Show Me the Morals!
[Date: April 13, 4291.
It is now noon.]
[The current weather conditions are:
The sky is cloudy grey, and nothing casts a shadow. The southwest wind is mild.]
[Village of Waes: As you look down the main street of Waes, a cobblestones path turns towards what appears to be a marketplace with many storefronts crowded together along the narrow street. To the north, you can visit the local tavern, and the stables. If you turn south, you can shop at the baker or perhaps visit the Waes Boarding House. Finally, if you continue down main street, you will reach the fields where enough food is produced to feed the villagers as well as the inhabitants of the castle. The air begins to warm somewhat, spring now upon the region. Birdcalls are frequent, and the leaves on the trees have begun to turn rich shades of green.]
Corinna wanders down the path from the castle.
[Corinna: Corinna looks to be in her mid to late twenties. She isn't terribly striking; rather shorter than average, but she stands straight as though she resents it. Her figure is hard to discern, as her clothes would be kindly called 'conservative'; at a guess, her build seems to be average, leaning to stocky. Braided dark hair is wound neatly behind her head, covered with a kerchief. Eyes nearly the same colour tend to seriousness; her face is unremarkable enough, neither unpleasant nor stunning.]
Antha sits on the stoop of the Piss N' Ale, looking at the sign that states the bar's name with a flicker of disgust.
[Antha:
Obviously of sand-born decent, her skin is a creamy bronze and her silky, raven-hued tresses are pulled up into a large, oversized bun with the top portion of her hair. The rest falls like curtain beneath. A few wisps of escapes hair frames her face. Under straight, black brows, her eyes are like cold marbles. The right one is azure and the left is darker than coal; a strange quality that is unusual in her heritage. Her soft pink lips are pouty without having a pouty expression; however, her grin is casual and easy-going. Although her disposition may seem standoffish and tough to some, her exotic looks are appealing.
She stands proud at 5'8", wearing a leather, silver-studded shirt. The material is black, trimmed with an inch of brown leather that is also studded. Thre right sleeve reaches just above her elbow; on her left shoulder, there is a strap instead of a sleeve. The shirt is snug enough to reveal a pleasant bosom, but loose enough that she moves comfortably. Her lambskin skirt reaches just above her knee. Her neck is decorated with a tribal-esque necklace of carved wooden beads. At her collar bone, three stones rest. Two circular stones on the outside; a long triangle in the middle. On her feet is a pair of plain brown boots. The parts of her body that are visible is a marvelous tapestry of muscles, tendon and sinew that gives her an overall toned look.]
Corinna hurries along the road, looking a tad..impatient. "Pardon me," she murmurs as she nearly collides with a passerby exiting the bar. Despite her polite words, she looks highly unimpressed and takes a moment to straighten her clothes. Ew, bar-cooties.
Although the woman probably doesn't want her advice, Antha imparts it anyway: "Patience is a virtue. You'll only hurt yourself by rushing."
Corinna frowns briefly as she searches the source of the advice. "'He who hesitates is lost," she quotes without irony. "In any case, my client is late, again." She at least stops walking, though she still appears a bit overly energized.
Antha looks about the woman. "Client?" Her tone slightly disbelieving.
Corinna seems unaware of any implications she might be imparting, "Yes. So rude; though why anyone would insist on a meeting anywhere near a tavern, I am not sure. Ah, well, manners are different here, I'm sure." She sniffs.
Antha's hand goes to her lips as she stifles a giggle. "Well, surely." Then she lets herself have a little laugh.
Corinna 's eyes narrow as she tries to determine if she's being mocked. "And you, young lady? Are you waiting for someone? So near such a...place of ill-repute.." She sniffs. Again.
Antha smirks like a fox. "Waiting for some one? No. Hoping a certain somebody will show up? Yes. As to ill-repute, I have not been inside yet, but surely it's only just a tavern."
Corinna isn't philosphizing when she asks, "Aren't they virtually the same thing? 'Just' a tavern..." She says it like someone else might say 'Just an orgy-filled brothel.'
Antha gives Corinna a quick glance over. "You don't look like nobility." she states matter-of-factly. "And even if you were, even King Bradley does not describe a tavern in the same manner." The latter is more of a musing to herself.
Corinna seems barely taken aback. With her manner, she's probably heard this sort of thing before. "Nobility? Of course not. I shouldn't think that one has to be a nobility to recognize immorality." Add a few more lines and that could be a limerick.
Corinna purses her lips, "When certain classes have a monopoly on good judgment, then one knows that the world is truly in trouble."
The sounds of Arin's humming voice can be heard in the distance as he starts to make his way towards the square, rolling a toy wheel to his left with a stick that he holds at it's center.
Antha takes another guess. She bites her lower lip as she smiles, clearly loving to tease. "Renegade philosopher?"
[Arin:
When you haven't grown an inch in eleven years, suddenly one is a very, very big deal. And so now stands Arin, at a brisque four foot eight, his reddish-brown hair combed neatly and cleanly, with naught an errant strand to be found. He has hazel eyes, and a light dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks. All in all he looks like your typical kid, probably about 13 years old. He is currently wearing a short-sleeved tunic, made of a thin material obviously designed more to cover the body than to give any real protection against the weather. The color of a nectarine, the tunic pulls over the boy's body with a V-indentation in the front, showing off a birthmark on his chest just below the left collarbone. A pair of light brown pants with a yellow embroidered decoration down the sides of the legs and light blue sandals complete his basic wardrobe.]
Corinna is standing outside the tavern, engaged in some sort of dispute with Antha; she has a bag over one arm and looks both grumpy and prissy. "A philosopher! Indeed, no. Such sorts are more useless than artists."
Arin gets closer, his hums now identifiable as the good old Southport favorite, 'Mary's Pettiskirts.' It's not the cleanest tale, for anyone who knows the lyrics.
From the stoop of the tavern, Antha lets out another peel of musical laughter. "You have a marvelous way of putting a black cloud over everything, don't you?" Her smile lingers as she turns her head to the boy, itching to hear what the woman before her would say about the song.
Yes, Corinna rather does. It's her special talent. "I prefer to think of it as a well-needed dose of reality," she says a bit stiffly, frowning as she hears the raunchy tune. Frowning a little, she shakes her head, a little oasis of disapproval.
Antha makes a big show of bending her head back in forth, her eyes on Corinna, looking mostly at her rear. "Hey, kid!" she calls. "Do you a stick in there anywhere?"
Arin goes near the ladies now, and when he notices that he seems to have their attention, he stops his little trot, the spinning wheel taking two more expert spins under his direction before it flops to the ground. He hops inside it, offering an overdone bow to the women. "Alas! Prialla brings beautiful maidens in her first quarter." Holding up the stick he used to control the wheel as though it were a ceremonial sword, he says, "'Tis more a wand, I think."
Antha claps her hands together. "Quite the precocious performer, I should think."
Corinna frowns at Antha, making a soft 'hmph' sound. She smoothes her skirts out. "Good day," she greets Arin. At least she isn't yelling at the kid. She looks almost scrupulously polite, in fact, even in light of the other woman's, uh, remarks. Perhaps she's practising her temper.
Antha looks around, a smirk still residing on her lips. "So, where is this client of yours, madam?"
Arin grins at the womens' favorable reaction, tucking the stick inside his belt. He seems about to ask a question, but Antha's silences him for the moment.
Corinna says irritably, "Late, as I said several moments ago. I've no idea precisely where." She fixes her braid, hmphing...again.
"Who ya waitin' for?" Arin asks curiously.
Antha literally bites her tongue, though not hard, to prevent her from saying whom the lady might be waiting for.
Corinna isn't rude, but she has the look of someone who isn't sure how to talk to children. "A customer of mine, who is, most impolitely, tardy." She says this as though hoping the boy might take this as a lesson in punctuality or some such.
"And what is it you sell?" Antha asks, her voice suggestive.
Arin nods gravely at the statement, mulling it over for a moment. Then, in a conversational tone, he asks, "Customer, huh... what do you s...?" But again, Antha's quicker on the draw.
Corinna answers, but the answer is relatively boring. "I make clothing," she explains. "And, really, one should at least have basic courtesy in such transactions."
Antha glances at Corinna's outfit, clearly not approving of her wardrobe.
Arin's eyes light up. "Are your rates good?" he asks bluntly. "I'm expecting a growth spurt soon, and I'm going to need a new wardrobe."
Antha grins at Arin's candor, but makes no remark.
Corinna looks over Antha's outfit in much the same way, but she makes no remark. She turns to blink at Arin, "Well, yes, I like to think so. You should probably talk to your parents beforehand, however."
Arin smirks, eyes rolling upward. "No, I think I'd better off talking to my daughter," he states cryptically. "She's going to murder me when she can't get a new dress this year."
Corinna frowns briefly, as though Arin is making a bad joke of some sort. "If you can afford such things, you are welcome to contact me, of course, but I do require half my payment in advance if I'm specially making anything."
Arin digs immediately into his pouch. "Will three silver crowns do?" he asks simply, extending his hand to reveal the shiny little objects.
Corinna is too startled to try to haggle, "Are you sure you've not some sort of guardian you must consult?" She doesn't want to turn down money, but that pesky conscience.."And you don't wish to see a sample?"
Arin gestures out towards Corinna. "You're wearing a sample, I'd assume," he points out. "I like the conservative style, and you obviously do good weaving."
Corinna shoots Antha a look. Ha! Sometimes a modest style *does* get results. If by results one means customers. Well, that would probably only work in some occupations. "Well, yes, thank you. I of course will work in other styles--have you your measurements? What precisely do you need?"
Antha smiles to both, then walks up the stairs and into the tavern.