An acrobat drew gasps and applause from a group of watching tourists as Imogen trudged by, struggling to carry a new dress form mannequin she had just bought. It was a golly-form mannequin, smaller and slimmer than the human-form one she already had, but it was awkward and heavy to carry and Imogen wasn’t entirely sure of the way back to the boarding house. Nevertheless, after a curious peek at the performing acrobat’s tricks and stunts, she carried on, with her arms wrapped around the mannequin’s waist and the base dragging and bouncing on the cobbles as she went.

Every street was busy with workers, shoppers and tourists and Imogen noticed that she was getting a few odd looks here and there as she lugged her shapely friend along. She regarded the widows of some clothes shops as she went, noting the quality and style of their wares for future reference. Since moving to Vienda, she had spent any free time that she had exploring the city and she enjoyed discovering its many dens and corners. She loved meeting and observing all the different types of people there too, but most of all, she loved the men. Vienda’s gentlemen were nothing at all like those back home in Dutaim. To her they were fascinating and sophisticated; some of them even held doors open for her, or called her “miss”. She liked that.

Imogen walked in what she thought was the right direction for a while, then when she came to The Pools, she was stumped as to which way to go next... but she was in no hurry. She stopped to take a break by the entrance to The Pools and stood the dress form beside her as she watched customers come and go. She leaned with an elbow on the mannequin’s shoulder and decided that she would pay a visit to public baths some time soon.

Imogen smiled, gazing at a group of young men as they entered the baths.

Mr. Oranos didn't need her in the Stag, not everyday, now that Jane was boarding there. Vicka was free to carry on her healing as she always had during the day.

She was just coming back from Mr. Rawdor's house--silly man, he was a carpenter who never failed to miss his own body, it would be funny if the wounds were not so gruesome every time--when she turned her head to watch a few attractive kovs walk into the Pools when she stopped dead and broke into a smile.

"I'll be blowed!" she declared. "Imogen, imagine seeing you here!"

Vicka trotted over to her, raising an eyebrow at the mannequin. "Who's your friend, love? A business associate?"

Turning at the sound of her name, Imogen looked to see Vicka, a witch who lived one floor up from her and who she saw in passing fairly regularly. They had only spoken with any length a couple of times before and they'd shared a drink once. Imogen smiled, always glad to see a familiar face.

She put her arm around the mannequin’s waist “Aye, we’re just stopping briefly to enjoy the sights.” her bandaged fingers tapped against the mannequin as she glanced around again and then turned back to Vicka.
“I thought I should probably get one of these. Might help me earn an extra shill or two a month.”

Imogen lifted the mannequin up off the ground again and looked down the street. “Where you off to Vicka? Any chance you could give me a clue as to the way home? I bought this silly thing and then got myself lost.”

Vicka grinned. "Oh, chance that I'm going back home m'self," she said. She held up her bag of tricks, a little brown canvas affair with a wooden handle. It was full of her poultices and bandages and needles; she always found it odd that she'd never been a fair hand at sewing cloth, but could neaten a gash in a trice.

"I got to drop this off and then neaten up before I head off to the Stag," Vicka explained. "I landed a job there, proprietor has an eye for chips. Of course, it's the only eye he's got."

She chuckled a bit at her own joke. Then her expression dropped a bit, exposing a little bit of the concern she'd been harboring all morning.

"If you're free, you ought to drop in and visit," she said. "It's going to be dismal tonight as is. Have you heard the decree?"

“I’ve heard, all right,” Imogen nodded “Just my luck; a month after I move to the city to indulge in its many pleasures, they do away with our right to enjoy a bit of rotgut every now and then!”

She paused to push her hair out of her face. “However, Vicka my dear, yours is the best offer I’ve had all day, so I’ll gladly take you up on it.”

She started walking in the direction that Vicka had been going and sneaked a glance at the wick’s bag as they went. Imogen caught a pungent but rather pleasant whiff on the breeze which seemed to come from the bag and her curiosity got the better of her.

“You work as healer to get by too don’t you? Where'd you learn that?” She paused in her questions, but only because she was struggling to scratch an itch on her nose. “How bad of an injury can you fix?”

"Glad to hear it, love," Vicka said. The smile returned to her face and she lead the way; she'd lived in that same boarding house for maybe a year now, she could find it in her sleep.

"Oh, m'da was a spoke healer," Vicka said amiably. "He taught me all the important things: not to be squeamish and not to judge."

That was important. It was one thing to ask what had happened, but Vicka never let her own judgment influence her healing. That sorry kov could be an idiot all he wanted; oh well, more money to her. She wouldn't deny anyone.

"I mended a hole in some poor fellow's ribs the other day, and just now I'm coming back from a nail to the thigh. People get into such fixes. And factory work is brutal. I can fix most hurts if I'm there quick enough, but they don't always come get me right away, you know, that's what does 'em in."

They turned a corner and walked past shops that were closing up for the day. “Well I know who to come to next time I nearly lop a finger off with my shears.” Imogen watched people locking up for the evening and wondered if she’d ever be fortunate enough to sell her clothes from a shop, rather than having a market trader sell them for her and take a chunk of her profits.

“By the by, if you ever need some new clothes making up, I’ll be happy to give you a discount. You can even have ‘em for free if you don’t mind me using any odds and ends I have lying about.”

The mannequin slipped a little, so Imogen hitched up a knee, pushing it back upwards. “I need to acquaint myself with some strong obliging men, I think. Fetching and carrying just doesn’t do it for me.”

The sky had begun to grey over as evening was drawing in, but Vienda was as alive and restless as ever – another way in which the city differed so much from Dutaim. Back there, almost everything stopped when the sun went down.

Imogen followed Vicka’s lead as they turned another corner. “What’s the new job like then? Any fun?”

"That's very swell of you," Vicka said, truly pleased, and a little surprised. "I don't even mind odds and ends. Even us unmobile witches like to stand out a bit. I think perhaps the same principle might prove true for whatever we end up serving tonight."

She winked. Vicka pointed down a street before she turned. "This way's always a little quicker, love, and fewer Seventen in general. I hate the main road for it, but I suppose they just have a grudge against me."

Vicka looked up at the sky, perhaps wondering if it was going to rain again and if she should bother with Cal's coat. She had a long shift tonight, after skipping most of yesterday to deal with her sister-in-laws's children for almost no money, on account of them being family. All but two little girls, too young to work yet, had come down with coughing fits that disturbed her and made her think of how her mum had died. Vienda was harsh sometimes, but it was her home.

"The Stag is a grand place," Vicka said. "There's me, I'm usually in the front. The boss is this great big one-eyed brawler who guzzles whiskey with his morning toast. And our cook, our Jane, she's a sweet thing right out of the countryside. Very innocent, I'm thinking, genuinely pure, but she's a hand in the kitchen. And of course then we have Ted. I dunno what he does. I think Mr. Oranos--he's the boss--takes him on charity."

Imogen frowned a little at the mention of the seventen. She had seen them many times since she came to Vienda, abusing and harassing more people than she cared to count. She had come to the conclusion that the best thing to do was to avoid them as much as possible.

The streets and buildings they were passing had started to look a little familiar and Imogen knew that they weren’t far from home now, which was fortunate as her arms were beginning to ache and the sky only grew darker.

She listened as Vicka told her about her new job and inwardly ached slightly for the days when she worked with her mother or the other young women of Dutaim. She was content to work as a dressmaker to get by, but she had had to work harder than she ever knew she could to pay the rent this month. On the odd occasion, the day had seemed to slip away from her. She’d be straight to work as soon she woke and before she knew it, a whole day would have passed and Imogen had done nothing but sit at the table in her small room and produce piles of clothing to be carried off to the market the next morning. She was happy to do it for now, though, just to prove that she could.

Amused by Vicka’s description of The Stag and its workers, Imogen smiled a little. “Sounds like a good place. I haven’t visited it yet, I'm not entirely sure where it is.”

Vicka shrugged with only one shoulder. "It's just outside the Soot District. It's not that far to walk. Oh, there it is!"

She pointed to their boarding house, a decent enough building that lodged primarily lone working women like themselves. Vicka liked it for the peace and the company and the near deaf proprietress, who never batted an eye when she brought home a 'friend'--Vicka was unsure if she even noticed.

"Home sweet home," Vicka said. She glanced at the mannequin again, imaging hauling it up their narrow stairs. "If you want to come down tonight, I'm sure you could find some strong and obliging men to carry your things, but as I'm the only one you have at hand, we'll have to manage that dummy upstairs together."

“Well, my thanks for your help, Vicka. I owe you a favour.” They arrived at the doorstep of the tall red brick building and Imogen pushed open the door, which would sometimes be left unlocked during daylight hours. She lifted the mannequin by the base, leaning the head towards Vicka so she could take hold of it and then stepped inside.

The hallway was quite dim, but several voices could be heard coming from the rooms above. Imogen only lived on the second storey, but the stairs were narrow and there was a corner to negotiate on the way up. She realised her luck of running into Vicka as they began to carry the heavy dress form upstairs. She’d have had to drag the thing up there by the base had she been alone.

After leaving a scratch or two on the stairway walls, they reached Imogen’s door and set the mannequin down. She fished about in her pockets for her key and smiled appreciatively. “Thank you for that.”

"Tch. You think I'd let you haul this monster up by yourself?" Vicka mocked a stern scowl, as she did sometimes to children who would not drink their medicine or complained about the smell of her poultices. Then she laughed.

Vicka squeezed past and climbed a few steps up to the third storey, where she rented out a little room that smelled like ostas and herbal remedies. She didn't even keep an osta, it was a mystery to her where that stink came from. Vicka stopped and turned her upper body around, leaning on the narrow railing.

"Now you remember the Stag, alright?" she asked. Vicka winked. "Plenty of obliging fellows there, you hear? If you need directions, I go down there almost everyday at about twenty-five o'clock, sometimes a little sooner. Oh, except the threes, those are my days off."

Imogen nodded and waved to Vicka as she unlocked her door and stepped inside. She cleared some space by her small window and stood the mannequin there. She had spotted a street vendor on the way home who was selling fried hingle and noodles which had Imogen’s mouth watering. She started to check her pockets for money, but decided that it would be better spent on something else.

There were a couple of apples in her cupboard that would make do for her dinner. She took one and sat on her bed to eat it. Her floor was littered with scraps of fabric and loose threads. She hadn’t brought much with her from Dutaim; just some clothes, a few keepsakes and her dressmaking tools, but her work took up most of the space in her room. She needed the two dress forms, a table on which to work and space to hang finished clothes, so the room always looked cluttered and smaller than it actually was.

Imogen kicked the shoes off her aching feet and lay down on the bed, propped up by one elbow as she continued to much on the apple. She finished it and threw the core into her rubbish basket, then decided to sleep for a while before going out again.

(( End of thread. ))