Time Stamp: 2nd Winter 513
"Ah — no, not the, ah, coloured creme …" Ajiv, met the eyes of the woman behind the counter who was trying to assist him and saw no comprehension there. He let out a short hiss of frustration. The flat clumpy tongue of a human did not shiver responsively like the bifurcated one of his Dhani or snake form, so the relief from his annoyance was brief.
The wooden counter before him was littered with salves, cremes, unguents, liquids, lotions, soaps, tinctures and infusions. At the far left the different products were widely spaced, each a different option that had had its properties explained. A few polite (though halting) words from Ajiv had been offered in response in turn. The words had been listened to with a smile and a nod, before the next was retrieved and described. Moving to the right and forward in time, the pots had begun to be opened; their qualities demonstrated. The cremes had peaks in them from where fingers had been dipped; the scent of sandalwood in the store was now mingled with various aromatic infusions; the wooden countertop shimmered with powders that had drifted to it during demonstrations. The open pots had started neatly spaced, then became haphazard and crowded in desperation, then an erratic spacing returned in exhaustion. The pots were not open to the furthest right, where Ajiv stood now. Each pot was placed, and then the salesperson and the Dhani exchanged a moment of mutual mute incomprehension. They would bond over the shared torment before inevitably, inescapably, the salesperson retrieved the next pot. The current offering was a shimmery foundation that looked suitable for an anaemic Inarta, rather than the dusky 6' 2" Dhani that stood before her, dense with the coiled power of a natural wrestler.
"Ah — I have … remember. Mussst meet a friend. Thank you — Ah, thank you very much for your help." Ajiv stepped back from the counter — a long step, taking the distance while it was available. Relief swept across his interlocutor's face and she seemed to have to visibly restrain herself from sagging against the counter. Ajiv turned to leave as she finished her pleasantries, cursing himself. If he wished to have a life outside the plantation — a serious one, not just of partying with low lives and freeborns, seducing slaves — then he needed to master the language in which they all conversed. Worse, he knew his language skills were at least a little better than he was portraying. This exchange had been too close to a reminder of the business he was intending to start, and had put him on edge, afraid to push himself. As resourceful as he knew himself to be, he could surely have mangled some Common into a clearer request; but would mangling Common get him the respect and credibility he would need?
As he stood at the top of the steps, fretting, he took in the elegant grounds of Black Diamond Cosmetics. The greenery calmed him. At the edge of his consciousness, he became aware of a scratchy rustling. The stairs below him were being swept by an amusingly small slave. Perhaps a child … One could never really tell with humans. Looking at her, however, he realised that if he was to practice his Common, doing so in front of someone unimportant might be the wisest route.
"Girl!" He called out to the slave in Common as he swept down the stairs towards her. "Girl, you sssspeak Common?" His question was a little flat, the full inflection to differentiate it from a statement somewhat lacking. Still, as he stood across from the girl, towering fourteen inches above her, she would quickly realise a response was required.