Entreating the Wellsmith

Re: Entreating the Wellsmith

Postby Dulcie » Sat Feb 23, 2013 12:37 pm

She had given up on her gowns some time ago, having found the conversation too distracting to really continue without furthering injuring her fingers. She'd take a moment to finish folding the gowns that had gotten rumpled.

"No, I'm not from here." She'd say softly, laughing softly at the mention of an interest in origins. "I'm not so sure you would like to hear much of my origins. I've had many lives before this one. Not literally mind you. This is by far the most peaceful of all the places that I've lived." And that certainly said something.

"I'm very glad that I can trust you with my secret Miss Gloria, and I'm glad that you feel you could trust yourself to my hands. Holding the trust of others is something that I hold rather dear to my heart." She'd get up after she finished putting away her things, rising to her feet and moving towards the door with Gloria. She too found some relief in the fresh air and she'd pause for a minute to breathe it in. before she'd lead Gloria down the hall.

"I would love to see your bandage weave. I have one of my own I'm rather fond of that I learned when working at another healing house, but I would like to have another option. I'll show you mine too if you'd like." All the way down the hall her step was light, her voice soft and quiet. Eventually they'd reach a door that opened to a small room that was filled with drying and dried herbs, salves, and other similar concoctions. She knew right what she was going, her pale hand reaching between the dried herbs and picking out a few different ones.
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Re: Entreating the Wellsmith

Postby Rance » Sun Feb 24, 2013 1:11 pm

"We all have very different lives," the seamstress said, following with the dedication of a friend, a student. Perhaps, on a slighter level, a patient, though because she had not been taken sick with arrow or had not been sequestered to a bed, that comparison was only a moment's consideration. "A girl cannot ever know enough. Yes? Perhaps," she added, as her fingers rubbed and worried at the gilded embroidery of the dress Janessa had given her, "you will tell me about these origins over good tea, when my mind is more clear.

"The origins you are willing to share," she added, with haste -- she would be loathe to pry merely out of curiosity.

In the room with the drying herbs, where the air seemed warmer, more humid and heavy, she could not help but let her eyes take in all the ceramic bottles and the blown-glass vials wherein the dried flakes of herbs and the twists of thin, hairy mosses awaited. Products of healing. Goods for killing the pain in a body.

"It is a plan, to share these bandage-weaves," she said, standing beside Janessa as the woman plucked several select tubes of herbs from the stores of so many. "But yours, I would imagine, are more suited to the fabrics in this place. Yes? I cannot, for the life of me, get hold of a stock of black indigo fabric. I have tried to contact a trader -- maybe he is still here, do you think, he was struck by an arrow, I hope that he is well -- but have not received a response."

She could have gone on and on about the bandages, about how they required this so-called black indigo fabric, that it needed to be unwoven from its refined sheets, and then rewoven in a specific way using particular swoops and stitches, and--

"Are those what I should take," she said, leaning over Janessa's arm, peering at her work as she extracted the herbs. Her voice was impatient, a little desperate -- but hopeful, too.

"They will help, will they not," she asked. "I will get a good night's sleep?"
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Re: Entreating the Wellsmith

Postby Dulcie » Sun Feb 24, 2013 2:07 pm

"We'll see. It's been a long time since I've told anyone about where I've come from. Sometimes it feels so far away that I have a hard time believing that it was ever my life. But I would very much enjoy that cup of tea, and perhaps we could see what would come of it." She'd finish gathering her herbs about her, and she'd begin portioning each of them out into small leather pouches.

"Yes, these are the ones that you'll take. You should put one spoonful of each in the water that you boil for broth. If it makes it taste better to you it's fine if you add a bit of salt and boil it with chicken bones or the like. It would give it some flavor at least."

She'd finish portioning them out, holding on to them while she listened respectfully to the discussion about the bandages, finding it interesting and curious that they would use the dark bandages instead of white ones.

"I should like to hear more about them. Perhaps we can to discuss that over the cup of tea as well." She'd hand the pouches out to Gloria.

"There's no guarantee. I think it should help you sleep, but I don't know that it will take your dreams away. Not if there's something unnatural about them. I do hope that they're just normal dreams, that the herbs will help you relax and sleep and that they will go away on their own." But it didn't sound like she believed that completely.
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Re: Entreating the Wellsmith

Postby Rance » Tue Feb 26, 2013 3:02 am

Sometimes it feels so far away that I have a hard time believing that it was ever my life.

"A cup of tea it is," the young seamstress agreed, marking off each of the points of conversation with a tap of her finger in the air, as if striking the criteria off an unseen list. "A sharing of the pasts; a talk of bandages. I will look forward to it. One day, whether sooner or later, we will share this kind of conversation. I am a persistent fellow." A word whose masculinity she was not entirely versed on, but Son -- the boy she had bruised with her knuckles -- had said she hit like a fellow, and now it was a part of her.

It was to her comfort that the seamstress could not always understand the inflection behind Standard words. If it had been in Jernoan, she might have recognized the wellsmith's doubt -- but no, she received the herbs with a smile, gathering the pouches, folding them together, and placing them gingerly in one of the pockets of her shoulder-satchel.

"I will give you several hours a week on the gowns," she said. "I take lessons in the mornings with Proctor Duquesne at Darkenhold -- it is not so morbid a place, and he has the most intriguing fellow that escorts me, says not a word -- but on firstdays, and third-days, and fifthdays, I will come. Mid-afternoon, if--" she had not named the lumbering creature Duquesne had given her to learn to ride, until, "--if Caliir is on his good saunter. Yes?"

Caliir. A good name. A good Jernoan name.

"Come spring, I should require a peach; I will provide to the Doctor that I am a steady hand at stitches. But for now, the gowns."

She patted her satchel-side, sought out Janessa's hand with gloved fingers, and if she could, would bow her head and raise the wellsmith's knuckles to a seamstress' forehead. "At'chemso," she said.

Wasting her own time was one thing; wasting away the time of others was an entirely separate matter. Janessa had tasks of important to return to, and so the seamstress turned upon a heel, and was gone.
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