[Elegant Weave] Tangled Threads

[Basha'ir]

Summer 82, 512 AV

Basha’ir turned to close the door behind her. She pulled a key on a cord out of the pouch at her belt, then hesitated a moment, looking speculatively at the door handle. Reaching out, she grasped it and pulled the door back open, and stepped back inside the tiny, dark room. She had carefully blown out the oil lamps, and all was in blackness within, but already she had memorized the lay out and meager furnishings. She did not go further in. She did not attempt to retrieve anything. She merely stood, open door in hand, looking out into the dimly lit corridor. Smiling to herself, she stepped back through, her door, right into the corridor, with no-one to stop her. Silly, she knew, but she could never tire of that simple act, stepping out into the world, whenever she chose to. With a satisfied expression, she once again pulled the door too, this time inserting the key and locking it, then slipped the cord about her neck. Pulling her veil up and covering all but her eyes, she began on her way to her new place of employment.

Swathed in a light, brightly colored pashmina, worn over an ankle length dress, Basha’ir moved through the warren like hallways and streets of the city, carefully plotting her course to stay as far away from other pedestrians as possible. It was a walk of only fifteen minutes or so, and soon she was entering An Elegant Weave, where she had just started the week before, as a seamstress. She could hardly believe how fortunate she had been. Trying to strategize around her new state of freedom, and the co-occuring personal responsibility for her own upkeep, she had taken some of the finer dresses she had designed and sewn and embroidered to the shop, thinking perhaps she could sell them. But Mistress Druva, upon seeing Basha’ir’s handicraft, had instead offered her a job. Not as a designer, of course. Mistress Druva did the designing here. The Syliran was impressed enough though to hint at possibly having Basha’ir move up to an assistant designer, after she had learned the ropes of a commercial establishment such as this one. Navia had lamented the impact the storm had had upon businesses that sold anything other than the absolute essentials of life. Things were picking up, though. More and more customers were returning. Many had lost things in the storm. So, all in all, she could use an extra pair of hands.

So far, things had gone well. Basha’ir was more than happy to be given a sewing station at the back of the shop, where she rarely had to interact with customers. With the mark of Nikali upon her, she had every intention of trying to steer clear from anything that would cause or require her to have physical contact with anyone, especially skin to skin contact. Her position, though, made that unlikely, unless she would have to take part in a fitting for a customer. That had not been required of her though. Not yet.

Neither had she been serving on the sales floor, and she wondered if she would be given that opportunity. She could not help but think that, for once, perhaps being Ranuri would be something she could turn to her own benefit, instead of some lust filled man's. The gnosis gave her an edge, when it came to the gentle art of persuasion. She was eager to find out if she could put it to good use and make some sales on behalf of her new employer. Time would tell about that, she supposed.

The day passed quite quickly, as Basha’ir was kept busy from the moment she sat down to her work. This consisted primarily in simply sewing. Already another worker had cut out the various pieces needed to be put together to make several different garments, and Basha’ir began on a man’s shirt, a simple thing of bleached linen. Carefully laying two sections together, she began to stitch the seam, with a deft, quick flash of her needle in and out of the fabric. Paying close attention to make sure the stitches were small, even and tight, she worked diligently until the two pieces were joined as one. Over the course of the morning, the shirt took form and became an actual piece of clothing, with Basha’ir adding on the various bits, stopping to carefully iron the seams as it became more three dimensional. Long, long ago, one of the other slaves back in Ahnatep had taught her, the best sewing was a result of careful attention to pressing the seams out flat and in the right way. By the mid-day break for some food, the shirt was almost done. One of the other assistants happened to walk by and complimented Basha’ir on her fine needlework, and the young woman blushed with pleasure. As she sat on her stool and nibbled at a piece of bread that she had brought with her, she tried to think when she had ever had a compliment since being marked by Nikali that she could wholly attribute to herself, and not to the effect of Ranuri. It felt almost overwhelming, to think about people looking not at her, but at her handiwork, and praising it for its own, real worth.

The meal break was short, and some workers might have complained about the toil of many hours. But Basha’ir, feeling even more motivated, tackled the shirt with renewed energy, and within the hour it was done. Smiling, she gave it one last press and then hung it up with other finished pieces that the other seamstresses with her were working on. One of them gave her a look of slight surprise, and commented on how quickly she had finished it. But the words were said in a friendly way, with no spite attached. Basha’ir, still swathed in her long dress and veil, ducked her head shyly, but acknowledged the comment with a quiet explanation of how, once she went at something, she liked to get it finished, and it was really nothing much, to be done so quickly. The two other women began a conversation about this and before Basha’ir knew it, she was actually laughing quietly about one of the lady’s hilarious story about a garment gone completely awry in the heat of trying to get it ready quickly for a customer. As they all got back to their work, Basha’ir taking up the first pieces of another shirt, Basha’ir was still smiling. Life seemed to her very good at that moment, with unlimited potential, if things could just run smoothly.

The afternoon passed in much the same fashion. Mistress Druva returned to the shop and came back to the sewing room to check on the progress of a dress that the head seamstress was working on. She paused long enough to watch Basha’ir as she sewed, and nodded and gave her yet another compliment. Then she asked for the half finished piece and Basha’ir handed it over and Navia showed her where she could do the stitching a bit differently and thus make the collar lay a bit flatter. Basha’ir watched with interest and when her employer handed the shirt back she immediately tried out the technique. Navia watched for a moment and nodded her head in approval. She then moved on to another worker, to inspect some other garment, and Basha’ir looked at her own work for a moment longer. An idea came to her, but she hesitated to try it out, not wishing to find her plan was flawed and she might then make the shirt less than perfect. She thought of the many dresses she had at her room. Some might have said they were stolen, that when Theodoric died and she was kicked out of his rooms, she should have left all behind and not taken a thing. But she had thought that a few dresses, some clothes to wear to keep herself decent, were little enough payment for all he had asked of her. Now she was thinking she could take the dresses apart and perhaps she could try out her idea on material that did not belong to Mistress Druva. With this idea tumbling over in her mind, she went back to work on the shirt in her hands and once again, the later part of the afternoon flew by.

When the hour drew near for the shop to close, one by one the other seamstresses departed, laying aside their work to be resumed on the morrow. Basha’ir was so close to finishing the second shirt, though, that she continued to stitch. The cuffs were almost done, and she hated to just leave it. Mistress Druva had already departed and finally there was only the one assistant left in the front of the shop. After a few more minutes, this one poked her head into the sewing room, looked about, saw only the newest girl, and sighed unhappily. It seemed she needed to leave and yet there was a customer who she was waiting for, a man who had placed an order and was supposed to be by for a fitting. Mistress Druva always liked to keep her customers happy and would have wanted the assistant to stay a bit longer, just to see if the man would still show up. But really, the woman needed to be away, on this day she just could not stay late. She looked speculatively at Basha’ir and finally she made her suggestion. Would Basha’ir mind to stay and then lock the door once she left? The assistant was sure the man would not show up, and Basha’ir would only have to stay for say, another half hour? Then she could go home.

Basha’ir was secretly quite pleased to be asked to take on this task. It would give her time to finish the shirt, and it was a sign that she was a responsible worker, one who could be trusted. She agreed readily and the assistant smiled in relief. Handing over the key, she explained how to close up the shop, and showed Basha’ir where the garment was that the man had ordered, just in case he did come by. When the young woman saw that it was a pair of trousers, she swallowed nervously. That sort of fitting could possibly require her fingers to be in places that she didn’t even want to contemplate. She said a swift prayer that he would not show up, or that if he did, the trousers as they were would be well fitted already and she need only tack them up at the hem for the proper length. Of the two choices, she fervently hoped that he would just not appear.

Of course, she did not voice her reservations to the assistant. That one left, happy to have divested herself of her last duty of the day. Basha’ir brought the almost completed shirt to the front of the store and sat cross legged on the floor, stitching away and keeping her eye on the door.

[Orion Michaels]

Orion, Day of Summer 82, 512 AV Some days just don't go as planned. For Orion, well, it seemed those days came more often than not. No way could he have expected catching the fabric on the edge of his table would lead to anything. It was no big deal, it looked fine. There were a few threads lose. Orion would just take it to a seamstress and it would be fine. The simple black linen pants were honestly his favorites. He owned others, but these were more comfortable. Even if the others were made out of the same thing. He would take them and get them fixed. That was two weeks ago, and those threads, they were a'fraying. Orion had slipped out of work early to run to the Great Bazaar before dark. He knew the very basics of herbs, but he found himself lacking in a knowledge of just what was around the city of Syliras. A book, that's what he needed. A previous bad experience of just running out and trying to learn hands on had left him weary of further such attempts. So further knowledge before he went searching was a must. So a book it was, and what better place than the grand market itself. A question here and there, a few wrong turns, and sets of directions from many people later, he'd found what he needed. A stand selling various hunters, trackers, and forager's experiences and expertise on the flora and fauna of the area. It had really been a great day so far, but after the transaction was completed, things would take a drastic turn for the worst. Orion counted out the mizas requested for the book, and thanked the shop keeper for his time. The doctor grabbed the book and turned to leave, but a distracted shopper stepped in front of him. Stumbling momentarily, his newly purchased reading material found itself sliding across the stone floors of the lower level. "Watch where you're going!" He shook his head, as the passerby paid him no mind. Some people. Walking over to the book, he bent over, setting off the time bomb which was weeks in waiting. -kkkkkkrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip- Orion shot straight up, book in hand, a disbelieving open mouth grin on his face. No way. No petching way. Yes way. The weakened threads, faithfully serving while wounded had finally lost the will to hold on anymore. The pressure too much, all hope lost, they let the darkness take them. But how bad? A passing shopper and a cold draft answered for him. "Red? How scandalous," said a raven haired woman, winking as she continued on her way. "T-t-they're comfortable!" he stammered. As his pants once were. He needed to get to a clothier as soon as possible, and the only one he knew of was the Elegant Weave. They did actually sell clothing, right? He turned to sprint to the business, the pants began to give more. What began as a frayed thread was now a gaping hole stretching from the top of his rear, down, under, and partway up the front. His face had taken a shade darker than his undergarments. The rapidly disolving breeches led him into an strange stance indeed. His knees were slightly bent, but his from his hips to his neck were a straight line. He took short, choppy steps, unable to go at his normal stride. People laughed, women and men gave cat calls, and mothers, they hid their children. I'm no monster! He wanted to yell. Needless to say, when the Elegant Weave came into view, he was the happiest man in Syliras. He burst into the shop, holding the book at just below waist level to prevent any surprise guests, and seeing the veiled woman, with a grin on his face Orion exclaimed: "I have a teeny problem!"

[Basha'ir]

Doctor Orion Michaels. Seriously? Basha’ir stared at the man before her, her eyes drawn to the odd placement of the book in his hands. A teeny problem? Surely he couldn’t mean…No, a clothing shop would be no place to address that. Her gaze shifted, rising to his face again, and she wondered how in the world it had happened that one of the very, very few people that she knew in this large city was now stood in front of her. She couldn’t tell from his expression whether he remembered her as well. Of course, the lower half of her face was covered by her veil, and that would make it harder to recognize her. And there might have been some lingering effect of the hypnosis she had used on him at their last encounter, though she doubted that.

Hesitating, her dark green eyes wide with surprise, Basha’ir twisted her hands together nervously. She had finished up the second shirt, and had hung it up in the sewing room, when, just as she stepped back into the front of the shop, the door opened and in had popped Orion, literally. He practically leapt in, and he seemed to be a bit agitated, and for a split second she thought he must be the one she was waiting for, and that he was concerned for being so late. But his words did not seem to comport with that scenario, unless the problem alluded to had something to do with his tardiness. The grin on his face didn’t seem to support that conclusion either. So, really, Basha’ir had no idea of what to make of his sudden, startling re-entry back into her life.

“I…um, welcome. Please, come in…sir.” What could she do? She didn’t want to stir up memories if they were in fact dormant. But she didn’t want to be impolite and pretend that she didn’t know him. Quite the dilemma. Above all, she wanted to avoid touching him in any way that might spark the effects of her mark, and begin all that over again. Though, certainly, now that Theodoric was gone, that entire scenario would be a far different one. She knew, or at least she felt pretty sure she knew, how that would end, with no brakes to be applied by dint of the threat of death from an irate owner hanging over their heads. Orion was quite good looking, and he had been very sweet, the last time they met. But along with her newfound freedom from slavery, Basha’ir also now realized that, she very much did not want to be lusted after simply because she was marked by Nikali, and thus was more alluring. She also wondered how it would be to truly desire a man just for himself, and not because her gnosis gave her no choice in the matter. Looking at Orion, she was entirely nonplussed as to how to proceed, other than to simply treat this as a business matter.

She gestured with her hand, ushering him further in, then pulled the veil up a bit, her eyes dropping to the floor. “Please, you have a problem? What type of problem? I…I don’t suppose you are the customer who was to come for a fitting?”

Hopefully, not, for then she’d have to deal with the whole trousers issue. Maybe this would be a more simple one.

[Orion Michaels]

Orion, Day of Summer 82, 512 AV Orion shut the door behind him, and leaned against it, his eyes welling up with tears before he burst out into laughter. His free hand covered his eyes, while the other remained strategically placed, tightly gripping the book. He attempted to address the young woman's questions, but intelligible sounds and near snorts were all that came out. Each time he would seem to begin to calm down, the events which had just occurred would come roaring back into his mind, and the whole process would begin anew. After a few times up and down, Orion finally got himself under control. Moving his hand from his face, with red, tear drenched cheeks, he set his gaze on Basha'ir and her madly confused expression. ...Familiar.. "I'm so sorry, ma'am," he said, letting out a deep breath. "Man, I hurt everywhere after that." He waved his hand as she motioned him in. "No, no. I think it's better I stay here. I don't want you to think I'm a deviant." In reply to her inquiry, his grin only got bigger. "I'm afraid that's not me, but I may require a bit more than a fitting." Slowly moving the book, he revealed the state he was in. The rip had expanded. A lot. What were once a fine pair of pants were now better described as two leggings every so slightly attached to a thin line of fabric wrapping around his waist line, leaving almost disturbingly red undergarments as a face slapping centerpiece. His eyes still wet with tears, and an almost pained look on his face from the laughter, he bit his lower lip before speaking. "I normally buy someone a drink before I get to this stage, so please forgive me if we have to do this out of order. I'm afraid I had an...accident." His hand moved back up to his face as he looked at the ground, his entire body occasionally shaking from a chuckle. This is the best worst day ever.

[Basha'ir]

The question as to whether or not Orion would recognize her ran through Basha’ir’s mind for just a brief moment, and was completely derailed as he shut the door and then burst out laughing. The young woman looked at him in surprise, one eyebrow rising quixotically, as he laughed, and laughed, and laughed, turning red in the face and tears of mirth running down his cheeks. He laughed like a lunatic, and Basha’ir looked nervously beyond him to the closed door, wondering what in the world was going on, and if he was having some sort of fit. Each time he quieted a bit, each time it seemed that he was about to speak, he began anew and laughed until she thought he would choke. She made a tentative move towards him, one hand outstretched, as if he needed help. But she had no idea of what variety. Finally he caught his breath and was able to talk.

Ma’am? So, he did not recognize her. Basha’ir felt an odd, and annoying, mixture of both relief and disappointment that Orion did not realize that she was his former patient. The annoyance was directed at herself, though, not him. Of course, why should he recognize her, she told herself. She was bundled up with only her eyes and forehead showing. Maybe if she stuck her sandaled foot out he would recall having held it so tenderly a month before, she thought, scathingly. Silly little goose!, she chided herself silently. You say you do not wish for men to slobber all over you! Yet here you are, pouting because the first one that comes along doesn’t realize that he was ready to run away with you! And yet she did, truly, not want anyone to know she was marked by Nikali. Hadn’t there been killing and betrayal enough, all because of her? No, she did not want to be coveted, stolen, possessed, not for her “gift” anyway. It might be nice for a man to truly want her for herself, but, that in itself would lead to more and then, it would all be the same thing all over again, wouldn’t it?

Ah, it was all so confusing!

He was grinning at her like some crazed monkey, and saying she might think him a…deviant? What was this? And then he assured her he wasn’t the man come for a fitting, but that fact held no relief for her now, given his erratic demeanor. Then…then…

Her eyes dropped of course, to look right where he was removing his book turned shield of modesty. She couldn’t help it. Orion was revealing the huge rip, and the brilliant red undergarments, as if he was showing off some exotic treasure. And the words that accompanied this exhibition…

Basha’ir’s eyes widened fully, and her hand flew to her mouth, covered as it was with the veil. Those deep green orbs lifted to his now very watery blue ones, and she gasped, and then giggled. Her shoulders moved with a wriggle of badly contained mirth, and she let out another smothered laugh. She clamped her fingers over her mouth but still the giggling continued. Her other forearm wrapped about her stomach and her body shook.

Letting her hand drop after a moment, she gasped out, “Oh, I’d say so. I would ask what happened, but I’m not sure I want to know.” Her face was more exposed as the veil had dropped down to her chin when she pulled her hand away. She gave him an amused grin.

“I really do think you need some assistance, Doc…Sir.”

She turned away, a blush rising to her cheeks at the almost slip. Nodding, she said, “There is a screen you can stand behind, if you wish to remove… what’s left of your trousers. Do you…do you wish to purchase new ones? Or did you wish these repaired?” Her eyes cast one more brief glance at the sad state of his pants, before she turned again and said, “That’s quite a rip. It would take quite some time to fix it.”

[Orion Michaels]

Orion, Day of Summer 82, 512 AV Orion's heart nearly skipped a beat when he heard her giggle. So cute. The grin spreading across his face, the doctor gazed over Basha'ir, taking her in. Those eyes were stunning. Surely he'd seen her around before, right? No way would Orion forget someone like that, not without a lot of booze. No matter.. His thoughts drifted to the now. Could he turn what should be an embarrassing moment into something so much greater, he wondered. With a tiny smirk, he addressed the seamstress. "I like that. You can share a laugh about this with me. I was a tad bit worried you'd call the knights. I'm sure there have already been reports of a deranged man running around exposing himself, or something along those lines." He exhaled again. "I didn't think stuff like this really happened, but wow, here it is." Orion shook his head, pausing for a moment to rub his face. "I haven't had that good of a laugh in I don't know how long. Sometimes the best are at your own expense." He walked slowly, precisely, almost strutting his goods, towards the screen she offered. "Can this really be repaired?" He looked at her, slightly surprised. The damage was severe. They looked done for to him. If nothing else, this particular pair of pants betrayed him at the most inopportune time, so maybe it was better to part ways. "Quite some time, huh? You just want to spend all night with the man in the red underwear, sure, sure." he teased. "Not that I blame you," Orion added, winking at the now blushing girl as she glanced down to his situation again. He stepped behind the screen before continuing. "I suppose I'm being rude. I'm a little less...professional...when I'm off duty. How is your foot, Basha'ir?" He had recognized the beauty when she had knocked down her veil. The young doctor couldn't believe he'd forgotten about this woman. Normally, if he found a patient so pleasant, he would find a way to casually run into them again with whatever information he'd gotten while treating them. But this? He had treated her at an apartment. It wouldn't have been too hard. Now there she was, before him, unintentionally or otherwise examining his goods. Was this a gift from the gods themselves?

[Basha'ir]

She couldn’t help but smile at his words. It was a good thing to be able to laugh at yourself, she agreed, though in her own life it seemed that there had been little occasion for that. Nor had she been with many men who would feel it did not seriously impinge upon their dignity to be so self-deprecating. She was thinking now, looking at Orion, that it was an admirable quality.

As Orion walked in a more composed way than she had seen him be thus far, since lunging into the shop, Basha’ir took only a quick peep at him, the sight of all that red making her avert her eyes hurriedly. It wasn’t that she was some shy, blushing virgin. In fact, if she had to hazard a guess, she was probably ten times more “wordly” than this amusing young man. But that was before. Now…she wanted to be only a young woman of industry, of worth beyond her body, and she thought it best to incorporate some modicum of modesty in her demeanor. She had no desire to open the flood gates of the physical attractions that could exist between men and women, however they came about. Still, she had to admit to herself, what little she did see…well, she had seen far, far worse. Orion was handsome and also well made, his body was nicely proportioned, well balanced and lean and he moved, at least now he moved, with a good deal of self-assurance. She was sure he had no problems with the ladies, though knowing what she knew about his secret heart, she also knew that much of his charm was a thin façade.

His question about the feasibility of repair had her frowning a bit with thought, but his next teasing speculation did make her blush. She was embarrassed to think that he might really think that of her, though she guessed this was just the way he flirted and chatted up girls. It was certainly such a different Orion than the young doctor who had come to see to her burn. Basha’ir did have to bite down on her lip though, to keep from also smirking too boldly, considering how the “wanting” had been so strong on his part that last time they had been together. But before she could make any reply to either his question or his teasing, he asked after her foot and called her by name, and that made her heart jump in her chest, almost up into her throat.

Thank the gods that he had stepped behind the screen by this point. She turned around, her back to it, and him, and once again her hands twisted before her. This feeling of uncertainty, in the presence of a man, was new to her, and she felt completely off balance. Why did the sound of her own name falling from his lips cause her heart to flutter and her stomach to tighten? Again, there was a flurry of conflicting emotion within her, alarm that he did remember her now, and an odd intense stab of pleasure as well. She did not want to be outed, and she didn’t know exactly how much about her he was now recalling. But, for some reason, just knowing that he remembered her made her feel…happy.

No, no, you silly goose! You better not go there. This is business. Keep it so. Internally, it seemed that her emotions were at war with her common sense. She forced her common sense to prevail.

With a deep, calming breath, she turned back to him, looking at the screen as if she felt no trepidation over him, his pants, his red underwear…none of it. She could take it all in stride. She was a business woman, sort of.

“It’s well, thank you, Doctor Michaels.” She hoped her voice sounded as cool and collected as she wished it to be. “Your treatment was quite excellent and it has healed without any complications.” Should she ask him to look at it, perhaps after they resolved the trousers issue? No, she thought, better not to.

“You have my heartfelt thanks for your services. Now, I’m glad to be in a position to repay you. Though I hope it doesn’t run to an all night session. I’d hate to keep you here so long.” Her tone was professional but she could not keep a small smirk from playing about her lips, thinking about the cheeky thing he had said. “I think if you were to hand me your trousers, I could tell you if there is any hope for them. And then I can probably find another pair for you here. I’m sure we’ll have something that will do, at least long enough for you to get home. If you are going home.”

Again she chewed on her lower lip to keep from grinning openly at him. “As you are ‘off-duty’ then I assume you have no intention of spending your evening being professional?” It was only half a question, and really much more a statement.

Gracefully, she stuck out her hand in a gesture that clearly said, Hand ‘em over, mister.

[Orion Michaels]

Orion, Day of Summer 82, 512 AV "Please, call me Orion. I'm off duty. Unless I can call you Seamstress....I'm afraid I don't even know your last name." Better than with Lyla, though. It was a thought he could never escape when it came to the names of women he'd encountered, and he had accepted it would haunt him always. The doctor couldn't, however, shake this feeling that something was amiss. Like there was just something missing, besides pants, of course. Nothing had ever felt wrong about being exposed like this in front of a woman, so that couldn't be it. The undergarmets? Probably not, even though Basha'ir was the first woman to see this particular pair. He kept that knowledge tucked away for use, smirking as the thought crossed his mind. "I'm glad to hear about your foot. Burns are a nasty thing. I can check it out for you, if you'd like, just to make sure it's all well." She had said it was fine, but infections scared him with burns, so it might be better to give it a peek. "I can even wait until I'm decent, if that so pleases you." He added, the laughter almost audible in his words. He began removing the scraps that were his pants. Such a profession young lady. Until... He let out a hearty chuckle. "If I'm going home?" He handed the shredded pants around the screen. "My dear Basha'ir, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're the one coming onto me, now. I assure you, I'm the utmost gentleman. Until I get a few drinks in me." Then I probably wouldn't be behind this screen right now. "Rarely do I spend the nights, professional. Work and play. Work and play." The sudden attitude, teasing, and fire she was showing cause Orion's heart to beat faster. His cheeks flushed slightly, and the physician was quite glad he was behind the screen. There was little that could get to him like someone who could switch between reserved and feisty in a moment. Seemingly familiar feelings began to return. She must have been in too much pain last time for her personality to show through. "It just doesn't add up," he thought aloud. Surely I would have noticed her when I met her.

[Basha'ir]

A more serious tone could be heard in her voice, perhaps one could call it wistful, as she said, “No, Basha’ir will do…Orion.” She had no other name to give him. She had never merited a last name. And though there seemed to be plenty of others that also went by one name only, to her it was yet one more reminder of her past, and her status as nothing more than a slave.

She said no more, as she heard the rustling sounds behind the screen, accompanied by his return to a slightly more professional tone as he spoke of her burn. His offer to examine it made her grimace slightly. There was too much risk of that contact she wished so badly to avoid. Could she fend him off with more assurances that really, her foot was fine? She looked down at it now, wriggling her toes, frowning at the ugly scar that ran across the top of it.

But she was distracted from trying to puzzle out a solution to that particular problem by the emergence of his hand from behind the screen. She reached for the trousers held in his grip, very careful not to touch his fingers, and she then held the pants out for an inspection. More teasing words though made her freeze, and when he was done, she allowed herself an eye roll, which he could not see. She shrugged and resumed a close examination of the sad remains of his trousers, saying in a slightly sarcastic, but amused, tone, “You can’t blame a girl for trying, Doctor Michaels. Alas, if my mistress has any alcohol hidden on the premises, I don’t know where to find it. So, unfortunately you will have to play the professional for a few more minutes.”

With a sigh of finality that boded no good for the prognosis of repairs, she was about to tell him the bad news, when she heard that last, seemingly random comment. Basha’ir paused, not speaking, wondering if Orion had more to add to that which she could not make sense of. When nothing more was forthcoming, she asked, in innocence, “Pardon? Was…was that directed at me?”

Her ears strained to hear anything that might clue her in to what was going on behind the screen, and what his remark was in reference to.”

[Orion Michaels]

Orion, Day of Summer 82, 512 AV Orion smiled slightly at her retorts, and responded in the same teasing tone. "Only for a few minutes, then, good seamstress." He couldn't shake it. He just couldn't shake it. What was going on? The young doctor didn't know what it was, though. Had something occurred when they last met? He shook his head. Surely not. Basha'ir was an innocent girl, that fat man's ward. She'd probably never seen a man in this way. Perhaps that what he felt. He couldn't help but grin at the thought. "Though I would venture a guess you didn't even search for the booze," he laughed. "That's okay though. If you're going to be working on my clothing, I'd rather you not be impaired." "Pardon?..." she had begun. The young man hadn't realized he was talking out loud. Oh what the heck. Why not ask? He wriggled his fingers nervously. This woman took him away from his center. He loved and hated it. "Basha'ir....did something happen last time we met? I only ask this because there is no way I would forget someone as fair as you." He crossed his arms and peeked around the screen, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. Her beautiful dark green eyes, smooth looking skin coupled with a slender, curvy body, were enough to drive any man wild. "Ahh...nevermind, I'm sorry, Basha'ir. I think I'm still a little out of sorts from my experience today." Lying about the last part, the physician turned his gaze away, blushing slightly. "Sometimes I don't realize how strange a fellow I am," he chuckled. "You're working and I'm keeping you late, so what's the damage on the pants?" A hint of confusion flavored his tone. Pull it together, Orion. You don't get messed up by women anymore, remember? It's...too hard. It was all too familiar, but there were no answers to be found.