Virara's head dipped away from the talkative culinarian's weaving hands as she found herself submerged in a deluge of conversation. She'd always just beaten the meat or tore it with her fingers if she needed to. The talk of experimentation and valuable tools rung Virara about her ferrous skull, so much so that she simply winced and just nodded compliantly, only the most rudimentary traces of suspicion left behind. Her aching stomach distracted her, and she considered the plate of cookies left behind by Zhara. No doubt the sweetness would just make her lips pucker. If only she had a shaker of ground pepper handy...
"N-no, I don't mean to suggest that, Cleaver Lady. This is difficult... I thought we were talking about food, not magiteck..."
Virara squeezed her eye shut and shook her head, pigtails flitting about. Her stomach complained quietly under the short table.
"Chagenji is soft. He is soft, so you mustn't use his work carelessly. His will is important. You are going to only cut meat. It should be fine..."
Her statement had the air of an earnest request, but also was silently demanding in the only way she knew. Virara, too, had a masterwork piece Chachanji entrusted to her. That time before in the Coerthas snows, when she was waylaid by bandits, she'd fought with her bare hands, despite the risk to her bones. His fine, stone-like hora, robust enough to withstand eons of training, lay unused, half-sunken in the white ground, as she'd already expended her supply of cheap iron knuckles. She never used his gift when she was being "bad."
Before she can further question the smith's customer, however, Zhara emerged once more with an unfamiliar face. She could not help but tense up. Another musician. Virara could scarcely understand it. Her grasp of melody was pathetic; even a dhalmel could likely sing better than Virara. She averted her eye to avoid another unintentional glare, thus appearing to suddenly find the wood knots in the table profoundly fascinating.
"N-no, I don't mean to suggest that, Cleaver Lady. This is difficult... I thought we were talking about food, not magiteck..."
Virara squeezed her eye shut and shook her head, pigtails flitting about. Her stomach complained quietly under the short table.
"Chagenji is soft. He is soft, so you mustn't use his work carelessly. His will is important. You are going to only cut meat. It should be fine..."
Her statement had the air of an earnest request, but also was silently demanding in the only way she knew. Virara, too, had a masterwork piece Chachanji entrusted to her. That time before in the Coerthas snows, when she was waylaid by bandits, she'd fought with her bare hands, despite the risk to her bones. His fine, stone-like hora, robust enough to withstand eons of training, lay unused, half-sunken in the white ground, as she'd already expended her supply of cheap iron knuckles. She never used his gift when she was being "bad."
Before she can further question the smith's customer, however, Zhara emerged once more with an unfamiliar face. She could not help but tense up. Another musician. Virara could scarcely understand it. Her grasp of melody was pathetic; even a dhalmel could likely sing better than Virara. She averted her eye to avoid another unintentional glare, thus appearing to suddenly find the wood knots in the table profoundly fascinating.
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AV by Kura-Ou
Wiki (Last updated 01/16)
My Balmung profile.
AV by Kura-Ou
Wiki (Last updated 01/16)
My Balmung profile.
