Grevius' Vender

[Noelle]

Noelle Brochette once again was defying her nagging mother’s expectations. She swept past the temple she was to attend that morning. The skirts of her dress riding only a breath’s length away from the churned ground. Pulling the veil like hat that draped over her face from her head the young woman allowed her rouge free cheeks to be revealed to those she passed.

Her eyes remained locked to the ground, watching what could be treacherous footing if one were to slip. One cheek managed a slight twitch as mud dirtied the tip of one perfectly polished boot. Oh what a cursing she would get when her mother found out about this excursion.

Taking as deep a breath as she could handle with that annoying corset wrapped around her torso was issued, then slowly drifted from her parted red lips, exploding into a whirling cloud of vapor, it was unexpectedly cold this morning with the sun having just risen over the rise. Noelle gripped her over coat more tightly with one hand the other still holding her picture hat turning the knuckles on that hand a stiff white. Rippling, brown curls framed those ripening cheeks of hers drawing the attention of the men she passed to her deep, burning, black eyes and the determination they showed. She would not be kept hidden by that woman. Legs pumped faster than before, turning her motion into a most un-lady-like jog. Her feet passed through a puddle, splashing mud onto the underskirts of her white dress.

A smile touched her lips, when she spotted some of the first venders and the drowsy children that followed their early rising parents. This was where she belonged, among groups of people who had no idea who she was. It was her dream place. No rules for here existed her, not like in that other life.

The first calls of the merchants raised above the silence that coated the square, drawing more people into the streets while Noelle traversed from one stall to the next, eyeing the baubles many of the booths had resting on their surfaces as well as other trinkets. She was stopped many a time to haggle a price with a friendly man or sometimes even a woman showing their wears and being bribed into buying three broaches and a wondrous hair piece that now swooped her tresses back from her face. By this time Noelle was exhausted, which must have been easily shown when a young man dressed in what looked like rags stood at one of the venders.

“Miss?” He asked with only the slight twang of an accent.

“Yes?” Noelle answered quizzically with a raised ‘brow.

This brought a smile to the boy’s face, he couldn’t have been over fourteen and to have a noble lady speaking with him. “Would ya like a seat? I could show ya some of me handy work if ya like.”

“Are you not a little young?” She couldn’t help but asking as she looked the boy up and down. Surely, most definitely he couldn’t have mastered a trade at such a young age.

“I’m watchin’ over my teacher’s stall while he’s ‘way.” He murmured confirming her thoughts.

Noelle nodded and settled herself on the stool beside the booth, curiously watching while the boy began to reveal jewel gilded daggers and even a full length sword. Maybe she had wandered a bit too far from the temples. He smiled sincerely and passed Noelle a most magnificent blade. Noelle had no touch for this sort of thing but the blade was most certainly of the highest grade, she began to wonder how this ‘teacher’ of his had passed under the radar of the Empire.

“This is brilliant.” She managed to whisper, turning the weapon this way and that.

“And ti’s only five hundred.” The younger male chirped out pleasantly and almost made Noelle sputter.

She passed the golden hilted dagger back to the boy. “I don’t have that amount on me. I’m sorry. It is greatly crafted though.”

“What’s ya’r craft?” He asked out of the blue, taking Noelle by surprise.

“Me?” She questioned just to make sure, when he nodded she proceeded, “I am a singer.” It wasn’t something she normally spoke of, keeping it on the low here would probably be best.

“Well, if ya sing for me, I’ll lower the price for ya a bit, I’m sure Master Grevius won’t mind.”

A smile touched the woman’s lips as she looked over the boy then to the group of people meandering about the narrow roadway and further up the muddy track.

“How much?” She finally asked.

“If ya sing well.. Three hundred Durcats, and that’s a big deal, but t’is only ‘cause yer so purty.”

Chuckling, Noelle shook her head and stood, “Very well.”

Taking a breath she glanced to the boy then out over the road as the first crystalline tone left her lips, drawing the attention of all those who passed. She made up the lyrics as she went, the skill came naturally. And the sweet syllables spoke of the beautifully crafted weapons that lay on the table before her. Bringing people to the stall even as she finished with the first verse.

The boy’s eyes were wide as the finely dressed noble men and woman flocked to his table to inspect the craft of which was sung so boldly about. Her voice soon circulated itself about the crowd, only whispers in the silence that enclosed the street.

As the sun met it’s highest point of the day the woman’s voice died out and a polite round of applause circled the booth drawing even more attention from the surrounding vendors. Many of which the merchants glared in her direction.

“Take it.” The boy shoved the dagger into her hand after enclosing it in a velvet bag. “Ya have brought me enough bus’ness to pay for it and three more.”

With a blink Noelle nodded gratefully and turned from the stall, tucking the small bag away in her dress. She began walking through the parting crowd back to the temple and her waiting mother. Her hat left forgotten at the dirty vender.

*Edited for spelling.

[Althea]

Slender fingers poked and prodded upon select fruits sitting before her; tomatoes. It was still early in the morning, and Althea had some shopping to be done before continuing onwards, to the palace, and to work. In fact the shopping she was doing is for work. It’s a labor of love, not that she truly loved working for the Empress, but the pay was decent, and it put her in a position where she could ‘do her own thing’ so to speak.

Still Althea is taking up one of those tomatoes and overturning it within her palm to inspect the undersides. While Althea is fairly confident this shipment had come in just this morning, or perhaps even the night prior, but there was never any guarantee on quality, not when it came to such a delicate fruit. Soft bruises and discolorations could occur for what seemed like no reason, and tomatoes of such low quality would never be accepted within the palace of Elysia. Nor would tomatoes which were not rich in color, and heavy with flavor. Luckily not all foodstuffs were as delicate as the tomato, or peach.

Still, it’s not long before Althea is selecting a good few to place gingerly within that old canvas bag of hers, settling such into place before continuing onwards to pay. Althea was lucky enough to be reimbursed for these purchases, thankfully, else she’d find herself in debt as opposed to just barely keeping her head above water as she was now. Still, things could be much worse than they currently were.

There’s a sound then, followed by the turning of heads. Many heads from the looks of it. Still, it’s just another drop in the bucket of noise going on within the square of Thalasa. It’s something that’s easy to tune out. She’s simply sinking into the work settling before her with a furrow to her soft brows.

Althea wouldn’t say herself rude, but there was something all too obnoxious about being forced to wait all over something so trivial as one song. She was being delayed on one person’s behalf, and that seemed to annoy Althea more than many things these days could. She’s lifting her hand, and snapping her fingers persistently before the vendor’s features to draw his attention away from that song bird a few stalls down, “How about you stop wasting everyone’s time and pay attention.” We’ve just met Althea’s snapping point, reclusive as it is.

Althea finds herself tossing a handful of money down onto the countertop with little attention paid to the amount delivered. Or if it had even made it onto the countertop. Althea’s oh so close to simply turning her nose up and stomping off. She eagerly settles for the former as opposed to both. Dignity. She worked almost directly for the empress. Of course she may simply be lying to herself. She’s no high-end broad; she’s a simple, middle class-girl who would never be able to drag herself much higher than she already was.

It’s with this sort of nonchalance that Althea turns her attention towards her bag of fresh produce, head bowed as she prods through the contents of that satchel.

She thumps rough into some woman, issuing a guttural sort of grunt as she does so, pretty blond brows. The small girl whistles softly, there’s a hint of irritation, and blame in that single sound, as though this other woman may have been responsible for her lack of attention.

[Noelle]

The lithe woman made her way through the last bit of the ever growing crowd of the Square of Thalasa. She lifted the head, chin lifting a bit more, a natural occurrence she had been forced to do since she was a child, once she passed through the crowd into a more open space, showing her class and wealth her family had come to occupy, though her stature seemed a little diminished by the soft tune she hummed matching what she had sung not moments before.

Her dark eyes watched those around her. Checking their expressions as she always seemed to do, curiosity. It was one of her most annoying attributes according to her mother. Oh her mother, that’s all she seemed to think about anymore; What would please her mother? What would make her angry? How she never wanted to be like that woman.

Maybe this was the reason she hadn't married, she wasn't interested in starting a family and becoming a harpy like so many other females around her had. Music was her life, it always had been, seemed that it always would. She was past the ripe marrying age, being at the fruitful age of twenty. Many of her friends had already held child and birthed the little heathens.

These were the thoughts that dulled her senses, allowing her to miss the fact that a woman was walking directly at her, therefore allowing them to collided, bringing a scowl from Noelle. She turned a baleful eye to the other, though the frown was not aimed at her, no, it was aimed to the mud that lined her pristine dress, just now brought to attention when she came to a stand still.

A forced smile touched her lips as she nodded to the woman and murmured her apologies, expecting to quickly move along. Lace covered fingers raised to brush back loose curls of her thick, chocolate brown hair when she began to step around the other, jolting to a halt when the train of her dress pulled her back. She twisted, catching the eye of the woman, before her own narrowed.

"Excuse me.." She tugged a bit at her dress as if telling the woman to step from the hem of the fabric. The words were polite, no matter that the other was obviously below her; she didn't believe that ‘system’. All people were the same in her eyes. They all ate, slept, spoke. All of them had the basic education, though of course, everything in this country was placed according to value. Value to the Empress. Those with money were obviously close to her.

Turning an eye to the flaxen haired woman before her she tilted her head, as if trying to recall where she had seen her before, though she brushed it off, unable to place her as she looked up the street and paled, seeing that the temple was emptying of its occupants.

[Althea]

Althea is a young girl, stubborn with a firey and quite vocal temper. She makes note of the woman tugging on her dress, and despite the previous ‘excuse me’ Althea finds this gesture to be quite rude, and irritating at the least, as if this woman thought herself better than Miss Courcel.

Of course Althea was well aware she wasn’t settled upon the highest rung on that social ladder. But her work was important! Or at least that’s what she told herself day in and day out. At least she enjoyed it and was content with herself, which is really more than most people can even hope for. Still, despite her inner content, she can’t help but find a deep irritation in this woman’s own confidence.

Arrogance.

“Ass,” she breathes out faintly, brows knitting as she glances upwards and to this woman’s face. She looks tired. Though maybe it’s the dark pigment of her irises upon such pale flesh. Eyes look sunken, and sleepy. Althea almost regrets her utterance; feels bad, even, though it’s not so long before this feeling is quickly fleeing and being replaced with that prior heat of anger, burning a soft blush upon her impossibly pale cheeks. Frustration is a good word for this sensation.

Althea was raised a polite young girl, though she’d quickly learned the laws of the land. She’d learned that she had to be her own hero, and no one but herself was going to keep her safe; to protect her. Althea would need to stand up for herself. Though, perhaps this was the wrong circumstance to be “standing up for herself” within.

“How about you learn some actual manners?” Althea encourages with a furrow to those blonde brows of hers, “Your pleases, and your thank yous,” she grunts out in a more than obvious manner. Her face tips, and it’s not long before her gaze is falling downwards to peer upon that woman’s skirt, and the toe of her boot pressing upon such. What now? What was there to do about it? Well, not a hell of a lot. Althea could always step off, as she’d been more or less demanded, or she could misbehave, as she had almost every intention of doing.

What would her father think of her now? Well, to be quite honest, he was the one who’d spoke of the harshness of the outside world. He was the one who taught her that she needed to stand up for herself. He was the one who’d taught her how to behave. Perhaps her mother would have raised her more delicately. But she’d died early-on, and had failed to provide Althea with any sort of a female figure within her life. Althea was more of less raised as a young lad as opposed to a young lady.

Her foot digs briefly upon the fabric of her dress before she’s lifting up, and off, and tending to the next stall almost nonchalantly.