The Only One Not Celebrating... {tags Shmee}

[mangotango]

There was plenty to see at the Gather, that was certain. People dressed up and dancing in the main square, people lining the space between the stalls, people eating, people laughing. The general feeling of merrymaking and hope was as thick as scents in the air; as tangible as the fabrics for sale or the runners that stamped from their pens, seemingly as anxious to be sold as their current master was to sell them. Sweet fragrances wafted on the breeze from the cooking stall, although every now and then someone who'd bought a treat from there would wander by and confuse his nose as to exactly which way the stall was.

This Gather seemed very odd to Serval. He knew, in a way, that it was not an exceptional Gather. He'd been to several in his life, and though he wouldn't call them "many" in number, he knew enough to know that in a literal sense not much was different about this one then the others. The wares for sale were slightly different, being native to this region by and large, and the animals were clearly of this stock and not some other places, but in the rest of the aspects it seemed normal. People were behaving as they always did, as far as he could tell. No, the only thing that had changed was the way he looked at it.

If his father had still been alive, he'd be strolling the stalls with a few spending Marks in his pocket- tips he'd earned on the voyage for some particularly crafty idea or example- to spend as he chose: except not for anything alive. There were no pets aboard ship, and they didn't even have enough fresh meat consistently to keep a Feline, let alone a Canine or Firelizard. Not enough room for the plant-eaters, either. And really, what good was a herdbeast aboard ship? Or a Runner? No pets. But he could have gotten anything else he'd wanted, provided he had anything close to enough money. If he was close, he'd normally been able to strike a bargain for the item he chose.

If it had been even a Turn ago, back when he was stuck with all his family aboard Shipfish Companion, he might still have had a Mark. More likely he'd have been searching for the cheapest, most easily transported goods that might fetch a better price elsewhere- probably some of that fabric, if it was colored locally. It might have gotten a good price at some far obscure settlement.

Either way, he would have move through the crowds as a man of means and power, even if reduced and hobbled power. He would have had his cold, calculating face on, and he wouldn't even have noticed a person like who he was at this Gather. Serval disliked beggars.

Serval's fingers toyed with the end of his dark braid. It was greasy and messy from lack of attention, but it was tied with a frayed band he did not dare to undo. It was bad enough being filthy and hungry without having his hair cloud his eyes. Serval watched jealously as a pudgy young boy walked passed, eating a bubbly pie in a fashion that let the hot juice drip down his fingers, down his arm, and finally fall off to the ground. He was already incredibly sticky, and Serval snorted at the waste. The boy clearly did not need the pie, and was making a mess by eating it improperly. Ergo, there should be a parent arriving an second to scold him, perhaps take the pie away...

Serval watched until the child disappeared into the crowd of shifting bodies, but no such punishment came. He was slightly disappointed by that. It was a disgrace!

There was no point in even coming, Serval was starting to feel. He'd hoped to find work here, but it seemed only the merchants were doing any business today. It was a certain as dragons flew that any stall-runner didn't need help with anything he had to offer. Covered with dust and threadbare as he was, no one else would give him even the most passing of glances without looking away as though horribly embarrassed. They seemed to think he was poor. The third such time a woman looked away like that, it felt like a knife twisted in his side. Serval longed to rush over to her, to tell her that this wasn't really him, he was better than this, and it was just a momentary thing- don't feel bad for me, Ma'am, because one day I'll be able to buy and sell you!- but he didn't. He couldn't find the words for it, for one thing. The other was that he wasn't entirely sure if that was true anymore. Serval was feeling more lost then he ever had before, even after the loss of Redfruit or the command that should have been his.

At least he didn't feel like the Square was about to close up on him.

[Administrator]

"Here you go, miss," the vendor at the tanning stall told Shmee kindly, handing her the slippers she had ordered a couple hours before. She smiled gratefully, taking them from him eagerly. Her feet were absolutely aching by now, and the plush lining of these slippers seemed perfect. Sitting down tiredly, she quickly bent, massaging her ankles, as she slipped out of her old sandals. What she would give for a back and foot-rub right now! Maybe if she apprenticed someone to her... She sighed. Who would want to rub her feet? Well, S'rei might have, but he was different. Mine, stop thinking about him. It only upsets you,[/color] Aslath told Hers sagely. While she, too, mourned the disappearance of Salenth and his bonded, she, like most dragons, lost the emotion of the situation rather quickly. All that mattered was that her dear Shmee was back, safe and sound. Shmee looked back down at her feet sullenly. They were really swollen. Grunting, she adjusted her body, swinging her leg in front of her to try and put on the first slipper. It took a few moments, and Shmee was left breathless. Deciding on a different tactic with the second slipper, she pushed herself up, and jammed her foot into the slipper. She smiled satisfactorily. Well, it was on, right?

Waddling away from the stall, she pondered. She could get more juice. Shards, she was so thirsty she could drink through several pitchers. Her fabrics were being stored over with Aslath; she had brought them to her riding bags right before she napped for a bit beside the gold. This gather in particular was exhausting to her. Putting a hand onto her lower back, she felt more movement from her belly. It caused her to smile. The babe was so active today! It was so much different than Benden, where it would only kick when it seemed like Shmee needed it the most. Putting a hand on her belly, she felt a hard kick coming from within, and she chuckled out loud. A fiesty babe, too. No doubt it would be like--

Mine,[/color] Aslath said warningly. She knew where those thoughts were headed. Shmee's lips tightened as she looked around the crowd resignedly. However, her gaze lingered on a dirty body in the crowd. She frowned. Nobody was ever dirty at a gather.

She found herself staring at him, something that common courtesy said she should not do. Yet she couldn't help but do so. He looked extremely ragged, so dirty... Probably some sort of exile or holdless boy. Pity and budding maternal instincts took over, and she found herself walking in his direction. The state of his clothing also bothered her. Was he too poor to afford good clothes? It was odd. Beggars weren't commonplace in so rich a hold as Blossom.

"Hi," she told him brightly, trying to look graceful despite her bulk. Closer inspection of the boy told her he might be near her own age, which she found even more odd. Usually, men her age had a good living as journeymen or cotholders. Never holdless... "What's your name?" she asked, extending one of her hands, trying to not think about how dirty his own might be. If he was a beggar, she decided immediately, she would fix that.[/size]

[mangotango]

Serval had watched the approaching woman with thinly veiled uncertainty. At first he thought she wasn't even looking at him, but by the time she arrived it was obvious that it was his own self and nothing else that held her attention. It was only through a great force of will that he held himself in check; she held herself a certain way, like she was used to being obeyed. For an instant he thought she was going to order him to leave the Square.

When she greeted him instead, the surprise he felt was obvious on his face. He stared at her outstretched hand for a moment, waiting for the trick, before taking it reluctantly in his dirty, heavily calloused one. Serval didn't like things he didn't immediately understand, and this strange woman, heavy with her child, traveling without an escort and actually shaking hands with the likes of him... It wasn't right. This was something he hadn't encountered before, and for good reason: his family had never done business with a Weyr. He was unfamiliar with the kinds of women a Gold dragon Chose.

He had to clear his throat before he could talk, but when he did he was pleased with how smooth and clear the words came out. Whatever inner turmoil had him second- and third-guessing his assessments of Shmee, it didn't show in the words,

"Serval Thurtonsay" He released her hand, dark eyes still a little suspicious of her. "May I help you?" It was one of those saying people picked up- a diplomatic way of saying 'what do you want?'. It was like 'don't let me detain you', and 'I'll deal with it momentarily.' The former said it was your idea to go away, and the latter left people wondering if it would be dealt with soon, or with only a minimum of time expended.

[Administrator]

Shmee blinked as the boy just looked at her hand for the longest moment. Didn't he know how to shake hands? Or perhaps he was only a half-wit beggar... She resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose. Yet, he managed to look surprised. It was the look of a true, intelligent person, something that made Shmee realize that this boy stood a chance. Smiling as he returned the handshake, she couldn't help it this time as her eyes traveled up and down his body, taking in his ragged appearance... and smell. Ye eggs, how he smelled. If she could, she would throw him into a bathing pool at that very moment to make sure he got a good scrub, but no. She needed more tact. She should befriend him first, then broach the subject of bathing. Yes, yes, that sounded good. However, she couldn't resist looking him over one more time. Beggars. She couldn't let one run free around Blossom if she had anything to say about it. This was the South, for Faranth's sake.

"Nice to meet you," she told him brightly. "I'm Shmee," she added, perhaps unnecessarily if he had noticed her knots. Frowning at his statement, she returned it with a skeptical look. What could he possibly help her with? If he was a dirty beggar in the streets, asking such a question was simply stupid. She chose to ignore it. "Where are you from?" she asked him boldly, determine to get his story squeezed out of him. She knew, with his state, that this would probably be a sensitive question, but at least it would explain it. Normal boys his age weren't beggars. She was determined, for some reason, to figure him out. She had pity for him-- she was a lot more affectionate, though, since she had come back, though. She was half tempted to just plop the boy in some new clothes and give him some marks, but she couldn't just do that all for free for him. But if she had him work... She certainly wasn't against helping a beggar getting a steady source of income.

But first, pie. "I'm sorry, want to get some food as we talk? I'm starving. I'm always hungry," she told him, laughing a little. This statement could also be used as a test, she figured. She could watch his reaction to food...

[mangotango]

Serval was giving Shmee at least as thorough an inspection as she was giving him. He took in her knots, though they were meaningless to him. They seemed rather complex...

Where was he from? Serval's brow furrowed. He was from the Shipfish Companion. He was from the Thurtonsay family. Somehow, that didn't quite seem to be what she meant, though. He'd already told her his family name. "Hello, Shmee..." He said, trailing off. "I said I am of the Trader family Thurtonsay... Is that what you wish to know?"

Food? His mouth watered at the thought- his stomach started to actually hurt, and for a brief instant he actually hated Shmee for bringing it up. He wanted to take her up on it, but he couldn't. He wouldn't go begging for food! He was too proud for that! He could work for it, he could earn it himself, and until then he wouldn't eat a single bite!

On second thought, he'd take advantage of her. If she was foolish enough to just give food away, it would be unwise not to take it. And his hunger really did compel him.

"That would be very... satisfactory, ma'am."

[Administrator]

Shmee frowned as he spoke. There was something odd about the way he talked, almost as in a tone that suggested he was better than she! It was also odd to come across anyone these days who didn't call her "Weyrwoman" upon introduction rather than her name. This was either a Northerner, she thought drolly, or a rejected son of a noble, going under the alias of one who was a Trader. She furrowed her brows. "I mean to say, where are you living? I'm sure a trader caravan would at least bathe you once in a while," she pointed out. Tact wasn't her strong point, particularly now. He had managed to irritate Shmee, so she found no obligation to be polite. What especially bothered her, she found, was his way of speech. It was too formal, and it irritated her. Even she wasn't that formal, and she was positive a beggar like this one would have no reason to be at all. Well, if she could shove his pride down a notch or two, she would probably feel a lot nicer towards him.

Rolling her eyes at his increasingly formal confirmation, she continued to waddle towards the stall, allowing Serval to follow her. She knew what she would have, of course. More bubbly pies! Sidling through the crowd, she came to the stall, looking up at the things that were available. "I'll have six bubbly pies, two citrusfruit tarts, a pitcher of some hot klah, and a bottle of some juice, as well," she said firmly to the man. The baker chuckled. He had seen this woman around this morning. Placing her things on the tray, Shmee thanked the man before turning back to Serval. "You can have three of the pies and one of the tarts," she told him evenly. She paused, then jutted her head at the klah. "You can have this, considering you look like you need it. I've just been dying for juice lately, so I'd prefer to have that for myself," she added. Even though she didn't much like Serval, she wasn't going to deprive him of klah. She knew that klah was a rarity for people who traveled holdless, and if he truly was lying to her, then he would probably want some, too.

Moving to a table, she set the tray down before taking a seat. Taking one of the pies, she took a fork and slowly peeled the cream off the top. The cream was always the best part. Sadly reminiscing the time when she and S'rei had had the cream off pies together, she licked the cream slowly from her fork, savoring the taste, and trying to not remember how S'rei had once dabbed some on her nose. "So where's your family?" she asked after a few moments, deciding to make this boy tell her the truth. By now, she was positive that he was lying about being a trader, so if she could get him to admit that much, she would be pleased with herself.