the room. She put her back against the wall and allowed herself to slide to the floor, careful not to spill the goat’s milk. The cup was settled on the floor beside her as she took a large bite of the bread. Her pink tongue snaked out to lick a drip of honey from her thumb. She almost continued talking as she chewed the bread, but thought better of it and waited until she swallowed instead.

“The fact of the matter is, I know very little about your people’s ways.” She would concede that Anora had gypsy blood, but they were definitely not her ‘people’. “You’ve asked me to assist you in an endeavor that will require me to deal with gaje. If you would have me be your agent in this – or even just as your maid, as you say, following you to visit the… sultan? I assume that’s someone important. Would you rather have me caged and chained and looking like a dancing bear, or would you rather teach me to dance and let me represent you in a manner that you would approve of?”

Another bite of honeyed bread was shoved into her open mouth, cutting off her words. Her arms wrapped around her legs, careful not to drip honey on her skirt as she pulled her knees in closer to her chest into a semi-fetal position of comfort.

[Anora Eventide]

Anora's petite smile could be binding, lashing one's attention to her demure face. It was all she gave to Nessani during her sparking retort, an insufferable sort of visual silence.
She held her tea and saucer delicately and sipped at it whenever Nessani was touching on a particularly meaningful point. Perhaps hiding any reaction that clamored to the surface of her expression, or to subtly imply her lack of interest.

Cajoling a response from Anora when she was not inclined to reveal, was dashing at a rock for water. If water did bubble, it was wormwood to the tongue.
Only when she laughed in her ruby alto, did she exude any air but courtesy.
"Well-spoken, Vitsa. Though the chinks in your explanation are likely plugged with fibs."
Laughter faded into a deceptively sweet look, almost doting.
"Bears may be taught to dance, but they will never do it well."
Her eyes passed over Nessani.
"Fortunately, you are not a bear, Vitsa. We will conjure something passable."

Anora looked mildly pleased by the idea, but a disconcerting twist flattened her eyes. As if the same amount of persuasive force could convince her to pluck out Nessani's heart and feed it to a favorite hound. However, the woman seemed respectful of life, even if the gypsy was cavalier about the subject. This strictness was a saving grace even as it could grate on the free-spirited.

Setting her tea aside, Anora approached Nessani and inclined over the sitting Air'riela, casting her slate colored shadow on the gypsy.
"The sultan is a rather important figure. We both have to be on our finest behavior. But you misjudge me if I mind a chained bear. I invite you as a treat, it is easy to leave you in the eaves of the palace, my dear."
The woman straightened, still directly before the folded Air'riela.
"We begin with the idea of moderation in all things."
Meaningful eyes fell to the abundance of honey on Nessani's breakfast, that almost dripped on her fingers.
"For example, you are rather sparing with honey in my tea even though my preference is to sweeten it liberally." A surprising quirk in Anora's personality, similar to her love for strawberries.
"When being hosted it is polite to accept all services with gratitude instead of grasping for more. Consider the proverb of the man who enters a dining room and seizes the best seat for himself, only to have the host bid him sit lower to make room for one of higher esteem. It would have been better for the man to have taken a lower seat and be called to a better one by the host."

Anora drifted towards the tea set, adjusting the objects on the tray to fit an acceptable setting.
"Does that make any sense, Vitsa? The concept will be balanced with an awareness of personal dignity, displayed in dress and posture."
While dabbing up a speck of spilt tea, Anora asked coolly, "Tell me, Vitsa, what does you attire express? What does mine? And relate the difference. Do be honest."
A quick smile for the Air'riela's benefit, "I can accept criticism. My sister frequently calls me a prude, but then she never wears shoes."

[Nessani Kemenlo]

What's wrong with not wearing shoes, Nessani wondered. Her toes inched back to hide guiltily beneath the dusty layers of her skirt. It struck her as a bit of surprise that she might actually have something in common with the lady's sister. She had assumed that any siblings of Anora's would be just as uptight and, yes, prudish, as this one.

It seemed her training was to begin this very minute. Triumph swelled within her chest despite the barbs in Anora's words, but the gypsy girl's face remained neutral as she continued to eat the honeyed bread, letting the silence lengthen. This was going to be harder than she first thought, she suddenly realized. It required her to put on a new persona, not only penitent, but with a concern for things that were previously beyond her interest. One had only to look at her to know that she cared little for what covered her body (some might say even if anything covered her body). Her hair was wild and tangled and her bare feet were brown, caked with layers of dirt. How did one go about changing their mindset to account for the way you act and dress? She wasn't sure how, but it was something she would have to master in order to be successful in the plans she had for her life.

Twisting, her feet pushed her into a standing position in one smooth motion. As she stood, she imagined herself wrapping this new personality around her as if it were a cloak, much in the way that storytellers must before entertaining the crowds with their tales. She'd never considered herself much of an actress - dancing was more her talent - but she could and would practice to make this work to her advantage.

The remainder of her bread was shoved into her mouth, more to annoy Anora with the very unladylike gesture than anything. She noisily licked the honey from her fingers one by one before letting her hands drop to rest on her hips. The proverb didn't make much sense to her - if everyone sat in a circle around a campfire, wouldn't they all be just as warm? But instead of antagonizing her cousin further, she opted to answer the other question put forward.

Nessani finished chewing the large wad of bread as she circled Anora. Her hands still on her hips, she considered the question earnestly. It was the first time she had ever pondered what her clothing was saying about her. Having Anora's manner of dress to compare it to helped her put it into context.

She stopped when she came around to her cousin's front again, standing with her feet apart and her head tilted to one side. She started with "Your hair is too tight," but realized that didn't really answer the question. "You inhibit yourself unnecessarily... or maybe it could mean that you pay attention to details - you like everything to be in its set place," she finished, working her way into understanding.

"And you always wear purple - it makes you look like a big bruise...

"Your dresses cover most of your skin, so I would say your sister is right - you're a prude, although you could say it means you're as chaste as the virgin who outran her male cousins, if you want to put a positive spin on it."

A lopsided grin crossed her full lips. She'd done the best she could. It was hard for her to change thoughts to see Anora's way of thinking. Looking down at her own dress, she tried to see herself through Anora's eyes.

"My flowing hair says that I'm a free spirit... you might see it as unkempt and assume that I'm a barbarian for it." Nessani caught a glimmer of her own reflection in the mirror Anora had used earlier. "I will admit, it could use a comb."

"My style of dress says that I'm comfortable in my skin. I don't care what people think of me. You, however..." Her words came slowly as the wheels of her mind spun around to make the connection. "...might think that it means I'm easy with the men. If my hem is uneven and my hair is tangled, you assume that I'm not worth much and so treat me as such."

The more she got into what she thought of as Anora's mindset, the more angry she was that someone would see her in that light, even if the thoughts were occuring in her own head. She was well aware that someone else's opinion of her didn't make it true, but she found herself uncomfortable facing this perception of 'truth'.

"I don't like this exercise," she declared softly, turning her back to Anora so her cousin couldn't see the emotions playing across her face. She walked back over to the window, buying some time to recompose herself. Sitting on the windowsill, she let one leg dangle along the outside wall.

"Tell me another proverb," she asked, much like a child, asking for a bedtime story.

[Anora Eventide]

A diluted wince crossed Anora's face as the Air'riela noisily sucked the honey from her fingers. It took effort to not swat Nessani's rude fingers with her fan, as the gypsy gobbled up the last bit of her bread.

As Nessani circled Anora, the woman adopted a patient pose, her hands clasped in front of her. It did not appear to be the first time Anora was scrutinized as to her appearance.
The gypsy's verdicts were borne with even looks, like a teacher hearing a young student announce a sum.
At the exercise's end Anora purred, "You're a clever girl, Nessani." A rare use of the Air'riela's name.
"You may not enjoy that little evaluation, but it awakens a consciousness a woman ought to take advantage of. Little is more disarming than appearance. It helps to be aware of your audience and what they value. Some places will treat me kinder if my 'bruise-colored' skirts are hemmed, and others will be suspicious of my presence."
A light shrug turned her mien to one of ease.
"My attire speaks of my Daltinan upbringing and enjoyment of fine manners. My hair is an adherence to orderly elegance, but it is also a promise."
An uncommon admission from Anora, who habitually revealed as little as possible and mostly under direct questioning.
"Or a present of sorts. Dimitri asked that he be the only man to see my hair down and I obliged. It costs me only vigilance but means something to another. The perfect sort of bargain."

A glance was cast out the window and drifted down to where the Air'riela precariously balanced herself.
"Another proverb?"
Anora caught herself wondering how old the vivid Air'riela was. The bold thing swung between flinging bravado and child-like demands.

"I enjoy stories as well."
It was easier to forgive a common weakness than an unfamiliar one.
"My sister is the storyteller between us, though." A golden glow of pride dusted her commentary, "She is a talented bard, among other things."

Thinking of her sister, Anora's perpetual winter thawed a degree. Her steps seemed less ethereal as she moved to the chest, lilting delicately instead of gliding. A touch of humanity had muddled her imperious grace.
"I have to meet with a Dorin merchant in a little so I cannot remain much longer. But I will accomplish what I can before then."
The phrasing was a bit odd, what did the frosty flower intend on undertaking?

A click, and the chest was shut, and Anora was moving to the lupunza chirilo's perch. Severe purpose was in her gestures, and it seemed for a moment the woman was coldly considering pushing the Air'riela into the street.
Brandished in her hand was an instrument that might turn Nessani colder than any sharp fragment of steel: a bone comb.
Before any protest could be formed, Anora's eyes pinned the Air'riela in place.
"I've had eras of practice with a sister's wild tresses." There was an idle pause followed by a wry smile, "And the Lady of Angels' soiled doves, not to mention Barra's collection."

Anora restrained her hands, waiting for permission instead of seizing it. Her politeness had permeated enough of her ethos to become unwitting habit, and she had trifled significantly with the girl's hair already. If thoughts of Avrie had not reminded her of kinder seasons, though, Anora would have snatched at her new property, indifference freezing courtesy.

Either way, Anora hovered near the window and began to recite another proverb.
"A dove once found itself in a desert city, much like this one. It was parched from its travels and longed for a drop of water. As it flew through the city, it saw a tavern sign painted with a goblet of water. Overtaken by desire, the dove whirred into the sign mistaking it for true water. It had flown with such force into the depiction, that its wings were broken. Helpless, the crippled bird fell to the ground and was plucked up for someone's pracenda."
It would serve as a rather unpleasant bedtime story, but Anora rarely spoke without design.
"Such are the consequences when zeal outruns discretion."

[Nessani Kemenlo]

"So we are best girlfriends now that you will comb my hair?" Nessani's rich, deep voice was flat, hol