Hydaelyn Role-Players

Location: The Goblet Housing wards, outside the Hungry Wolf Company headquarters

Rhea scowled as she rubbed her side, the bruise under her rib reminding her that it did not tolerate so much lifting and straining at the moment. Even as a Conjurer, there were limits to her own body’s natural healing ability, and Juno’s new training regimen, if she could even call the violent, bloody clashes training, was taxing to her body. Around her, the workers talked amongst themselves, busying themselves with old crates and boxes long forgotten in one of the store houses. Occasionally when they saw her move, they would usher her away, saying that the ‘Mistress’ shouldn’t be doing their job, or that the head maid Trisselle had specifically ordered them to ensure that she was to rest. There was only so much paperwork to do, so much post job Rum and booze she could order, and having gone through them so many times, she was getting bored, just sitting here outside the doors, waiting for them to complete the stock removal for the yearly inventory rotations.

“I am going to keep calling him Master Iskandi for that last swordblow.” Rhea snarled to herself, tail thrashing behind her on her perch. The maid beside her merely giggled, before accepting the clipboard and running off to deliver it to her desk.

Another moment, and a crash as one rather clumsy Sea wolf, newly hired, let a crate fall to the floor. Rhea took this chance to bolt up, almost running over, only to see her most experienced worker, a dunefolk picking up the box with ease and setting it atop another crate, chastising the new worker for breaking over the box. Both men bowed as she approached and scuttled away to continue their conversation elsewhere. It almost made her want to throw up her hands in frustration, until her eyes caught sight of the actual contents. A slim, long box of finely carved mahogany poked up from well packed hay, along with a wider, thinner box, taunting her with memories.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it old friend?” She muttered to herself as she pulled out the thinner box, revealing the lattice work of similar boxes underneath. Her fingers pried the box open and the silk tumbled out, pooling over her arms. Pulling out the lone fan, her wrist snapped, the noise echoing through the emptier building as the cloth fluttered to life. The vivid red of the fan was eye-catching, fading into the warm yellows and red, like the flames they were meant to mock, even after so many years.
“Miss! A missive came for you, if we could get a signature!” A voice called from the house. Rhea’s ears perked as she carefully draped the silk fan across the crate, almost bouncing as she rushed to the house.

“What about?” Her question faded as she let the doorman close the door after her.

It has been a while since Ilwe'ran came over with C'zhaer and Kage, the two miqo'te seemingly under a temporary glamour with a concerned lalafell friend. Ilwe came to Vaughn with a problem: C'zhaer was being hunted, hense the glamour until they could figure out what to do. Vaughn tried to look into the mysterious hunter, but kept hitting dead ends. Nobody came to the Hungry Wolf that didn't have business there. Shadowing C'zhaer in Ul'dah didn't seem to bring to light any answers either. Just that the male--or female, as the case actually was--is a cautious, mildly paranoid sort. A trait Vaughn understood all too well.

Vaughn peered over the rail to the scene below the Goblet markets, something the Elezen did to make sure those inside were safe. She saw a female miqo'te with the boxes and movers and frowned. Did something happen? she thought. She watched a bit longer, the silks catching her eyes as that particular crate opened. She moved around to the stairs leading to the house. By the time she got to the gate, the miqo'te went inside.

Not wanting to overstep her bounds, she lingered at the gate, tilting her head at the silks with a decorative fan resting atop the bundle. They were beautiful, and reminded her of a simpler time. Well, perhaps not simpler. Nothing about her past was simple. Sure, she missed it sometimes, but the life she has now is much more preferable.

Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she contemplated a few choices. The other people seemed to be busy... Maybe she could get a closer look. Gingerly, she crossed the gate's threshold and toward the crate to examine its contents.

With a great sigh, Rhea practically dragged herself out of the room, having had been, once again, herded out of her office and ordered to rest up, without using a cure spell. She snarled and rolled her eyes as she recalled the man’s reasoning.
“Teaching me a lesson about rolling over and dying, hrmph, indeed.” Rhea shrugged as she stormed across the lawn, purposefully walking over grass and by the pond as the spirits eagerly imparted sparks of energy to healing wounds. If she were not a healer, such bruises would only cause more problems overtime, but she supposed that was the reason Juno figured it was an acceptable stipulation. Even without an active casting, her own natural skill and connection to the elements would force a weary body to heal faster than normal. Her maid, this time, had stayed inside to work with the office crew in sorting out the paperwork and the stable boy, leaving the normally work-a-holic Seeker with far too much time on her hands.
Rubbing at the bridge of her noise, she glanced up only to see an unfamiliar person over the crate, the shimmering silk fan clearly the object of interest.
“Ah, pardon me, but that object is not for-“ Rhea paused mid-warning. “Oh. Miss Vaughn, Greetings.” Rhea’s words stumbled a little when her brain caught up to her natural inclination. “Erm, something interesting about my… uh… erm… collection?”

Vaughn jumped as she was addressed, a hand instinctively moving to the hidden dagger in her boot, caught off guard. Before she drew it, however, she looked at the miqo'te woman with a smile. "Oh, these are yours? My apologies, they were just so beautiful."

She tilts her head. "They remind me of the private dancers in... Well, I suppose it doesn't matter where. Were you one of them?"

If she had been drinking anything at the moment, Rhea would of most likely spit out any liquid in a spray of spit. Her tail fluffed a little as she gave the woman a somewhat dumbfounded look before sighing to herself.

“I’m starting to wonder if that’s going to be the instinctive question I’ll be getting for the rest of my days…” Rhea half muttered to herself, mind wandered to the other encounter another day where the man insisted she was a prostitute of some sort when she clearly said Merchant. Sighing, she moved past the woman, gingerly picking up the fan’s wooden base, the silk trail echoing the slight movement. “Well, I know how to use it, if that is what you mean.”

Vaughn blinked at her reaction. "I...didn't mean any offense." She watched the miqo'te's movements, taking her own hand off the dagger hilt and standing. "It's a lovely art. Nothing to be ashamed of." She smiled sheepishly.

She looked around. "But you're moving? Is Sir C'zhaer doing alright?"

“None taken,” Rhea said with a sigh, eyes glazing over as she carefully lifted the fan, carefully holding it in the beginning pose. Her grip betrayed her words; they instinctively knew where to place themselves, unlike the clumsy imitations of the high born noble woman or the fashionably elite. “It just kind of funny. I have been here so long, and yet no one can believe one of my kind can be a merchant of wares, not of flesh and pleasure, that’s all.” She rumbled mirthlessly.
Her ears twitched as she heard the ‘false’ name, a sad smile on her face. “He has returned to the lands from which he came. The threat is gone, hunted down by a very angry pair of crazed dogs, at least for now. As for us, no, merely a yearly inventory of stock, to see what we could sell and clear out or reuse.” Her hands motioned to the two clear pile ups. Lifting the fan over her head, she draped it over her head, the other hand moving to gather the long silk trail over her head so that the cloth would not drag across the floor.

Vaughn smiled sadly. "Flesh and pleasure... Mm, it is...a ruthless trade. Being an honest merchant is truely much more admirable." She watches the woman's movements again. "Care to show me, Miss...?" She chuckled with a blush. "Ah, my apologies. You seem to know my name, but I must have forgotten yours."

Tilting her head in confusion, Rhea’s ears cocked themselves for a moment, before she realized something. Flushing red, she moved to bow, expertly gathering the fan and cloth in one hand.

“My apologies, M’lady. I am the merchant Rhea… Sister to C’zhaer I suppose. As for an honest merchant, if you ever find one, I’m sure they do not exist here in this city. Plenty of friendly monsters though.” Rhea chuckled to herself. Inwardly, she questioned if Vaughn was playing dumb or had actually thought the two of them separate, but she didn’t bother actually asking.

Her head cocked at the question. She eyed the fan in question, then at the unopened box. “I’m afraid the dance in question would require something a little more… specific.” She moved to place the long fan back, folding the trail carefully and recapping the box. “Too specialized for the dance it was made for, as you know. But…” Rhea bit her lip as her eyes locked upon the other thin boxes in the crate. Her fingers hesitated for a moment as they brushed against the lacquered casing, before pulling out a much larger, thicker box. “Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt, after all, it’s not like we have much of an audience to pander to.” Pulling out the case she pried the thing open, carefully revealing a pair of much simpler fans, the wooden slats carefully engraved with great cranes mid-flight.

"Lady Rhea..." Vaughn mulled the name over in her head before a flicker of recognition hit. "Oh! You were with Sir Ilwe during Meli Day!" She blushed further. "I'm sorry, my memory is not what it used to be."

She continued to watch Rhea pack the silken fan back and take out the more traditional ones with a smile. "Those are beautiful as well." She sat on the fence's stone top, eager to watch the miqo'te woman dance yet another art Vaughn had been neglecting over the cycles.

“No worries, its part of why I am still alive today I suppose. I easily find myself able to slip into the back of the mind until I am needed. Keeps me out of the spotlight unless I need to be.” Tapping her foot, Rhea shrugged, as if used to such reactions. Adjusting her grip, she carefully allowed her fingers to pinch at the slats, playing with the fan once or twice to test the condition of the fans themselves. They snapped open with ease, and closed with nary a complaint. Good.

Closing her eyes, Rhea tried to focus, remember any song or such to dance in time to. It was hard to dance without some sort of beat to follow, but she inhaled quietly before taking a controlled step forward, arms moving slowly as the fans became her ‘wings’, muscles tensed as she moved to an unheard beat. Her first movements were awkward stumbles, but slowly her muscles warmed up as her movements became less predictable, and more fluid, the stops and go movements of her arms and legs sharper.

Vaughn smiles as she watches, starting to drum her delicate fingers against the stone wall fence in rhythm with Rhea's movements. After a bit longer, she starts to hum softly. It was another involuntary reaction as she watched anything that had any indication of a possible dance or movement. It is no secret Vaughn loves to put music to nearly everything.

Slowly, a smile graces her lips, growing wider as the dance continued.

Rhea’s ears twitched on top of her head as her body began to instinctively move in time to the hum and finger drumming, mind seeming to stop as she zoned out, translating beat into movement as she began to loosen up. Gone was the controlled, by the book postures, and it became more about expression and the beat.

Vaughn watches the movements carefully, remembering each one from when she danced. Every fluid motion guiding the trained muscles with purpose and grace. It was no doubt a sensual dance, meant to bring thoughts of other activities once one was fully warmed up and limber.

Vaughn continues the drumming and singing, starting to put lyrics into the soft humming. A song she knew from when she had to "entertain" in much the same fashion. A song she often became lost in to not think about what she had to do once the song ended. It still comforted her, and she hoped it would be a proper one to keep Rhea dancing.

Slowly her eyes opened as the song triggered memories. She remembered the hushed whispers, the smell of incense, fluids, and other things. But her time there was also one of privilege, Rhea knew this. The reason why she had been there wasn’t the same as the others, she had her own agenda, and it became clear as she let herself let herself go, ignoring the murmurs of her workers and forgetting where she actually was. The fans themselves began to speak; “Watch me, Follow me, Focus on me.” Her legs arched around an invisible pole as she raised herself up on one foot, holding her arms out for balance as Vaughn hit a specific note.