[The Trough] Meeting At The Bottom of the Cup (Sama'el)

[Dymphna]

5th of Fall, 510 AV The Trough had been in full swing by the time Dymphna had closed up business for the day and made her way there. Typically she’d be at home with her pavilion, but the day had been oddly slow for her. She found herself wanting more activity, and a friend had suggested they meet for a cup and maybe a meal should they both decide to eat. Unfortunately her friend hadn’t showed up. Likely she was caught up with someone she was consulting on spiritual matters with. In reality Dymphna didn’t mind. When duty called, it wasn’t to be ignored, and she was enjoying herself anyway. She sat at a table by herself, though she had made sure to stay close enough to the musicians playing that she’d get to enjoy them. For the most part she was watching the others have a good time around her, and it was hard for her to tell if it was the wine or the crowd causing her to feel so serene in the flurry of activity. Not too far away she saw her father, who must have also sneaked away to enjoy some time outside of the pavilion. One of the babies was teething in a particularly stubborn manner, and despite all of their best efforts the Whitefeathers didn’t seem to be able to calm her. She didn’t blame him. It was likely one of the reasons why she didn’t want to be home either. They exchanged a little grin and a wave, but she didn’t bother to interrupt him in his discussions with his fellow Ankals. Her fingernails tapped on her cup as her attention turned back to the people. Since she wasn’t working, she’d taken off her over-apron. Her ivory dress caused her red hair to stand out all the more, and with her sleeves unlaced her windmarks were shown with pride. She had a sinking suspicion that maybe the next day would be one of the few in the year that she didn’t rise early. With that thought in mind, she began to debate another drink. Maybe she would. Maybe she wouldn't.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sam was leery of places like this. His clothes were still ragged, his hair still barely growing in, and his windmark hidden until he felt that he had earned the right to let the world see it. He wasn't sure when that would happen, though. Now that he was back in Endrykas, things seemed to have plateaued. He had made an acquaintance or two; he was still loath to call someone a friend after so many years without them. He hadn't found himself a niche yet, but tagged along like an unwanted younger cousin to the entire settlement. It had taken some time to process what had happened on his trip to Endrykas, anyway. The death of companions, of horses, and nursing a wounded kelvic, a new Strider. So much. The smart thing to do would be to sell Horse, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, even if that would bring him the starting capital he needed to rebuild his pavilion. It would be selling a brother, and that he could not do. So he came here for a drink and to watch the hustle and flow of his people at their leisure, seeing it all now with new eyes, more experienced eyes, though he still felt like a bystander, a member of the audience. But that was all right, at least for now. He settled in with his drink and looked around, noting the Ankals cutting up and talking business, and the other various people. When he made accidental eye contact with a red-head, he smiled nervously and looked away, quickly drinking to hide what was probably a social faux pas.

[Dymphna]

About the time she’d decided that she would in fact have another cup of wine, her eyes caught onto a young man’s for a split second of contact. He looked away before she was able to smile at him. If he’d committed some sort of faux pas, Dymphna didn’t seem to register it as such, and the grin gave it away. She picked up her empty drink and stood up with a bit of a hop from the cushion she’d been sitting on. She didn’t approach the stranger, but instead started to get more wine. The cup was held out to the server. “More, please,” she said as she turned to look at the crowd again. Her attention moved back to the young man she’d made eye contact with. She put on no airs to hide the fact she was in fact looking at him. She couldn’t really figure him out, but it was obvious to her that he was an outsider. What confused her was, more than anything else, his hair. He wasn’t a slave. If he was, he’d not be sitting alone in such a central spot. Plus it seemed he was trying to grow it out. She wondered if he was trying to fit in with the society around him or if he just wasn’t able to locate someone to help him cut it. Then again maybe he just preferred it to look like that, though she had a feeling that wasn’t the case. Her elbow was bumped by the man getting her drink for her. She turned quickly to smile at him. The proper amount of coin was handed over. He was off before she even got a chance to say thank you. With that bit of business down, she moved to close the gap between her and the fellow she’d locked her thoughts on. She sat down across from him, and she once again didn’t try to hide her curiosity as nearly black eyes studied his face. She wore the colors of the Opal Clan proudly, and the elaborate nature of the embroidery on her dress spoke of a higher position in her pavilion – Though she had further to climb before she considered herself deserving of the favored spot her studious, hard-working nature had already begun to earn her. The beads and stones in her hair, along with the braiding that had just recently been redone, gave away that she was likely an Ankal’s daughter. Despite all of this, she smiled warmly at Sam as she leaned to put her elbow on the table- Then resting her chin on the heel of her hand. “You know,” she started. There was a bit of a lyrical cadence to her Pavi, some strange lilt that suited it more towards poetry than what she was saying. And what she was saying wasn’t guarded, nor was it obviously meant to be mean. It just was Dymphna - Delivered matter-of-factly but still managing to come off with a genuine desire to help, she continued, “if you’re trying to grow your hair out, there are things that you could do to help it along.” If her father had been close enough to hear what she’d said, he would have laughed at what sounded like a sales pitch. What he saw, however, was his daughter seeming to take an interest in someone outside of her pavilion, her clan, or the work she threw herself into so often. It was unlike her, but not a horrible thing. Dymphna wasn’t trying to sell anything, though. She was just trying to help someone out.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

The young woman who had nearly made him blush suddenly appeared in front of him. The fact that she so easily sneaked up on him did not bode well for his abilities as a tactical commander, but his losses along the road to Endrykas over the summer had already proven that. Perhaps he should have just accepted the invitation of his distant relatives to join their pavilions, but he wouldn't really fit in there at all. A few of them remembered his name, but not his face, and he couldn't recall a thing about them. Blood ties were one thing, but if there was nothing else... His hand went up immediately to his hair at its mention, trying to mash it down. It had a bit of character to it, his mother had told him when he was young. As a boy it had been long, and often braided to keep it out of the way. Just now, thinking on it, he remembered what it had felt like to have his mother comb it out, braid blue-dyed leather into it proudly like any young lad of the Sapphire Clan. He looked stricken for a moment by that memory before he recovered enough to respond to what she had actually said. "I don't really know how to take care of it," he admitted. His Pavi was fluent, but it was a child's speech. He was not yet used to speaking like an adult. Sam was rather embarrassed by his appearance in general. He should have asked Ha'na to go with him through the market to prepare a more proper Drykas appearance, but hindsight was perfect and he was no avatar of Tanroa to play with time. "I'm Sam," he said, aware that even his name wasn't Drykas enough, but he did not feel that he had earned his old identity and his old name yet.

[Dymphna]

As she watched his face fall, she knew almost immediately that she’d said something wrong – Her father was constantly having to remind her that non-Drykas tended not to be as straight-forward as her own people, and when dealing with them she would sometimes need to be more subtle with her words. It was a lesson she didn’t feel she was ever going to learn. She bit her bottom lip, looking genuinely pained and worried by the non-verbal response she’d gotten from him. The last thing she wanted was to hurt anyone’s feelings. His response, the way he spoke, nearly everything about him now that she was in closer contact made her more and more curious with each passing breath. He was puzzling. “Well, there are things you can do to it… Oils and herbs. One time one of my uncles had his hair begin to fall out in clumps like he had mange, but he didn’t. He wasn’t even noticeably sick, though it ended up he had an imbalance due to improper bowel movement – which is sort of funny since my mother used to say he was full of sh- Um,” she paused, looking upwards as she realized where her path in the conversation was going. She was quick to put herself back in the right direction. “Anyway… When he finally got his hair growing back again, he used quite a few different things to speed up the process. I used him as a test subject. It was really quite funny since parts of his head grew hair faster than the rest from the patches of things I tried. “Anyway… There’s a root that, when ground, lathers almost as well as tallow soap. Fortunately you harvest it in the fall months, so you’ll be able to get some fresh. You put that into tallow soap – Which this is actually a great time of year to render the tallow since the deer are so fat. So you get lots and lots of bubbles, which is always so much fun… But then you rinse it with an infusion of some of the grasses found… Well, you get them in spring for the best oils, but they’re okay this time of year too. Or dried, of course, for going into the winter months, but… Then you rub a warm stimulating liniment on your scalp – Maybe peppermint or rosemary with honey. After that you, then, you put a light bit of oil on it. I mean, it… “Your hair is going to look really nice when it grows out,” she said, seeming to go in a completely different direction. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. My father says I should be gentler with non-Drykas, though… You may be Drykas, but if so you’ve not been to Endrykas for quite some time. Or… Anyway, my father also says I need to talk less if I want to be a better healer, because listening is a skill I’m not very good at. Which is probably why I’ve been encouraged to focus on herbalism instead of out-and-out healing. That’s fine, because I really love plants. “Oh,” she said, eyes getting wide. “I’m Dymphna. Pleasure to meet you, Sam.” She took a deep breath and a sip of her wine before quickly adding, “I’m a nervous talker.”

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Since returning to Endrykas, Sam had gotten better about not trying to hide what he was feeling. Unfortunately, that included the frequent hurts to his feelings. He was not as tough as he had been, at least with regard to his own people and culture. Outside Endrykas, he was tough enough to survive. After all, he had survived slavery in Lisnar and Sunberth, survived the wilds of Sylira and Taldera, but now ... everything was different. The Drykas were his family in the larger sense, and they lived deeper than his skin, closer than his neck-vein. They could wound him much easier than some random person in Syliras. In listening to everything this girl, this Dymphna, said, he both acknowledged the sage advice and missed his family terribly. The way she talked about hers, in offhand comments where the love was visible through the petty squabbling -- he missed that so terribly much. "I'll, uh, have to try that," he said. He had already forgotten half of it, so he would need her help if he was to attempt it at all. "My mother used to braid it for me. It's a little bit wiry, I guess. Or... well, there's some curl to it... um... "You sound very knowledgeable, Dymphna... Erm, I'm nervous too." He downed the rest of his drink.

[Dymphna]

“I assure you,” she said with a bright grin and a pause to sip her wine again, pressing her hand to her chest sincerely, “that at my very worst I’m still gentler than a horse’s bite.” So he was Drykas, because in her world view only Drykas braided their hair. If that was true or not was up in the air as she had a smaller understanding of the world beyond the Sea of Grass. She decided silently that he had been away from society for quite some time, though. Too many things were foreign to her. Two cups in, she wasn’t drunk. She wasn’t even a bit tipsy – Just the nice warm that came with sipping on wine. This was just Dymphna in all of her glory, and if Sam stuck around long enough he’d know that it was only worse when she was in fact drunk. “Did she? My mother used to, too. Now one of my father’s other wives does it for me, or sometimes my younger sister. But no one quite does it like my mother did,” she said, voice dropping down quietly. Though she spoke like the woman was no longer there, her eyes still had a bit of sparkle in them despite the hint of sadness there. In a flash whatever had been there was gone. Her eyes widened as she stood up, moving to sit directly next to him. “Is it? I can’t tell. Here. Let me…” Boundaries were clearly not her strong suit. She reached out to touch his hair. At first it was a timid pat, but then she stroked at it more firmly. “You’re right it is… Here…” She lifted her other hand to it. The grin on her lips grew even larger as she carefully started to put a little braid into it for him. “It’s not much, but it’s something to aspire to, isn’t it? I think so… I think I can work it around this way…” She squinted a little. Her fingers weren’t the best at braiding by any means, and his short hair made it even harder. Still she managed to get some semblance of one there. “Something’s missing. Now you need… Hm…” Her nose wrinkled as she looked at him. For a moment a finger went to his lips to keep him quiet as she just looked. “Oh. Silly me,” she exclaimed. Her hand moved from his mouth and reached up to her own hair. After a bit of shifting it about, she pulled out an opal bead for him. “This. You need this. It’s probably not the right stone, but consider it a good luck token…” She grinned, moving to thread his hair through it and twisting it about to tie it off. She leaned back, giving an approving nod. “There. Perfect.”

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"I've kept it short since... since I've been away," he informed her helpfully. It wasn't apropos of nothing, but he was certainly reaching for straws, attempting to insert a word or two when she paused for breath, which, he was noticing, was rare. Perhaps she had some Chaktawe blood. Didn't they have extra organs for storing air? Or was that water? She was stroking his hair. It was nice, but certainly odd. Though he had a physically affectionate kelvic wolf to look after, he was still not used to such things. For years touching had heralded bad things, and old habits were hard to break. It hurt a little when she tugged inexpertly, but he managed to mostly hide his wince, and then it was done. His eyes got wide when she tied an opal into his hair. He couldn't remember now, was she courting him? Was it merely compassion? "Perfect?" He blinked, then blushed. Oh, she meant the bead. "I mean, thank you... um... Dymphna." It was a strange, but strangely beautiful name. He made a point to say it a few more times so he would remember it. It was terribly rude not to keep names attached to faces. He couldn't afford to lose face in Endrykas when he had so little to begin with. "Oh, here. Take this." He fished something out of one of a myriad of pockets, a length of braided hemp with small glassbeak feathers from his kill during the storm on the journey from Syliras. There had been no real plan with it, so he quickly tied off the end, and drew his hunting knife to pare down the ends. Once that was achieved, he handed it over. It was proper to always exchange gifts, the law of hospitality. "Now we are friends," he added shyly.

[Dymphna]

Sam hadn’t just made a friend. He didn’t realize it, but he’d made a best friend when he handed over those feathers. Dymphna was a bit of a magpie, and her love of baubles, shiny objects, and anything that she could wear on her person caused her knees to go a little weak. She looked down to her hands where they were now setting and then back up at him with eyes bigger than a doe’s. And for a moment, like some great miracle, she was quiet as she looked back down at his gift – A pleased little smile slipping up onto her lips. “Thank you! Of course we’re friends,” she said as she moved then to start tucking the hemp into her hair. It was a make-shift fix, but it could be assumed that in the morning she’d have someone braid them in properly. “Now that you’re home, you’ll get your hair grown out faster,” she offered. It seemed at least this young woman had decided he was where he was supposed to be, and that eventually he would be whatever it was he was supposed to be. “You’ll be eating the diet your body was built to consume. And you’ll be happier, which causes things to grow faster. I was away for a few years myself, and when I returned I grew almost two hands. You may end up as tall as a glassbeak.” She put her hands on her cheeks, which were slowly turning a bit ruddy, and grinned brightly. Turning her head from side-to-side, she gave him a few different angles of his gift in her hair. “How does it look?”

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"Well, I think I'm happy. At least, I'm happier than before. Maybe. It's all so strange. Like things I remember from my early childhood, but then were taken away for longer than my childhood... you know? It's like a land of memories returning out of no where. It's just... strange." He looked up with a shy smile. "I hope my hair grows fast. It'll let me know I'm happy. I'm not sure if I would recognize it exactly. I mean, there's little happinesses, but... huge, big happy? I don't know." He paused. "That isn't supposed to sound sad and pathetic, because I'm not sad. I just... I'm here, but I'm still a little lost is all. I'll figure it out eventually. I'm making friends, after all." When she put the braided bit of hemp and glassbeak feathers into her hair, he smiled wider. "It looks good. It'll look really good when someone braids it in properly. And... oh... I don't really want to grow any taller. Might outgrow my horses."