[Closed] Tea and Tension

[Catriona Fraser]

_______________________

The sound of metal hitting metal can be heard throughout the street as Catriona, known as Cat, hammers away at something on an anvil. Her face is covered in black soot and her hands are constantly moving from the bellows, to the fire, and back to the anvil. Upon closer inspection one can see she’s making a short sword, drawing out the metal and hammering at it with strength greater than one would assume of someone like herself.

The forge is a small one, sitting around a hundred yards from the Kingsway Market. Catriona was happy to not be in the thick of the hustle and bustle of the market. The last thing she needed as a dumb human was to get in a fistfight over whose jewelry was worth more.

There is a small building with an iron door. A sign on the door reads,

Workshop. Please Knock.

Just beside the building is the main forge and anvil, where Cat can be seen all day, working on her next project. Her sign sticks out into the street, that she made herself, a cat whose tail curled up over its head. Hanging beneath the feet are the words. Black Cat Smithy.

She also has several necklaces and other jewelry laid out inside a locked glass case. The case is bolted to a table just beside the forge. She’d paid a pretty sum for that alone but it allowed her to display the jewelry she made without worrying too much about anyone making off with it.

Every once in a while, someone will stop to speak with her. Whether it be to place or pick up an order, or to simply make conversation. She is known to take trades and has often been seen accepting food for her work as seen when the baker stops by with his delivery of several loaves of bread for horseshoes.

Cat smiled warmly at the human man who sheepishly waited at the corner of her forge. He held a burlap sack with two loaves of bread sticking out of the top. She quenched the sword in the water beside the forge and laid it off to the side.

"That’s a fine piece you’re working on, Cat." He handed her the bag and leaned in to whisper in her ear."I put some of the sweet rolls from yesterday in there as well as some vegetables from my wife’s garden. She told me to thank you for your willing to work with us."

Cat signed something to him and he laughed as she took the bag from him and disappeared inside the workshop. When she emerged, she was holding a set of four horseshoes tied with string. They rattled as she handed them to the man and he happily made off with his purchase.

Cat grinned back in her workshop, silently thanking Vita as she peered into the bag and pulled out a cinnamon roll the size of her whole hand. She tore off a chunk of bread, grabbed some of the carrots and sat down outside on a wooden chair as she devoured her feast.

After she finished up her lunch, she stood up, stretched, and folded her chair up against the workshop. She put her apron back on and settled back into the rhythmic clanging of metal as she began working once more.

[Catriona Fraser]

on the 10th of Yaris, 2719 • midday

Cat glared angrily at the man across from her in the market. The human man ran his hands through his hair as he watched the range of emotions cross Cat’s face and grinned as though he’d already triumphed at making the deal.

”I’ve got the only diamond that size and that clarity, you think you’ll get for less? Walk away little thing."

Cat signed angrily, ”You know good and well it’s worth half that and I’m willing to pay a little more than what it’s worth, but there is no way I’m walking away from here spending my entire budget on one stone."

“Sorry Sis, I don’t speak whatever hand flapping you’ve been trying to throw at me, write it down or walk away.”

Cat glared even harder. If looks could kill the vendor would be dead. She wrote down a number and passed it to the man who then just laughed in her face.

He was right about one thing, he was the only one with the diamond that she needed. It had to be a certain cut and hardness to go in a sword hilt and none of the others she’d found came close. The other jewels she’d procured were in a pouch hanging around her neck that fell down under her dress. She wasn’t taking any chances in this busy market. But her silent argument had already gained the attention of other nearby vendors who rolled their eyes at how long she’d been at this stall.

She signed again, ”I’m not leaving your stall until we make a deal so I suggest you back off your price. Because you know good and well no one else is looking for a rock that big and you sure as clock aren’t going to sell it to anyone else at even a third of that price."

“Again with the hand waving. Are you having a seizure? Should we call the doctor? Not that you could afford him you little soot covered street rat.”

At that remark several vendors stopped laughing. Catriona wasn’t widely respected but her work was known and most regulars of the market knew her business was good. Not many would insult her that way. The fact that she was having this hard of a time meant this man didn’t know who she was or just really, really hated women. Cat was willing to go with the latter.

She sighed and picked up her wadded up paper, prepared to walk away.

[Ava Weaver]

Midday, 10th Yaris, 2719
Kingway Market, Uptown

I
f the heat of the brutal Yaris day bothered Ava, she gave no sign of it. It was perhaps the hottest day of the year so far, with bright sun overhead, and little respite from it in the crowded corridors of Kingsway Market. Her tan dress was as crisp and unmarked by sweat as when she had put it on that morning; soft full sleeves came together at the shoulder and wrist, secured with a sharp pop of turquoise. The front of the dress plunged deceptively, long lines of tan fabric dropping to reveal nothing but another layer of tan fabric beneath; a second turquoise ribbon, sewn tight at the waist, kept the dress tight to her shape. The skirt had two hems, an outer sharp layer of tan, and a subtler dark brown beneath, both in well-made cotton, flawlessly clean.

Against the sun, Ava wore a broad brimmed straw hat, a turquoise ribbon that matched her dress around the brim of it, tied in a neat bow that mirrored those at her wrists; beneath it, black curls spilled out over her shoulders and down her back, crisp against the bedraggling heat. She wore dark color on her lips, and crisp wings of kohl extended out from her eyes, and she carried a market basket over one arm, lined with soft fabric. She navigated it through the busy streets with ease, stopping here and there to make shoptalk with other drapers, to admire some pretty, foreign fabrics at one stall, and to inquire after the shopkeeper’s grandchildren at another. Ava remembered their names – she always remembered – and laughed, smiling brightly, at the proud story of the youngest’s efforts to learn to walk.

“And what brings you to Kingsway today, Ms. Weaver?” The shopkeeper asked, still glowing with remembered warmth, thinking of little Harry’s fumbling, chubby-cheeked efforts.

Ava was smiling too; her smile was as much for the shopkeeper as the picture he’d painted of his grandson, at the pride in his gruff voice and the gestures of worn, hard-worked hands to show her just how tall the boy was getting. He loved his daughter, Ava knew, and felt an enormous amount of pride in the escapades of her first little boy.

“New silk shears,” Ava said, soft regret in her tone. “The ones I have won’t hold an edge any longer, but it’s hardly the sort of thing one can find at just any shop.”

The shopkeeper nodded, sagely; he made a few suggestions, and Ava thanked him, and made her way off along the stalls with a smile and a wave. Cutting silk was a tricky business; it pooled and ran and slipped away, and taming it required a strong will, steady hands, and endless preparation. It meant special weights and special shears, and it meant keeping those tools flawlessly maintained; the cost of maintenance was nothing next to the cost of slipping and ruining some expensive fabric. Ava had pinched and scraped her pennies to buy the shears second-hand not two years before, and it was an enormous disappointment to already need a new pair – but she had not hesitated to scrimp and save again, and she hoped to be able to buy higher quality shears this time, something that would last properly.

The only thing more noticeable than the bustle of noise and life through the market was when it cut-off abruptly. Ava had heard what sounded like half of an argument from a nearby stall, backed by the sounds of laughter, and she had half-stopped to watch, more than a little curious. There was a young woman with a scar across her jaw, sooty and uncomfortable-looking in a plain dress, who had been gesturing with her hands at a man nearby, trying to haggle with him.

The man sneered at her, insulted her, and Ava bristled, looking at the nearby vendors. Not a one stepped in – not a one seemed to care. Men, Ava thought, coldly. Typical. Better still, she knew the vendor, a human who bought and sold jewels; she had dealt with him herself several years earlier.

“Shame on you, Mr. Sharpe,” Ava said, stepping forward, dark eyes flashing. She dropped her basket on his stall, and settled her hands on her hips; Ava was short for a human, and Mr. Sharpe had more than a few inches on her, but as she stood there, she managed to look down her nose at him. “If you don’t have the brains to understand her, there’s no need to be rude about it.”

“I can understand her just fine!” Mr. Sharpe snapped, scowling, a creeping red blush curling up the back of his neck. “Not that it’s any of your business, Ms. Weaver.”

“Oh, can you?” Ava smiled at him, syrupy-sweet. “My mistake, of course,” she glanced back at the red-haired girl, and smiled wider at her, encouragingly, something warm and friendly in it – something that vanished, rather quickly, when she looked back at Mr. Sharpe. “I’m terribly sorry to have interrupted your negotiations.”

[Catriona Fraser]

on the 10th of Yaris, 2719 • midday

Cat turned in surprise at the woman who came to her aid. Not only was she finely dressed but the confidence she carried added a whole different sort of air about her. Ms. Weaver, the man had called her. She and the trader seemed to be acquainted. Ms. Weaver’s sharp tongue and admonishing attitude toward him bolstered Catriona. She turned to him with a smirk and signed, “How marvelous. I’ll just assume the reason you couldn’t understand me five minutes ago was because you were too overcome with your own guilt at trying to cheat a customer. Now I believe we were haggling and I had given you this number. If you have a counter offer, please tell me.”

The man, now known to her as Mr. Sharpe, looked to Catriona’s flying fingers and back to Ms. Weaver. “Do you even have that much money?” He asked, waving the little piece of paper in Cat’s face.

Cat smirked and produced a small but heavy coin pouch and held it out to the man. As he reached for it she pulled it back and looked at him quizzically. “Fine, yes, we have a deal! Here’s your clocking giant diamond!” He seemed to say diamond much too loudly and turned a few more heads toward their proceedings.

Cat couldn’t, for the life of her figure out how this man ran his business normally. Perhaps he’d just hoped to get a ton of money from a sucker rather than a jeweler for that gem. More than likely now, he was flustered at having been admonished by a lady in the middle of the market. Nonetheless, Cat had her prize and was pleased, both with her rescuer and herself.

Catriona passed him the coin pouch and pulled the diamond from its velvet bag, inspecting it from all sides to be sure he hadn’t given her anything but what she’d paid for. The diamond was a fair bit larger than anything you’d put in a ring or a necklace, which was why she’d been forced to interact with this hateful man. She needed a 10 carat diamond, something that most did not arbitrarily carry on their person and yet she’d managed to find one. She produced a pair of glasses with different size magnifiers on them and put them on, checking each facet for imperfections. Once she was satisfied, the red haired blacksmith put the glasses back in her dress pocket and the diamond in its velvet bag which then was added to the weighty bag dangling inside her dress.

Cat then took in the woman who had helped her. A human woman, however, wearing finely crafted clothes probably made by a finer tailor than Cat ever thought about being. She was gorgeous. Cat lost herself for a moment, thinking this Ms. Weaver must turn heads wherever she went. Cat found herself flustered, looking down at her own simple clothes that she’d sewn for herself. She ducked her head humbly as she signed to the woman. “Thank you, Miss.” She wanted to say more, to tell the woman that she was a smithy and that she could always come get jewelry if she liked. But Cat has used up much of her confidence dealing with the trader and if anyone thought a sign user couldn’t become speechless, they were wrong. Her hands just wouldn’t cooperate. Her face was still flush with the anger of the tired negotiation and more than anything she wanted to crawl back to her forge. Although now, she also wanted to talk to this woman and now she realized how long she had been standing there staring without saying anything. “My name is Catriona, but most just call me Cat.” She signed, extending her three fingers and brushing them over her cheek like a Cat’s whiskers to signify her sign name.

She paused again, trying to put words together. “I run the Black Cat Smithy. It’s the finest in jewelry, weapons, and tools you’ve seen...so if you need anything...”
She trailed off, more than a little embarrassed at this whole encounter. The woman obviously had taken pity on her. That didn’t mean they were going to be friends and she likely would not come straight to a forge for jewelry when there was so much of it to be sold in the market. Cat had not dared to put out her dirty hand to this woman to shake her hand and it occurred to her what this was like. She was treating this woman like she would a Galdor. Respectful and kind, but keeping a safe distance as well. Maybe it was the clothes or the confidence or a little of both? But Cat was, well, intimidated.

[Ava Weaver]

Midday, 10th Yaris, 2719
Kingway Market, Uptown

Ava would not have dared to haggle on the other woman’s behalf; it was obvious that the woman in the plain dress with the quick hands knew what she was about, from the little of the conversation that Ava had seen and overheard. If Mr. Sharpe had not been so outrageously rude, Ava did not doubt that he could have gotten a better price, all the same; but the laughter of the tradesmen nearby had turned now, soft chuckles at how he seemed to have outwitted himself, and the tide of the market was with the other young woman.

Ava picked up her basket, settled it on her arm, and retreated a graceful half step backwards, giving the other two space to discuss, although she did not leave entirely. She smiled politely at Mr. Sharpe when he looked at her. There was nothing obvious about the expression, nothing he could have named so easily, but there was something about the look she gave him that made that shame worm its way ever so slightly deeper in his chest. Ava had to admit that the other woman was signing a little faster than she could follow perfectly - there were a few words Ava didn’t know, tucked in amidst the easy fluid motions of her hands. But she could follow the gist well enough.

Ava held there as the transaction finished, watching as the other woman inspected the gem with the easy confidence of a jeweler, her interest more than a little piqued. She was curious too, curious about this woman with the scar, the quick hands, and the casual professionalism of someone who knew their trade well. The woman turned to her, and thanked her.

Ava’s smile warmed and deepened, the same encouragement she’d offered the woman before. “I‘m glad to have been able to help,” Ava said, with an easy friendliness a world away from the sharp and strident tones she’d had just moments before. She would not cheapen the other woman’s thanks by refusing it, by insisting her actions had been nothing. To do so would be to cheapen the encounter for them both.

The other woman stared at her for a long moment. Ava smiled a little wider, nothing but friendliness on her face, but she saw the way the other woman’s gaze lingered on Ava’s clothing, then dropped down to look at her own. She saw something flash across her face, a redness on her cheeks that might have been anger, might have been embarrassment, or might have been something else altogether.

“It’s nice to meet you Cat,” Ava said, smiling. “I’m Ava Weaver, but please call me Ava.” As far as Ava could tell, Cat did not have any trouble hearing, and so she spoke as she always did, making no particular effort to be slow or loud.

“Let’s not linger here too long,” Ava said, cheerfully. She was altogether too conscious of eyes on them, on the memory of that boy glistening gem, of the way the words clocking giant diamond had echoed through the air. She closed the distance between them, and with an easy motion linked her arm with Cat’s, for all the world as if they were two old friends shopping together in the market, and casually drew the other woman away from the jeweler’s stall. Without much of an idea of where to go, she took them towards a tea stall, thinking a cup might revive the blacksmith.

A blacksmith! Ava would not force Cat to keep hold of her arm once she was sure that Cat was coming with her, away from Mr. Sharpe; she had not made much of an effort to force at all, doubting she could move the other woman at all if Cat did not want to go. She hoped, whatever that awkwardness had been, that a little distance would help soothe her.

“A blacksmith! Do you make silk shears?” Ava asked cheerfully. “I’m a draper myself,” she indicated the cotton of her dress with a gentle wave of her free hand, lacquered nails glistening in the sun. “I have a little store in the Painted Ladies, Woven Delights.” She had done her best to make sure her arm would not impede Cat’s hands, that her friendly gesture wouldn’t steal the other woman’s voice. “I’m on a rather desperate errand to commission a replacement.”

If Cat didn’t object, didn’t strenuously pull away, Ava would tuck them into a table at the tea shop she had targeted, out of the flow of traffic, the bustle and the jostle of the crowd. “You see?” She tugged back the fabric at the bottom of her basket, and emerged with a pair of well-worn silk shears, meticulously maintained but not well enough to cover their lack of quality. Ava set them down on the table between them, and shook her head, disparagingly, leaving them to Cat to examine.

[Catriona Fraser]

The 10th of Yaris, 2719 • midday • Talia’s Teas and Leaves

The woman’s warmth and friendliness seemed to drip off of her with ease, for from the intimidating voice she’d just used to shame the merchant. She appreciated the arm hooking into hers and pulling her away, as she’d seemed to have frozen in the woman’s presence. In Ava’s presence. As she was tugged toward a tea stall, a stall she’d never frequented as she could not normally afford the time or the money. But today she could not ignore the kind Draper that led her across the market away from her frustrating encounter. Ava talked as if they’d known each other for ages but just as easily as she’d taken her arm, she released it knowingly so as not to impede her signing.

And the talking! Many who knew sign language liked to use it to speak to her but they rarely could sign it well enough or fast enough to warrant a casual conversation. And she couldn’t even begin to think of many Galdor who chose to write to her as if she had no understanding of spoken language whatsoever. But it was obvious that Ava could understand her signs and still chose to speak to her as she would any other person. It was a breath of fresh air. As they sat and Ava explained her predicament, the wheels were already turning in Cat’s head.

She picked up the shears and turned them over in her hand. Gone was her intimidation as she inspected the shears. Her professionalism had taken over and she was in her element. She couldn’t help how her nose wrinkled at first but did her best to straighten her face so as not to appear a complete snob. Still, she could tell the shears were made quickly and with the sole purpose of selling them to someone they’d never have to see again. She would have never used that bolt for the fulcrum and the metal was polished but you can’t polish away shoddy craftsmanship.

She blushed as she looked up from the shears and put them back on the table. She signed, “I can make them, if you’ll allow me. And they’ll last so much longer than these ever did.”

She paused, hoping that the shears had not been crafted by Ava’s great uncle or something. Nonetheless there was a spark of business in the blacksmith’s eye. Far better at making deals than friends, she wanted desperately to have this woman’s commission, if only to see her again.

The vendor’s daughter came to the table with two cups of tea. She shyly bowed her head when Cat paid for it plus a little extra. She then quickly signed to Ava, “For your kindness.”

[Aodh Elzo]

The 10th of Yaris, 2719, midday

It was a hot day, possibly the hottest yet, Aodh Elzo leant against a wall in a shaded alley smoking a cigarette, his violin was in its battard case leaning next to him.
He was taking a break from busking, and getting out of the sun for a bit.
That day he wore a russet waistcoat with a black pinstripe, a linen shirt and grey trousers. His normally wild hair was made slightly more so by the heat, he checked his waistcoat pocket, seeing what he had made already. Not yet enough for a decent pint around these parts. He gingerly stretched his right leg, the ankle still pained him, though it was mostly healed.

‘Well, back to it.’

Aodh muttered to himself as he picked up his case and ambled back to the bustling streets of of the Kingsway Market.
He found a space between a baker's stall and a potter, he opened the violin case and placed it on the cobbles before him, he dropped some of the coin he had made early into it. Then he tucked the violin under his chin and took up his bow.

He played a gkacha, mainly for the wicks and witches he spotted in the crowd, a few moved over to listen, smiles on their faces. As he played he smiled and his foot tapped the rhythm, but alas the crowd couldn’t stay long as they had busy to be about, though they threw ging into his case and he nodded his thanks as he kept playing.

A few more coins in his pocket now Aodh moved on to find another good spot, he saw a tea stall.

‘Aye, a fine spot.’

He set up his case and dumped the coins in it, this time he left the bow in the case and strummed the strings as he sang.

"Drank away the rest of the day
Wonder what my liver'd say
Drink, it's all you can
Blackened days with their bigger gales
Blow in your parlor to discuss the day
Listen, it's all you can
But don't, don't sink the boat
That you need, you build to keep afloat
No don't, don't sink the boat
That you built..."

[Ava Weaver]

Midday, 10th Yaris, 2719
Kingway Market, Uptown

Ava saw the way that Cat wrinkled her nose at the sight of the shears. She didn’t let her satisfaction show on her face, although she felt deeply pleased by it; it was a relief to see the other young woman in her element, confident and easy once more. She noticed, too, how careful Cat was to hide her disdain for the shoddy craftsmanship, and Ava appreciated that too, the care that spoke of.

Ava smiled at Cat, doing her best to look at Cat evenly, to see her hands without only staring at them. “Oh, would you? Please?” Ava’s smile brightened. “It would be wonderful to have shears I can trust,” she said, firmly, every inch a craftswoman herself. She sat straight backed at the little table; the stools were low to the ground, but Ava seemed to sit upright without the slightest effort, without the faintest trace of a wrinkle in her dress, as if it were utterly comfortable for her to be so. Her hands were set together in her lap, one curled over the other.

Ava hesitated, reluctant to accept the tea – in truth, she couldn’t exactly afford such extravagances herself, not often, and she had not meant to impose. She hoped Cat did not think –

“Thank you,” Ava said, and smiled instead. It would not do to second guess; it would not do to doubt herself, or to argue. She knew she had done Cat a kindness; they both knew it. She had accepted the thanks without hesitation, and known that to do otherwise was to cheapen the encounter. It would be one thing for Cat to have offered the shears; she would not, Ava thought, accept that. She could not. But a cup of tea was a small thing, and it was lovely to share it with a stranger, lovely to have someone to sit and talk to. Ava would accept, and be genuinely grateful for the gesture, happy to save her hats for another time.

Ava picked up her tea and took a small, delicate sip of it, without even the faintest slurping sound. She set the cup back down, carefully.

“About this size would be perfect,” Ava said, looking back down at the imperfect shears on the table in front of her, and back at Cat with a smile. “I’m sure I can squeeze a little more use of these, though,” she did not want Cat to feel obligated to rush her work; with care and delicacy, Ava thought, she could get through a few more orders with the shears she had. She took another small sip of tea.

“You must make many interesting things, as a blacksmith,” Ava offered; she did not wish to force conversation on Cat, but she was curious, and she put the statement out there, content to let it drop if Cat did not wish to speak further, but hoping to coax a little more from the other woman.

The sounds of music drifted in from outside; Ava knew them immediately, recognizing the voice if not the song, those rich, deep, smoke-roughened tones of Aodh Elzo; she did not know how he coaxed them to be so soft when he sang. Her smile didn’t change, and her attention stayed fixed firmly on Cat; she did not think it wise to advertise her connection with the wick, for all that she was rather fond of him. He was a tradesman, of course, as well as a busker and – well, other things besides – and she could easily explain how they knew one another, but she thought it best not to smile too broadly at the sound of his music.

[Catriona Fraser]

The 10th of Yaris, 2719 • midday • Talia’s Teas and Leaves

Cat was happy that Ava had not argued the issue of the tea. She may or may not have realized but by flustering the merchant selling the diamond, Cat had been able to get the lowest cost possible. She’d every intention of being haggled up but he was too busy insulting her intelligence to make a deal. The encounter still confused her but the fact of the matter is that what should have cost her near over 100 Concords had cost her much less. So she had some extra coin to blow on tea. Talia and her daughter did a wonderful job of mixing flavors into their teas and in Roalis they’d traded an entire pound of tea leaves for the iron sign that looked like a steaming teacup that hung on the front of their stall.

Cat blushed as she gestured to the sign. “I made that. I make jewelry and I make weapons. I really enjoyed making the sign and of course I made mine. After I finish this project,” she tapped her dress signaling to the pouch of jewels she carried. “I intend to trade some of the permanent vendors their wares for a custom sign. It would be a great way to have my work on display. Of course I will do your shears first.” She smiled. She wasn’t one to brag on herself but she knew she was good. She had to be. Which was why this particular commission she was working on now was so important. ”Do not disappoint me, dear.” The words rang in her ears. The threat hung over her head like a dark cloud and she could not hide the flash of fear on her face. But she shook it away just as quickly and smiled.

“I like to use my hands to make beautiful things.” She signed. “I like for them to have a purpose. A sign, a sword,” She smiled and gestured to the table. “A pair of shears. But I make jewelry too. Sometimes useful things can be made beautiful...and sometimes a thing’s use is to be beautiful. And...I make them both ways...”

She stopped abruptly as she realized she’d said a lot. She rarely talked about herself this much. But then how long had it been since she’d had a real conversation? She was overtaken, however, by the song the musician sang. She had been signing when he first began and hadn’t been paying attention but now his words broke through, as though they were meant for her. Don’t sink the boat you build to keep afloat.

Cat finished her tea and looked most uncomfortable. The jewels hanging from the pouch around her neck seemed to grow heavier and heavier. She could also see that the jewel merchant was in a deep conversation with one of the Seventen and was gesturing toward her. She shook it off once more and smiled politely, signing again. “Do you also make clothing with the fabrics you sell?”

[Aodh Elzo]

The 10th of Yaris, 2719, midday

A small crowd had once more gathered around Aodh as he played and sang, as this was a quieter part of the market. A few who knew the song sang along and Aodh smiled to hear it, looking out at the happy faces of those people around him, wick and human faces. Some work worn and weary, on errands for galdori masters. He that his song lifted their spirits for a time and helped them forget their cares.

“Sick and tired of what to say
Jumped away from the ball and chain
Breath, it's all you can
Rambling years of lousy luck
You miss the smell of burning turf
Dream, it's all you can
But don't, don't sink the boat
That you need, you build to keep afloat
No don't, don't sink the boat
That you built...
Singled out for who you are
Takes all types to be a man
Feel, it's all you can
Filthy suits with bigot ears
Hide behind their own worst fears
Live, it's all you can
It's all…
It's all you can... Do”

However as he played and sang he kept an eye out for passing Seventen or galdori who might take offence, or run him off or worse. Wouldn’t do to get arrested, just for a song.

“No don't, no don't sink the boat
That you built,
We all built to keep afloat
A ripe old age
I'm a ripe old age
That's what I am
Ripe old age
Ripe old age
A ripe old age
Just doin' the best I can
A ripe old age
A ripe old age
That's what I am
A ripe old age
That's what I am
Just doin' the best I can
The best I can…”

As the song came to an end and coins were dropped into his case and the crowd clapped as they dispersed. Aodh smiled and nodded his thanks and exchanged words with those he knew. Violin packed away and money safely in his waistcoat pockets Aodh decided to take a break, and as he was parched what better place than the nearby tea stall. He ordered a cup of cold mint tea, and moved into the seating area.
As he entered it took in his surroundings and that was when he spotted Ava Weaver, sat with a woman he thought he recognised from around the market. Aodh hadn’t see Ava since the night he’d appeared on her doorstep in a sorry state, a part of him wanted to turn and leave, so as not to disturb her. He dismissed it as it was very likely she would have seen him. So instead he smiled and nodded in greeting as he moved over to the table.

“Good afternoon Miss Weaver, tis grand to see you far'ye?”

He turned to the other woman and gave her a warm smile.

“An’ a pleasant afternoon to you as well miss. Sorry if I’m intruding.”

He took a sip from his tea, now he felt slightly foolish, walking over and now looming at their table like a ragged scarecrow.

‘Bloody fool.’ He thought to himself.