[Closed] Nighttime Delivery

[Catriona Fraser]

on the 20th of Yaris, 2719 • sunset

The sun slowly began to bow over the horizon giving way to the purples and pinks of a gorgeous sunset. As the sky darkened, so too did the narrow streets of the dives which only made them own up to the name given them. Cat hurried past the alleyways, holding her hood up over her head with one hand and clutching a small parcel in the other. She rarely found herself in the dives, except to make the occasional delivery, like today. It was easiest to stay near her forge, near familiar places and around people who knew who she was. In the dives, no one knew her from St Grumble, and she imagined no one cared to. It was just as well. Keeping to herself kept her out of trouble...usually.

Cat couldn’t get the meeting with Aodh out of her head. She waited with intense anxiety to hear of some tragic accident befalling a Galdor in uptown, or worse, a wick musician arrested for trespassing. She should have told him no. Should have insisted she was fine and sent him out the door with the promise of a banjo and nothing more. But Cat didn’t know how to handle kindness and concern. Business transactions and smithing soothed her, but as soon as things got personal she tended to fall apart.

Cat passed by what looked like a run down tavern that was bursting at the seams with people ending a hard days work with a stiff drink. She narrowly avoided bumping into a couple who laughingly stumbled past her into the tavern, having obviously gotten an early start to the evening.

But she didn’t just air all her dirty laundry! No. In the eight years she’d been in Vienda, Cat had not once confided her story to anyone, not even her full name except to a few. Telling the draper her full name had been more of an accident, the result of signing quickly instead of writing slowly. Plenty knew who Cat the smithy was, knew of her works and her business. But no one knew Catriona Fraser, the farmer’s daughter, and up until now she’d preferred to keep it that way. So when a galdor woman that she’d never met alluded strongly to her past...Cat couldn’t get it out of her head. And then she’d accosted her in her shop. Cat shuddered as she recalled the less than smooth retrieval of the sword she’d made.

So Aodh’s offer could not have come at a worse time. A time when she was desperate to keep the worst parts of her past a secret and was willing to do whatever it took to make that happen, including trusting a street musician with the task of gathering information. She hadn’t even stopped to think that he might learn the very thing she wanted to keep quiet.

But it was too late for that now, and as Cat found herself in the Painted Ladies, she shook away all of her doubts and anxieties to put on a smiling face as she made her way to the draper’s shop. Ava Weaver, who was, simply put, the most beautiful woman Cat had ever met, had commissioned a pair of silk shears and Cat couldn’t help but feel pride at the finished product. She knocked loudly on the door, hoping she wasn’t too late to catch the woman before she closed up shop.

[Ava Weaver]

Sunset, 20th Yaris, 2719
Woven Delights, The Painted Ladies

I
t had been a long, lovely sort of day. Ava was tempted, sometimes, to think poorly of her daily routine – to find the steady flow of customers in and out of the shop wearying, the oppressive Yaris heat draining, the need to put on a smiling, pleasant face for the occasional galdori customer unbearable. She had woken tangled in her sheets, with her heart pounding from a lingering dream she could not remember, uncomfortable in the Yaris heat, the stale breeze blowing in off through the small open window more taunting than refreshing. Even the small gray cat had been scarce, of late; Ava rather thought he had found some cooler place than the sweltering confines of her attic room, and she scarcely grudged him for it.

So Ava had woken, and there had already been the faintest pale gray light creeping in through the window, the first sliver of it after the long dark night without the faintest trace of Benea. Rather than try to sleep further, she had risen – she had done her morning chores with only half her mind, the rest busy in places she did not like to go, and it was only seated in front of her mirror, carefully applying her eyeliner with even smooth strokes, that she had started to come back to herself. She had stared at herself a good long moment in the mirror, and almost without thinking she had smiled at herself – the sort of warm, reassuring smile she might have given a customer who looked as she had, worried and pinched around the eyes.

And then Ava had laughed at herself, and finished her eyeliner, and painted on the rest of her lipstick. She had risen from her vanity, and worn her newest dress – pale yellow linen, still just ever so slightly rough to the touch, not yet broken into softness, with rutching over the chest, long straight sleeves, and a simple brown band at the waist, giving it just a hint of softness to the design before the skirt fell to the ground, pointed at the front and back with the faintest trace of brown embroidery at the hem.

She had opened the shop for the day, and let the world rush in, and instead of irritable she had felt gratitude, deep and profound, that this wonderful, busy, bustling life with all its secrets and dangers and possibilities was hers. She had settled behind her counter, and welcomed her customers one by one; she had nudged Mr. Carter towards a greener fabric than he had been considering, a soft summery linen that brought out the fineness of his eyes; she had laughed with Mrs. Boucher, kneeling on the floor to play peek-a-boo with her littlest boy as he crept out from behind her skirts; and she had had a long and serious chat in the hottest, quietest hours of the afternoon with Mr. Erskine, about the best pink silk for one of their shared galdori clients.

It had been with a full and happy heart that Ava had drawn the curtains over the large paned glass window at the front of the shop, that she had closed the door and locked it, and gone back to her counter, spreading out the first of the fabrics she would need to cut to send for the next day. She had made her way through the list of linens and cottons – linens for summer wear, cottons for those who needed something they could wear as the chill began to creep back in the air, as it eventually must. She usually preferred to cut her silk first, slippery as it was, but the sheers had been growing ever harder to use, and she had thought to do the linen and cotton, take a break for dinner, and come back refreshed to the silk, ready to use all the patient skill she had built over the years to coax it into submission.

The knock at the door caught Ava by surprise mid-cut, and her hands went utterly still – it had not been a new habit for her, to respond to surprises with stillness, but it was one she had cultivated yet further, as a deep or jagged cut of fabric might ruin an entire piece. She had not expected anyone, and for a moment she thought of blond hair scraped back in a bun, of a handsome face made worn by the worries of the day, and she –

Ava put those thoughts aside, and set the piece of light blue linen down, and made her way to the front of the shop. She glanced through the hidden little peephole, and it was Cat that she saw on the step – Cat, the blacksmith she had met only a week ago (had it been only a week!) on a tenth she had taken for errands, the young woman with the painful-looking scar and the worse galdori clients, from whom she had commissioned a pair of silk shears. Who, Ava remembered well, she had asked to come see her once that other commission – that terrible sword – had been finished.

It was no trouble at all to open the door and to greet Cat with a warm, friendly smile. It was sunset, but Ava’s make-up looked as fresh as it had that morning, the soft black curls of her hair no more mussed than they had been when she had set them close to dawn. “Cat!” She said, and the pleasure of it showed in her voice and on her face. “Oh, how lovely of you to come by. Please, do come in.”

Ava stepped back and held open the door. The curtains were drawn over the window display, so Cat’s first sight of the shop would be the interior – dimly lit in the evening light, with the only true light over the counter at the back end, but still full of colors and fabrics. Shelves lined every wall and the spaces between and fabrics filled them all. Just next to the door was a display of silks mingled with linen and cotton, a burst of light greens that tumbled down over themselves like a waterfall, the textures mingled together so that one never quite knew what the next fold would bring, cool and welcoming, as if to say that even the Yaris heat could not dampen her spirits. Yellows were most on prominent throughout the shelves, though – some light fabrics hanging from the ceiling, swathes of it that called the eye to the displays below, the two colors together like a summer garden, made pale by the heat but no less lovely for it.

“How have you been?” Ava asked, and her voice was as soft and gentle as the fabrics, welcoming and easy. She held there for a moment, and her eyes dropped politely to Cat's hands, careful not to turn her back on the other woman.

[Catriona Fraser]

on the 20th of Yaris, 2719 • sunset

Cat ducked her head and smiled as Ava welcomed her. Now that she was back in her presence, it was easy to see how she’d been able to let her feelings go in front of her. The woman radiated goodness and that no doubt made it easy to trust her.

Tonight was no exception, as Ava Weaver looked like a painting that someone had painstakingly spent hours on. Once again, Cat found herself staring, and had to quickly pull her gaze away. And as she did so, her eyes fell on the colors and shapes of all the gorgeous fabrics that filled the shops. Cat was unaware of how she became entranced, walking almost involuntarily to a nearby shelf and running her fingers across a yellow-orange suede-like bolt of fabric.

“Your shop is beautiful.” She signed, her eyes lit up in awe as she continued to turn in a circle, taking in all the colors. None of them were as beautiful, though, as Ava herself. Cat chided herself at this thought and blushed deeply as she looked back at the draper. She smiled and held out the parcel, a box wrapped in butcher paper. After handing it off she signed, “I hope they work well for you.”

But she knew they would. Under the butcher paper was the signature wooden box and burnished into the top was the same logo as the one on her sign. Inside the box, atop a soft velvet, laid a pair of silvered silk shears.

They’d been an interesting make and Cat, who was usually very confident in her own work, had found it difficult to simply make them and be done. For some reason, she couldn’t explain, she desperately wanted to please Ava Weaver. After she had finished the shears themselves, she couldn’t help adding her own artistic flourish, dipping all but the blades into the molten silver, and then trapped in the handle where one would put their thumb, was a line of sapphires, four of them, just because. The blades were, of course, freshly sharpened and likely still smelled a bit like the oil Cat had used to polish them.

“It’s alright if you don’t like them. They’re a bit...” her signs trailed off, because deep down she knew there was no fault in them but also couldn’t help but feel self conscious.

Why did she feel this way? Her hands shook as she signed, her heart was racing. Was she getting sick? She couldn’t afford to get sick. But she hadn’t felt like this before she’d entered the shop. Maybe she was allergic to something. But even that she doubted. Not unless there was a fabric allergy she’d not heard of. No, this was something else and she tried desperately to shake it off as she rocked back and forth on her heels and watched Ava inspect the shears. She noted how the light behind her bounced off her dark curls, but seemed make her tan skin glow as it shone past her. The rutching on her dress hugged her figure perfectly, until the brown waist gave way to more yellow that dripped off of her like golden waves until they came to a point at her ankles. Cat took in her smile, painted lips that turned upward cordially but not gleefully as though perhaps her warmth was something practiced, but genuine all the same. The shop seemed to grow warmer around her, surely, because Cat couldn’t imagine why she seemed to be flush at the moment. She blamed the Yaris heat, at sunset...of course...yes it had to be...something else...

[Ava Weaver]

Sunset, 20th Yaris, 2719
Woven Delights, The Painted Ladies

Ava watched Cat enter the shop with a little smile. She tried not to stare, but she was glad when Cat stepped to a bolt of lovely orange-yellow sueded cotton and brushed her fingers over the soft, treated fabric. She had only just starting try to sell a handful of sueded fabrics – they were a new import for her, and she was pleased that many of her customers seemed interested in them, although she hadn’t yet had much success in actually selling them.

“Thank you,” Ava said, smiling, at the compliment, accepting it with distinct pleasure. It was not Cat’s words so much as her wide-eyed manner that made Ava glad. She had thought to invite Cat into the back room – to sit and talk, perhaps, and come to the parcel that Cat had tucked beneath her arm. Instead, Cat handed the parcel to her in the middle of the store.

Ava took it, dark-lacquered nails glinting in the lamplight, and carefully undid the butcher paper, not ripping so much as a tiny corner of it. She set it to the side, and admired the box with a smile, the logo burnished into the top. She opened it, slowly, and her eyes widened. Ava glanced down at the shears, then back at Cat, who was signing that she hoped they worked, that it was all right if Ava didn’t like them – her hands were shaking slightly, Ava noticed, distantly, and she trailed off into stillness.

Ava glanced back down at the shears. She thought of her current pair – rough, old things, almost impossible to keep sharp, always threatening to catch on the fabric, well-used. It had seemed enough of an extravagance to commission a new pair, but she had justified it to herself with the sheer necessity of the things; she sold a good deal of silk, and she would make it back to herself in the fabric she didn’t ruin, in the extra time she would have in the evenings.

The silk shears that Cat had made were lovely – beyond lovely. There was no denying it; they reminded Ava more of jewelry than tools, although she had no doubt that they would cut her silk perfectly. She thought of their bargaining in the tea shop – one shill, three tallies, a hard-fought price, coins scrimped and saved from her daily expenses, carved out of the back of her shop. She looked back down at the shears, and she wondered if all those coins would cover even one of the sapphires.

“They’re beautiful,” Ava said, looking back up at Cat, but her voice was soft and a little sad. She looked at the smith’s nervous, eager face, and she was not sure what she wished, but she knew it couldn’t be. “I have no doubt they'd work well, truly, but I…” Slowly, regretfully, Ava closed the box. She didn’t force the box back into Cat’s hands, but she held it away from herself, just a little, as if it might lessen the temptation. “I can’t accept…” she swallowed, her eyes as soft as her voice. Her head shook side to side, just once. “They’re worth so much more than I can afford.”

[Catriona Fraser]

on the 20th of Yaris, 2719 • sunset

Cat stared blankly as Ava looked at the shears, and then everything kicked into overdrive. She hadn’t even answered Ava who’d inquired how she’d been. She’d just walked in, turned around, and shoved the box at her. Clocking hell she was bad at this.

At her refusal, Cat visibly deflated. Of course she’d made them too extravagant. How stupid she was! She knew better than to do more than one was paid for. Who was she trying to impress? Better yet, why was she trying to impress this draper who’d simply commissioned her to make something like so many other customers? And now how to explain herself? Oh the sapphires were just lying around? How to convince this woman to keep the shears and pay what was agreed upon? And then for some reason Cat found herself thinking that Ava need not pay for the shears at all...where the clock did that come from? Since when did anyone not have to pay for her work? And now she was just standing there, in stunned silence, trying to appear stoic as her face turned red yet again and her hands shook as she prepared to sign words that hadn’t quite come to her yet.

Part of her, a very large part, wanted to turn and run. To leave the shop and never return. But then that wouldn’t work because Ava literally knew where she lived. And then the other part wanted to snatch the shears from her hands and march them back to the forge, melt them down, and start over. Finally after standing there trying not to cry for what felt like an eternity, the words found her and flowed from her hands at a speed the likes of which Ava likely would have a hard time following.

“I made them with pride and without thinking. I made them because...because I very much wanted you to like them. I had the sapphires and they were pretty and you...” she faltered for a moment, having started to say that Ava was also pretty. Instead she hovered her finger, pointing at Ava in the air before finishing her sentence differently. “...you were kind.”

Had she been honest, Cat would have told her how she thought of someone like her using the things she was making. How when she’d finished the shears, they didn’t seem good enough for someone like Ava. And now for the life of her Cat couldn’t figure out what that meant. And she certainly couldn’t say it.

“I’ve offended you and I’m very sorry.”

That much was true. That much was tangible. She had not meant to overstep and yet she had very much done just that. How to fix it? She could offer a trade but anything Ava gave Cat in trade would still set her back as much as giving her coin would. The more Cat thought of it the more she realized that this wasn’t just a social faux pas. This was bad business. And she still couldn’t explain why she’d done it.

Cat stepped closer to the draper and put her hands in front of her, signing deliberately and slowly. “But I must confess they are not at all as extravagant as you might expect. Sapphires can be expensive, but these I received from a jeweler at a great discount while buying for another job.” This was true, she hadn’t bought the sapphires specially. They had been surplus and the perfect tiny additions to the handle of the shears. The necklace that the lot had been purchased for had been a nightmare.

Cat leaned in and touched the handle of the shears before signing. “The silvering of the handle is just good for small tools. It makes the shears a far more comfortable hold and allows one to use them longer.”

Cat wasn’t sure if she was making things better or worse and she wondered if Ava could now also hear Cat’s heart racing. Thank goodness humans didn’t have fields cause there was no telling what Cat’s would look like if she had one. She signed quickly. “So you see they aren’t that great and you should just take them because you need a good pair of shears and I’ve made just that. And I was going to likely hand the money right back as I’ve a need for new material because my clothes are in a state and I’ve been needing new material to make more...” she trailed off. Now she was just rambling and rambling in sign was every bit as embarrassing as rambling spoken words if not more so.

Car stepped back and clasped her hands together in front of her like a child waiting to either be admonished or dismissed.

[Ava Weaver]

Sunset, 20th Yaris, 2719
Woven Delights, The Painted Ladies

T
here was a truly terrible moment in which Ava had genuinely thought Cat would begin to cry. She stood there in the middle of the shop, holding the box, the sun sinking ever lower outside; there was a faint glow around the edges of her curtains as the streetlamps outside were lit, making a neat line down the edge of the soft fabric. Ava held still and patient, and did not speak again, giving Cat time to master herself. She wished –

But she had meant what she said, and she could not take it back, no matter that Cat looked as if Ava had slapped her. The other woman’s hands were shaking, and her face was reddening, her blush just visible in the dim light, and despite herself Ava felt an odd sort of heat behind her eyes, felt Cat’s pain somewhere in her chest – but she kept her lips together.

Cat’s hands began to move abruptly, so fast that Ava could scarcely follow. She inhaled, sharply, wanting to ask Cat to slow down – and could not find it in herself to interrupt, fearful that if she did Cat would either begin to cry or would leave entirely. She was still just standing there, holding the box, and her shoulders sank slightly when Cat looked at her and told her she had been kind.

Cat stepped forward, and tried to explain again – signing slower this time, slow enough that Ava could nearly follow, or at least easily enough fill in that which was missing. She found herself opening the box again, the gorgeous shears framed by the soft velvet inside, as Cat gestured to them. And then she sped up again and Ava lost track one more – she thought Cat was encouraging her to take them, and then there was a shift and she caught the word for clothing, material – and then Cat clasped her hands together and stepped back, and Ava half expected her to bow her head.

Ava took a deep breath. Carefully, she shut the box again and set it off to the side, on one of the shelves. She didn’t know what to do; she couldn’t accept the shears for the price they’d set, and she didn’t have the coin for more. But neither did she feel able to send Cat forcefully away with them, because it was obvious how badly that would hurt her, and Ava didn’t want to do that either. She reached forward, and settled her hands around Cat’s, gently, holding them for just a moment.

“We’ll work it out,” Ava said, simply. She didn’t know how – she couldn’t think of how – but she wanted Cat to know that she meant to try. She smiled again, softly, and let go of the younger girl’s hands.

“Would you like to sit down?” Ava asked. “I’ve some space in the back.” She wanted, first and foremost, to help Cat find some calmness; the smith looked so shaken and upset, and Ava wasn’t sure she could bear the sight of her trembling in the middle of the store any longer. She stepped back, taking the box again, and gently urged Cat with her if she hesitated, although she didn’t touch her again.

There was a small door behind the counter; Ava pushed it open in a back room that seemed layered in fabric, swaths of it hanging from every wall, warm and friendly and comforting. There were two cheerfully upholstered couches with a table between them. Ava set the box down on the table, and gestured to one of the couches. “Stay here,” she told Cat, rather firmly, and shut the door to the shop as if to emphasize her point. “I’d just set some water to boil. Let me go and make us some tea.”

Ava watched Cat a moment longer, as if half expecting that the girl would be gone when she returned, and then she turned and slipped behind one of the swaths of fabric, and Cat would hear the soft sound of her slippers against stairs, see just the barest outline of her shape moving up. There was a quiet click eventually, and then silence.

A few moments later, there was a soft little thump, a swishing sound, and something small that seemed to lash out against the fabric just below the top of the stairs. There was a pause, then, and then just the faintest trace of noise. The curtain at the bottom of the stairs bulged, close to the ground, and a small sleek gray cat wound his way out of the fabric, tail waving behind him like a banner. He meandered casually across the room, sniffed at Cat’s feet, and sat, tail lashing back and forth. Then, utterly unperturbed, as if he spent every night here and was utterly the master of this domain, he began to wash himself, sticking one leg straight up and lapping vigorously at some offending patch of fur.

[Catriona Fraser]

on the 20th of Yaris, 2719 • sunset

A shockwave went through Cat as Ava placed her hands over her own. Cat looked at them, confused, but mostly sad. Sad because she now realized what this was. This was pity. The poor girl who can’t so much as speak a word has offended you but don’t dare acknowledge it because she might cry. And Cat had no one to blame for it but herself. If she’d done simply what she was asked to do, they’d simply have done the transaction and that would be the end of it. And if she’d simply nodded and walked away when Ava refused then she also wouldn’t be in this situation. Shit!

Then her hands were gone, and Cat wanted desperately to reach out and grab them again. To let her know that this was all a big misunderstanding. They would figure it out, she’d said. That meant that Ava wasn’t going to shove her out the door. That might even mean Cat could convince her to even keep the shears that she’d worked on so tediously. If Cat had her way, there’d be nothing to figure at all. There was no more owed than what was agreed upon. Any embellishments were hers to make all her own. If it meant she made less profit that was her business. In her head that sounded well and good. But Cat was hardly the go forth and conquer type. Things rarely did go her way and she’d learned to accept that. So she did not tell Ava that the Yaris heat was nothing compared to what she felt around her. That it had been her own lapse in sanity that made her go all out on something that was simply a tool. And that that lapse in sanity came about from thinking about how beautifully the silver and sapphires would compliment her hands as she used them. No, she would keep those thoughts to herself for now.

Her hands now held in front of her clasped together, she walked behind Ava and followed her to the back room that was covered in even more fabric. It seemed Ava did so like to use all the colors she procured to decorate her space. She was told to stay here, sitting on the couch. Cat felt no different than if she’d been caught sneaking sweets as a child.

As soon as Ava disappeared and could be heard walking up stairs, Cat stood as well. She could be out of the shop and halfway down the street before Ava returned. She could be...but she didn’t want to be. She found herself pacing back and forth between the chairs, her hands moving in time with her thoughts. She often signed to herself in the way any other person would talk to themselves. She told herself that if Ava continued to refuse them then she would not object any further. Frankly she should not have objected this far. Frankly she’d probably only succeeded in embarrassing herself and the draper. Her hands shook as she made the motions of each sign as quickly as her thoughts came to her.

The sudden noise of something brushing against fabric made Cat sit back down abruptly in the chair, not wanting to give the impression that she was acting on her first impulse to flee the shop. But it wasn’t Ava who emerged from behind the fabric curtains lining the walls. It was a gray cat that jumped down onto the floor with an air of importance that only a cat could muster. As it began cleaning itself, Cat couldn’t help but reach down to run her hands over its fur. It didn’t seem to pay her any attention or even give any acknowledgement of her affection. So Cat kept petting the cat, the irony not at all lost on her.

It didn’t take long for the cat to finally respond to her pets, though it didn’t seem to be in a cuddling kind of mood, more just tolerating Cat’s advances as she lowered herself from the chair to the floor to be closer to it. There was nothing quite like petting an animal that calmed one’s soul. And so she was. Happy and content to be on the floor with this animal, quietly mimicking the mewing sounds, to the best of her ability.

[Ava Weaver]

Sunset, 20th Yaris, 2719
Woven Delights, The Painted Ladies

Ava had made her way to the top of the stairs, and opened the hatch to see the small gray cat back from his wanderings, sitting comfortably just at the edge of the opening, his tail curled around him with the edge lashing lightly against the floor.

Ava had extended her hand to him, and held, still and patient, while he sniffed at it. Only when he bumped her fingers with his head had she began to pet him, stroking his fur and scratching the spot at the back of his skull that always made a rumbling purr echo through him.

Ava had left him to make his own choices as she went to the kettle, and glanced back once to see the end of his tail vanishing down the stairs. The water was just beginning to boil, and so Ava let it go as she took out her small kettle and scooped tea leaves into it. It was usually her way to reuse old leaves, to eke a little more from them, but even if she went down and found Cat had gone, Ava did not grudge herself a fresh pot of tea tonight. She poured the water over the leaves, and set a little pot of sugar on the tray, along with two sturdy cups, slightly worn.

Ava made her way steadily down the stairs, slow and even and balanced, with the ease of considerable practice. She emerged from the curtain to see Cat crouched on the floor, the gray cat tolerating her attentions with the faintest beginning of a rumbling purr, and Ava smiled.

Ava had no idea how the little gray cat conducted himself in the rest of the world; he carried himself with such confidence that she could not see him submitting to other cats, not easily. But in her home he had only once not displayed perfect manners, and she considered that the lapse had not been only on his end. He seemed, tonight, to play the part of gracious host as comfortably as anyone could have asked.

Ava set the tray down on the small table, and took a seat, settling her hands in her lap and looking at Cat. She had rather hoped that the time away would have given her an idea of how to handle this - of what to say or do to make this easier, to find the strength to refuse or a way to accept, but she felt as lost as she had before going up the stairs.

"How did things go with the sword?" Ava asked softly. It wasn't putting it off, she told herself; it would help her to know what else was going on for Cat, what the background to silvered sapphire shears was. The tea needed a few moments still to steep, but she would pour it soon.

The little gray cat would follow Cat if she sat again, hoping comfortably into her lap and making himself at home.

[Catriona Fraser]

on the 20th of Yaris, 2719 • sunset

Cat did not look up from petting the cat when Ava returned. She did, however, settle back into the chair, unable to hide a smile when the cat made itself at home in her lap. She continued stroking its fur, trying not to disturb it anymore than necessary.

At the mention of the sword, Cat’s face grew dark, her brow furrowing slightly. Cat did not lie. And if she did, she did so terribly. Her hands poised at the ready to give some sort of simple answer and after a minute she settled on, “It went as well as could be expected.”

Cat was really really bad at this! But how could anyone expect her to be good at talking to people when she couldn’t talk to people? The number of people who showed up at her door understanding Signed Estuan, she could count on her hand! And now here was this woman, beautiful, graceful, with nary a hair out of place. How could one not be enamored by her? How could she not lose herself in the very thought of her? She couldn’t.

In very small motions, she signed, as slowly as she felt acceptable to make herself understood, “I am sorry.”

She couldn’t stop apologizing. For what though? For making something to the best of her ability? Cat didn’t manage money well by many people’s standards but she got by. Profit wasn’t important to her. As long as she was able to afford the rent and necessities, she didn’t care how much money she made. It didn’t make sense to her how people could hoard wealth. That was a galdori trait. Humans couldn’t expect to become wealthy in a place like Vienda. That was never her goal. So if she had four clocking extra sapphires that she wanted to jam into some shears then she’d do damn well as she pleased.

How to explain that? Could she just say those things? Was that acceptable? Maybe not those last few things. And who even got to decide what was acceptable? Cat had nearly pet the cat in her lap to sleep and she wondered if it was getting annoyed with her. Get in line kitty.

[Ava Weaver]

Sunset, 20th Yaris, 2719
Woven Delights, The Painted Ladies

Ava watched Cat’s face as she spoke, and her hands as well, taking in the whole picture of her rather than trying to glance between. Her brow had furrowed at the question, and she had hesitated long enough to give Ava the answer before she found the words to complete it. Ava nodded gently at the answer and did not press; she understood already.

Cat signed an apology, her hands moving slowly and carefully, as if she wished to make very sure that Ava would understand. Ava smiled at her. She sat straight and upright, her skirt spread softly out on the couch, without so much as a wrinkle in the smooth fabric. When she leaned forward to pour the tea, she kept the smooth line of her back straight and upright, but she made it look natural – as if there could be no other way of leaning forward which would be so comfortable for her.

Ava lifted the teapot, the white ceramic gleaming softly in the dim light of the back room, hand painted flowers brushed over the curves of it. She poured the cups, one for Cat first, dark liquid steaming smoke into the air of the backroom. “Sugar?” She asked; what little milk she had would be saved for the gray cat, if he wished to stay once Cat had gone.

Once the tea was made, Ava would gently set the cup and its saucer in front of Cat, then pour her own tea, adding a little sugar to it. She set it down in front of herself, and sat back, her hands folding together in her lap again, and looked at Cat.

It was, Ava thought, a faintly ridiculous apology, and so well meant that Ava could not take any further offense at it. Ava was not unaware of the red flush that had crept over Cat’s face at the sight of her. It was harder to read familiar cues into the movements of hands rather than the trembling of words, but Ava thought she had gotten enough to put something of the picture together. She did not look at the embossed wooden box sitting on the table, but she could not but be aware of it, could not but think of the shears inside, sitting on their soft bed of velvet – of the silvered handle, the little fragments of sapphire which would gleam so prettily in the light.

Ava had worn jewels before, dangling from her ear or hung around her neck; she remembered, all too well, the weight of the garnet earrings she had worn in Roalis, the feeling of them as they had hung from her ears, how heavy they had been by the end of the night. She had worn beautiful, expensive things of all sorts, and they had come from a place of terrible ugliness, and when she thought of them, it was with no wistfulness or longing. The dresses she wore now were lovely; she put care and effort into them, and she chose the fabrics carefully, to make herself into an advertisement for her shop, to make herself into how she wanted to be seen, to make herself into who she wanted to be.

Ava rather thought she would have been glad never to have another jewel against her skin ever again; she rather thought she would have been glad never to be given another gift of such things, no matter what Cat did or did not think her kindness merited. She would not deny that she had been kind, but to receive such an expensive gift in exchange felt as if it cheapened it – cheapened her. She knew that to be her own failing and none of Cat’s fault, and that she might have been able to set aside, if not for all the rest.

“They’re as much a work of art as a tool,” Ava said, gently. She had meant it as a compliment; when it emerged, she realized she was not sure if Cat would take it that way.

Ava sighed, softly; her posture stayed impeccable, but she managed to give a sense of loosening about her shoulders nonetheless. “I can’t accept them for the price we agreed upon,” Ava said, finally. She was quiet, thinking over her stock – thinking what she might offer Cat that would be an appropriate exchange, thinking with an aching heart of all the careful figures she wrote day by day, the slim profit she eked out from all the expenses of running a business and a house, from amidst the taxes and the fees and the bargaining and all the expenses she could never write down.

“It's clear how hard you worked on these,” Ava said, looking across the room at Cat, “I'm grateful for that, and I think that I could it. But the silvering and the sapphires – I need to know those were paid for, and properly. I can’t afford them in coin, but perhaps in fabric.”