Open A Shift in Power

[Eldrid]

Eldrid could scarcely reign in her shock when she witnessed one Myrian spit in the hapless Orabelle's eye. Immediately she felt indignant rage bubble up inside of her. A rare small flame, rare not in its occurence, but more by way of not being shown often. She fluttered down closer to Orabelle who had gotten her footing again only moments before the offensive globule had been flung. The small, delicate akvatari had her hands clenched into equally delicate-looking fists. Her pale cheeks flushed a slight red beneath her furious hazel eyes.
"Well, I have never in all my travels seen such a display of boorish, asinine . . . How dare . . . What exactly were . . ." She began, attempting to articulate her frustration into a sentence which conveyed it effectively. This tan-skinned oaf had just demonstrated a disregard for any form of basic courtesy towards this woman. The akvatari was well aware that this was what happened in the world quite often, but seeing it happen right in front of her was another matter entirely. Unfortunately, she could already feel the small spark of anger inside her being drowned in a sea of melancholy as she approached Orabelle and landed on her tail before her. With a resigned sigh she turned her attention to the victim's face, leaving the Myrian's to their conversation in whatever language it was they spoke.

The svefra-blooded woman's face had been artfully painted with make up Eldrid now saw. The kohl was perfectly done around the eyes, except where the horrendous glob had begun to decompose that perfection around one eye.
"Are you okay miss? . . . Your kohl is ruined . . . " She said regretfully, sad that the perfect image of Orabelle's make upped face had been ruined. Although, that did give her an idea for a painting for a later time. She paged through one of her books, looking for the segment about younger children in the Festival of Hope chapter. She recalled something about their laurels that might help at this moment.
"-A ceremonial laurel of softer cloth, with the images of branches embroidered onto the sides." She read softly, causing a pale grey sash of what seemed to be cloth to appear above the book. It was about the size of a small necklace, and when Eldrid took it in one hand and folded it, it looked more like a handkerchief. As she held it up, ready to wipe the offending mess off Orabelle's face she hesitated slightly, pondering if she were over stepping some unseen boundary before she continued.
"Allow me." She said by means of a warning before she attempted to pad the area of spit and kohl dry on the materialised material.

It was moments after this that the peculiar man whom Eldrid had failed to notice until now ran past with a group of Akalak following closely. She could scarcely believe her eyes at this point. The man seemed to be wearing nothing but a bag over his head when he ran past, and he seemed to be shouting something unintelligible to the Akvatari. Not because of the language he used, but more because of her lack of attention to his words before he departed. Eldrid stared after him in confusion, not entirely sure what part of the situation required more of her attention, not quite aware of the kohl covered cloth in her hand which simply puffed out of existence.

It was as she was staring after this peculiar group of men that had departed that she saw possibly the last thing she had expected to see at a time like this: A familiar face. Well, half of a familiar face. The other half being covered in some strange ooze.
"Mo'esha?!" Eldrid exclaimed in surprise as the Konti spoke of what had happened. Eldrid's brow furrowed slightly as she shuffled towards the woman she had met at the Winter Blaze. Had that man really hit Mo'esha? What had happened to the Riverian reputation for behaviour towards non-nakivak women. Although, Eldrid was quite sure that fellow was not Riverian in origin, otherwise the Akalak would likely not have been chasing him. The strange ooze was quite mysterious though, for why the fellow had been covered in it was anyone's guess. The smell though, overpowering as it was, was strikingly familiar. She held out a hand and touched a finger to Mo's gunked up hand, removing a blob of ooze for inspection.
"I'll see what I can do Mo'esha . . . I think I know this . . . Liquid. . ." Eldrid said tiredly as she brought the ooze up to her nose to smell it. The strong smell almost made her cringe, but the strength only aided in identifying it. She had come across it often, although what she was used to, was the taste surprisingly enough. The taste of inksticks, caused by distracted gnawing while drawing. It matched the smell of this acrid ooze almost perfectly, which only served to confuse Eldrid more. "It . . . Is ink I think. Why in Nysel's name would it be ink?" She mused aloud before she started leafing through her books in search of something. She reread the same sash she had read earlier, causing the material to appear as it had before, clean and untouched.
"What we need is some water. I do not know if there is a well nearby we could use . . . But water should help clean that ink off . . . "
She said to Mo before she sighed and pressed a hand against her forehead.
"Why does this town seem to delight in questioning my sanity?"
She murmured softly, trying to process all of what was happening around her.