[R1 evening, Umbida's] Quiet Night [Open]

JaderGader

Ellie nearly jumped out of her skin. Coffee. Right. She reminded herself she was at work and not walking the gardens of her old neighborhood in Brunnhold. She glanced at the mug in her hands and tried to remember what order she had been filling.

She wafted the steam toward her face, nearly melting in the mugginess but recognizing the soft hints of floral scent-- was that honeysuckle? No, jasmine. A South Island blend. Right, the fellow with the beads in his strawberry-blond hair, ink under his nails, and carefree dress. The exotic-looking man who looked like he had some kind of ties to Anaxas. The attractive one. 

That's what had distracted her. Her mind started to wander when she imagined what a courtship might look like here in Mugroba and started to imagine what it would have looked like back home.

She shook herself and put the coffee on a tray. Besides, she wasn't even positive of his background-- he looked much like the wandering wicks of Anaxas with that hair, but his field spoke for itself. Her parents might not like her even talking to someone lower class. But, then, what exactly were they these days? Refugees. Class didn't even come into it. That was why she was working in a coffee shop. 

Right. Working. Taking a deep breath while no one was watching, she rounded the end of the counter and approached his table. She leaned over to place his mug in front of him. "Your coffee," she said quietly.

That was funny. She knew he had a field, she had sensed it before. But now it was-- she realized he had drawn it in, and glanced at his expression and the next table over. Ah. Some custom or rank thing? She still didn't understand all the workings of this city, but it was obvious he was trying not to let his field be noticed by the others. But they had fields themselves, didn't they? Wouldn't they welcome another galdor? She sighed internally, feeling confused, but wishing she could help. She bit her lip briefly, then stepped a little closer, lowering her tray and bowing her head demurely, "Can I get you anything else?" 

Maybe adding her field to the mix might be a problem, but maybe it might help him hide his a little longer. She knew he couldn't be comfortable like that.

Sular

"And a good evening to you, master printer," said Faraji, saluting with his glass and deftly selecting one of pieces of fried cheese with long, delicate fingers. They were quite good, he knew this of old, and he had no compunction about dining on another man's tab. They had been offered in any event.

"These must be heady times for you and your fellows. Or so one would think. I've been trying to keep and eye out for a new printer, my own has deserted me and left me quite abandoned. I have proofs of my posters, but nothing beyond that. A handful of proofs will not paper even one street let along half of Hluun." He popped the fried cheese into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully for a moment, and then continued. "I don't suppose you are at all able to do some emergency print-work? I stand for the Crocus, so I am aware that you may not wish to print for one such as I. If not, would your perhaps at least point me in a useful direction? I've had so little time to think of printing with all the votes coming up."    

unwanderinggirl

Iyoas was not utterly oblivious to the subtle hints that he seemed to be a distraction to Umbida’s Anaxi waitress, though the printmaker was inclined to believe that he was better when kept at arm’s reach, anyway. At least, that was what he had been told. Of course, only foreigners would give him a second glance … it wasn’t like she knew him from another arati. Perhaps she was curious about his heritage more than just his person. So was he. He offered her a lopsided smile of thanks, fingers curling around the steaming mug quickly to prevent Ellie from touching him by accident, field so concentrated around his person as to seem invisible but it really wasn’t.

That kind of skill was still beyond his abilities.

The fresh coffee smelled delicious, though in all honesty he was convinced he had no more room for it, not so long as he was keeping his field as close and unnoticeable as possible. The half-blood caught a glimpse of confusion in her expression in her vicinity to his person or just felt it in her own obvious field, and his smile faltered for a moment, one hand straying from the heat of his mug to bring a finger to his lips with a wink, as if he was sharing a secret, though he said nothing. Drown all the gods he couldn’t name, of course she would notice, now of all times, being arata herself, though from a country that operated much differently than his own.

He had no idea how to explain, anyway. He just didn’t need her to ask questions. Maybe another time.

“Dom–” Iyoas caught himself slipping comfortably into Mugrobi before correcting himself, unsure of what the Anaxi had picked up on when it came to language, “Thank you for remembering me. This is all I need for the moment.”

With that he returned his attention to Faraji, sliding his chair a little closer though careful not to sit within touching distance,

“Emergency, eh? Ea, ea … every print run is an emergency when it comes to the week before Poster Day. I run the Between Hours Press, though I don’t expect you to have heard of it. If you have, then I am most indebted to whoever spreads word for me. I have printed for the Crocus before in my time, though not for a handful of years.” Lagoon blue eyes studied the nearly equally tall man before him as he munched on his fried cheese as if he could somehow discern the answers to his own questions, “Who was your printer and why did he abandon you?”

Iyoas believed the truth was always more useful than a lie, regardless of cultural assumptions about himself, “Epa’ma, not that it is any of my business, given you’ve expressed immediate need. I may be able to squeeze you in, so long as my apprentice continues to be a fast learner.”

caporushes

Kato realized with a sinking of his belly that by offering to share the cheese with the others, he had sharply decreased the amount of time he could take up by eating it himself. It was a complicated feeling-- of course one must always strive to be generous, and yet... He thoughtfully and solemnly popped one into his mouth. He chewed with a deliberate slowness, happy the attention had shifted from himself to posters. This was a subject on which he quite happily had absolutely nothing to say. With any luck, he would be forgotten entirely and could bid himself make a hasty exit in the very near future. Kato was fairly certain he felt a bit of a headache coming on. Or was it a stomachache? A bit of both, perhaps... Some kind of general malady, to be sure.

As Kato occupied himself with his chewing and his fretting, Richard had grown bored of the absentminded attentions she was receiving. She clawed none-too-gently at his leg. Kato scooped her up and set her on his lap in response, and for a time Richard was content. She had the simple lizardy contentedness of warmth, and she settled into it well. 

Then the leira spotted the plate. Kato truly wasn't paying very much attention, or he might have noticed her slow lumbering towards the cheese and the grapes. She managed to get a few of each in her mouth, in fact. It was here that she ran into some measure of difficulty. Leira stomachs, it much be said, were never intended for the consumption of fried cheese. Grapes were dubious at best. Both together was mildly disastrous.

That is to say, if you are of the mind that considers a lizard the size of a small dog clambering off of her master's lap to vomit loudly and particularly disgustingly under the table at which they all sat "mild".   

Mochi

Afe hadn't noticed Richard getting at Kato's food either, as he had been paying attention to the new fellow that had been introduced. He was about to introduce himself to the printer when there came a horrific hacking noise from under the table, followed by a strong smell. Unfortunately for the teacher, these were also accompanied by a wet, sticky feeling on his sandals and his toes. As soon as he realized what had happened, his face turned ashy and every hair on the back of hos neck stood straight up.

"Kato Kwabena Kiote," he said calmly and stiffly, "it seems your leira has vomitted on my feet."

JaderGader

Ellie was about to turn back to her duties, feeling fairly certain that to remain would only become awkward, not helpful, when she heard a noise that turned her stomach and smelled a retch that nearly made her do the same. Oh, Alioe! she thought, just what I need...

She did, however, leap into action, pulling a dishtowel from her apron waistband, "Pardon me, I'll get that." She knelt by the table and leaned under it to reach the mess, holding her nose with one hand and probing with the towel in the other. She was unsure how to proceed beyond wiping up the disgusting, chunky mess on the floor-- should she wipe the patron's feet, or would that be against some local custom? She still hadn't figured everything out, and she didn't want to be doing something absurd by doing so, like proposing marriage. But then, what if her station around her dictated that she should do so? But she was a galdor, the same as them, she bristled-- but a refugee, another part of her reminded her. 

She wrestled internally while cleaning up what she could off the floor. It was clear she would need to mop the floor once the patrons had left, and would likely need another towel in the meantime. She glared at the leira under the safety of the table, I blame you, she thought accusingly.