Gertrude snorted in the vaguely unpleasant way she tended to exhibit her humor as the old man affirmed his existence through flexing.
"Yeah, old guy, that pretty much proves it. Definitely convinced me. Nobody smite this guy, he's the real deal," Gertrude announced as she took a seat near her homunculus. Though she made it out to be sarcasm, she could already imagine a few ways it could be within that Witch's power to do this. She didn't doubt that his being alive was a real possibility. At least, in here, wherever here was.
...Gertrude wondered, briefly, if she could lift his soul. If she could transport him from this place. It was a worthwhile experiment, but she wasn't sure what would happen if one Witch's rule-breaking BS was combined with another's. Complete spatial collapse? Maybe. Could be funny. The humor probably wouldn't last, though. Much as she hated that she was still a novice, Gertrude would probably have to consult with the old bag.
Quickly settling into an epic lethargy, Gertrude picked Fanilly out of the crowd and snapped at her.
"Hey, squire," she rudely assumed based on the girl's height and general uncertain demeanor, "go bring us some food. We're getting hungry. We like meats and sweets."
"But we hate carrots and bell peppers, so we don't want anything with that garbage in it," the homunculus added in a commanding, if bratty, sort of tone.
Before she knew it, Gertrude was dropped from one of the old hag's loops right into another. Or at least, something like it. The hard mahogany haft of her broom smacked into her head while she was caught unawares, and Gertrude let out a barrage of curses under her breath as the Witch casually continued explaining... something... to some people? These were probably the order of knights that they had chatted about. Right? They didn't look too impressive. Gertrude grumbled as she massaged her head.
That broom was a present, dammit.
And just as quick as Gertrude had been thrown into this situation, Merilia disappeared in a puff of unquestionability. Gertrude silently took note of her treatment here, and determined to get Merilia back one day too.
All those old bags were gonna get it... eventually.
Remarkably, it was the least knightly-looking one of the bunch that approached her and helped her to her feet. If she didn't know he was a knight, she would have guessed he was a peasant. Call it pauper's intuition. That, and he was at least humble enough to help some random maid up, which was apparently beneath most of the so-called knights. Gertrude clicked her tongue as she dusted herself off.
"I'm Gertrude, and I'm fine," she practically growled, helping the homunculus to her feet as well, "I don't need any help, and I didn't ask for it."
Though she said this, it would have been obvious by grabbing her arm that she was incredibly weak. Though she magically reinforced her body, it didn't make her any more muscular than the sickly girl she always was.
Gertrude practically shoved her broom at the homunculus, knowing that the creature didn't have Florian's pendant or a lot of mana to spare. The homunculus was largely something she used to continue researching while she was focusing on other things, and not a combat tool. Depending on the length of the trek, the homunculus might have some physical difficulties. If those arose, she could hover on the broom without having to use too much of her own mana.
She willfully pushed past Gerard, immediately taking him up on his offer in the middle rank despite her otherwise unhelpful attitude. She didn't think she would have any trouble defending herself, but that Witch might have put a lot of unfair bullshit in the way and it would be safest to let the front and back take all the abuse. Even if they couldn't die, it would still be a pain.
When they finally made their way into the castle, some big guy Gertrude didn't know greeted them all. As her homunculus, exhausted, took the nice seat with all the cushions, Gertrude crossed her arms. With the power of context clues, she was soon on... almost the same page as everyone else. To her own dismay, she snorted when the knight with the well-groomed facial hair started talking about dalliances and boars as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Cyrus. That Cyrus? It seemed so. In the context of the Iron Rose Knights, that name meant only one thing, after all. But wasn't he...
"Aren't you supposed to be dead, gramps?" Gertrude asked with all the decorum of a raccoon at a royal banquet, "might wanna crawl back in the ground before one of these knights freaks out and smites you."
Personality: Willful, arrogant, and fickle. Like a Human version of a cat, she does what she wants when she wants to do it. She’s languid and abrasive and sadistic, but she wasn’t always like that. She still longs for connections even though all of her relationships have ended badly. Though she’s incredibly knowledgeable and powerful, she is emotionally immature due to neglect, abuse, and lack of socialization. Her physical frailty has always engendered a monstrous sort of envy inside of her, which continues to grow even after becoming a top-class mage. Her biggest weakness is her desperate need for validation.
Brief Backstory:
As a descendent of Mirror Knight Florian, and as the greatest hunter in Marburg, it was a foregone conclusion that herr Gunther Jäger should have a strong son. It came as a disappointment, then, that his first-born child was a girl, and a weak one at that. Even as a baby, Gertrude was often sick, and required many visits from the local healer growing up. Gunther would just as soon have nothing to do with it, but Helga, the girl’s mother, was keen on reminding him that Gertrude was his blood.
Florian’s blood.
If Gunther paid attention to anything, it was how he was perceived, and spitting on the blood of one of the founding members of the Iron Rose Knights would tarnish the grand image of importance that he tried to affect. However, as grand as his image was, he was only a hunter, and to anyone’s knowledge Florian didn’t exactly leave him much. The need for medicines was constant and grew expensive, and as the price grew, so too did his resentment of his daughter.
When Gertrude was finally well enough to get by without a weekly visit, Gunther took her out into the woods. “You owe me a lot of money,” he said, “and you’re going to pay it back. If you can walk, you can hunt.”
He trained her however he could, and she had a surprising talent for learning things quickly, but her body just couldn’t keep up. Even drawing a bowstring was too difficult for her weak arms. Frustrated, Gunther smacked the weapon out of her hands.
“Useless.”
Though Helga treated Gertrude kindly, there really wasn’t much she could do to dissuade Gunther’s crusade. He was determined to turn a profit from his daughter. To create something he could show off, something he could be proud of. So every day, he took her out into the woods, and every day he made his disappointment known. Gertrude was pushed constantly to her limit, and had nothing to show for it. “Useless, Useless, Useless”. This is how she also began to perceive herself.
Then one day, the arrival of an Orcish warband was heralded by Helga’s mangled corpse. It was no longer safe to go out, and the villagers had to start paying tribute. Gunther was called upon to drive the band off, but he suddenly had more excuses than availability. Gertrude grieved, and wallowed in her own powerlessness. She was useless, and because she was useless, the only person that ever truly cared for her was gone.
Eventually, the village was dragged out of the depths of despair by the Iron Rose Knights. The group was cheered ecstatically when they arrived to relay news of the warband’s routing. They were celebrated. They were loved. Gunther was nowhere in sight, and all Gertrude could do was look on as Tyaethe, a girl even smaller than her, was congratulated on saving Marburg.
Something inside her broke.
If a girl that small could do it, why couldn’t she? She couldn’t blame it on being born a girl. She couldn’t blame it on her size. The only thing left was the echoing of her father’s words, blaring more true than they had ever been. There was no excuse for her weakness. She was just useless.
Gertrude didn’t understand that Tyaethe was a vampire, older and stronger than anyone in the village. She didn’t understand that Tyaethe had troubles too, that some saw her as a monster, not to be trusted. All Gertrude saw was a girl smaller than she was being lauded, and years of barely-contained vitriol boiled up. She grabbed a nearby rock, and chucked it at the knight with all of her strength.
And it fell just short.
Gertrude ran away, cursing under her breath.
When Gertrude got back home, her father was not happy to see her. He never was, but this was different. He had unmitigated hate and frustration in his eyes.
“Get out. Don’t come back unless you bring me a kill. You either die in that forest, or you bring me a damn carcass.”
Gertrude finally understood. If she couldn’t do that much, if she couldn’t kill, then she should just die. Death, or kill. That was what stood in the way of her happiness. Even her mother, if she hadn’t been so useless… death or kill. The village… everyone suffering… death or kill.
But even with her emotions running high, even with a truly monstrous envy and determination, her body had not grown any stronger. As she tried and failed to hunt, over and over, it became ever more certain that she would die in the woods. Then, she heard the sweetest voice in her ear. It said something that made her spine tingle.
“My, but you’re strong.”
The words she had always longed to hear, from anyone. It didn’t sound patronizing or sarcastic. Even with her massive victim complex, she could tell that the voice meant it. She was strong. This girl thought she was strong.
And it was a girl. Again, just about her size. But there was a cool maturity in her voice. A depth when Gertrude looked into her eyes that told of experience and complexity.
“Who are you?”
“I am a Witch.”
And somehow, Gertrude knew this to be true. She was so cute… but with an undercurrent of danger. A danger that Gertrude knew instinctively, and yet…
“You’re not scared?” the Witch asked.
“I think… all my fear went away,” Gertrude answered flatly, “but what do you mean? Saying I’m strong… but I’m so weak. I can’t do anything.”
“Your soul is strong,” the Witch answered, smiling tenderly, “one of the strongest I’ve seen.”
“But what’s a strong soul good for? Without a strong body, you-”
“A strong soul is the best of all. It means you have the potential to accomplish truly great things. It means that you could become the strongest mage of an era. Only, you have to know how to draw out its power… and none of those foolish villagers could have given you that,” the Witch replied, patting Gertrude’s head. Gertrude became strangely docile, the things boiling inside her coming to a simmer as the Witch told her all the things she wanted to hear.
Gertrude hugged her, and the Witch held her close.
“Only a few people can tell how special you are. Lucky for you, I am one of those people. And I’m looking to take on more apprentices.”
Gertrude was taken to Aleksiya’s Wandering Mansion, and given a maid uniform to represent her apprenticeship. As she grew, so too did her skill in magic. The Witch quickly discovered one of Gertrude’s greatest strengths: her incredible ability to learn by watching. If she could watch someone do a certain kind of magic, she was quickly able to understand the underlying mechanics and adapt different spells into her own lexicon. It still took practice, but her mind made her especially suited to spellcasting.
Even the advanced rule-breaking magic of soul partitioning was Gertrude’s to take, though such a magic was so unique to each person that it was no easy feat, even if she watched someone do it a hundred times. She pushed her body to the limit studying, desperately wanting to please Aleksiya. Desperately wanting to hear her words of praise, over and over again. Aleksiya, for her part, didn’t exactly dissuade Gertrude’s growing obsession.
When Aleksiya had felt Gertrude had learned enough, she gave the girl one more task.
“I want you to take the powerful magic you have learned, and kill your father.”
Gertrude was speechless.
“You tell me all the time, how awful he was. It’s taking up an unhealthy amount of space in your heart. If you kill him, you free yourself from your past. It’s shackling your soul. Do this, and your power will soon grow beyond your wildest dreams.”
“I… I can’t,” Gertrude answered. Her heart had grown hard over the years. She had ripped her soul apart so many times, she didn’t even know if she was Human any more. And yet, killing her most hated person was somehow something she could not do.
Maybe it was the only thing standing in the way of her potential.
Maybe it was the only thing keeping her from becoming a total monster. She felt that familiar ichor begin to boil inside her again.
“That’s boring. You don’t want to bore me, do you? If you do it, I’ll reward you well.”
“Anything but that. I’ll do anything else, but I don’t want to go back there. I don’t want-”
“Which is exactly why you have to do it! I’ve praised and pampered you this long, I’ve been following this drama from the start, and I’m ready to see the climax. But this? This is boring. I don’t want to see you until you do as I say. Leave, and don’t come back until you’ve shown me something fun.”
How many times can a person break?
Aleksiya’s words were just like her father’s. She was just a tool for both of them, only the Witch knew how to work her better. It started boiling over. Repressed feelings, raging hormones, buried complexes…
“Fuck you! I did everything you wanted up until now, and I haven’t earned even an ounce of your respect?”
“Doormats don’t get respect, they get my heel.”
How quickly love turns into hate.
“I did everything… I needed you! I wanted… and you can’t listen to a single request of mine? Well, screw it! I don’t need you. Everything can burn! When I come back… you’d better watch out!”
Gertrude stormed away, and Aleksiya smiled.
“This could be fun too.”
Aleksiya contacted Merilia soon after, and requested that she look out for a rogue apprentice of hers.
“If the Iron Roses had another magic expert, they’d bother you less.”
The Delinquent Mage, an abrasive woman in a maid outfit, soon began harassing students at the Mage College. Humiliating them with their own favored magic, and gloating over them. She was notable for her lack of recorded education, thus the title.
Merilia correctly guessed that this was the apprentice in question and, for a true Witch, apprehending Gertrude was like lifting an unruly child and setting them in a corner. After a short conversation in which Gertrude incessantly teased Merilia and patted her head, the Witch offered her a job, making a quiet note of Gertrude’s transgressions. Gertrude was to become a member of the Iron Rose Knights.
The stuffiness of knighthood left a sour taste in her mouth. She didn’t want to take orders from anyone else. She’d only just broken free from her former mistress. And yet, the Iron Roses would make for useful allies if she ever got the chance to turn around on Aleksiya. Gertrude determined that she would join their ranks, but retain her willful demeanor and bask in her new freedom. For Merilia, this was deemed ‘good enough’.
Equipment: Gertrude carries a broom, which also functions as a staff through which she focuses her spells. It’s been imbued with a small portion of her soul and carved with a runic enchantment that allows it to store mana. She can use this stored mana to power her own spells, or to activate another runic enchantment that allows her to use the broom to fly. By using her soul in her spell focus, she can more easily regulate mana usage and even recall excess mana from her own spells.
Gertrude also has a pendant she keeps tucked in her blouse. It’s the one thing that Florian apparently left her family, and she stole it from her father before she went into the woods. It wasn’t particularly special on its own, but Gertrude eventually put a portion of her soul into it and gave it a runic enchantment for physical reinforcement. Since she’s naturally very weak, this enchantment functionally allows her to be about as strong and durable as an average woman her age.
Gertrude has also placed a portion of her soul into a homunculus that is physically identical to her. This homunculus helps her to do research and accomplish tasks effectively twice as fast. Because it only has a small portion of her soul, its magic power is much lower.
Skills: Gertrude is an incredibly quick learner, especially when she can watch someone do the thing she wants to do. This is not just limited to magic, she’s also adept at picking up practical skills and weapon techniques. However, she finds a lot of those things either boring or unusable due to her poor physical aptitudes. Thus, her main field of study is magic, which she is quite knowledgeable in.
Gertrude also knows soul partitioning, and most of its nuances. She’s studied and practiced it extensively, and routinely experiments with its limits. She can currently partition ~35% of her own soul, and even entrap the souls of others if vulnerable.
Gertrude is an exceptional mage, though her main fields of interest are magic that can keep her alive and magic that can kill people. Generally, if it can’t help you stay alive or help you kill someone, it’s not really worth the brain space. She’s especially fond of fire and barrier magic, though her familiarity with mages of great power has also given her an appreciation of counter magic. She’s particularly adept at self-healing, self-buff, and self-restoration spells, which are powerful and mana-efficient, but can’t be used on other people. Who cares about them?
Gertrude also has an interest in homunculi creation. Her current homunculus is basically a 1:1 physical recreation of herself, including her physical flaws. She hopes to one day be good enough at homunculi creation and soul partitioning to create a much stronger body and move to it completely. She hopes that being strong will help her get over her complexes.
Gertrude is adept at runic enchantments, having engraved her broom and pendant herself. Since she likes experimenting with magic, runes and how they interact with one another was an obvious interest for her.
Lirrah watched Velvetica like a hawk, but with a sweet and unassuming smile on her face. She noticed the woman's pauses, noticed her gently holding the frog knight close to her chest, and certainly noticed that she neglected to answer most of Lirrah's inquiries. Of course, Velvetica was under no obligation to do so, but her lack of address gave Lirrah something to work with regardless. The merchant wasn't exactly a novice when it came to reading people.
Her perpetual smile almost fell when Velvetica replaced what could have been some insight into her personal feelings with Veltan patriotism once again. Lirrah, despite what she was used to regurgitating, didn't really care about Velt except as a market. Well, as a market, and as the home of some of the people she had been building relationships with. It was the people that she was really interested in.
Lirrah had hoped to hear something out-and-out selfish for once. She wanted to hear Velvetica say that she wanted a huge berry pie for her personal dinner, or that she wanted Lirrah to make a cute octopus sailor plush just for her. She wanted joys and vices, because everyone had them. Perhaps Velvetica wasn't interested in being seen as more than a figurehead. You could do business with people like that, but it was hard to connect with them through their persona. Though Lirrah had no doubt that Velvetica's love for and loyalty to her country was genuine, it came at a cost.
Everything did.
Lirrah's slightly-fading smile was repaired in full when Velvetica's brother poked at her, however. This was something that she understood (though it seemed far more playful and far less cruel than her interactions with her own siblings), and gave her a bit of hope at knowing something more. At building a genuine rapport. It occurred to Lirrah that she and Elroy might be on the same side in wanting Velvetica to open up a bit. She silently thanked the man before interjecting.
"I pelieve, Lady Velvetica, that your prother is referring to yet another shared trait petween you and the Goddess Reon. Namely... your height," Lirrah revealed playfully, obviously stifling a laugh.
"Although, do not worry, Lady Velvetica. You will always pe tall to me! The tallest Nem ever recorded was only 3'7" in Veltan imperial units, and I will remain much shorter than that," Lirrah added, attempting a friendly and reassuring pat on the shoulder (which was about where she could comfortably reach).
She hoped she wasn't being too forward, but Lirrah doubted she'd get a better chance to try and crack that shell, and she'd never progress her relationship with Velvetica without making a play. Besides, Elroy was something of a safety blanket for her in this instance. She had heard that he was strong, but he seemed wise and empathetic as well. She would need to take serious note of him.
Well, either that or he just liked messing with his sister.
Lirrah offered her syrup-laced smile to Velvetica as she handed the young woman the frog knight she had made. That was an interesting exchange. She had never seen Velvetica's persona crack quite like that. In fact, that it was a persona was entirely news to Lirrah. But what about her gift did it? Her brother hinted that some aspect of it was very in-line with Velvetica's interests. Perhaps it was time to insert herself into Velvetica's life a bit more, and there was nothing better than a shared secret to help that along.
"I am glad to hear my gift has hit a mark, Lord Elroy. Truly, it is a pleasure. From the way Lady Velvetica talks apout you, I feel almost as if this is not our first meeting," Lirrah said with a curtsey. Since Elroy referred to her as a 'lady' as well, it was either true that the entire Hreaslag family was in on the joke, or that their family was simply formal even to people who are scarcely fit to buff their boots.
Lirrah thought that the latter was more likely, and appropriately became a bit more at ease.
"I do not know if she has mentioned me, put your younger sister saved my life. My caravan was attacked py prigands, and I could have sworn, with her golden hair and sapphire eyes, that Reon herself had decided to take mercy on this tiny merchant. Opviously, I was delirious with fright, put the point stands that she continues to impress me every day. You must pe proud," Lirrah chirped brightly.
"Oh, and Lady Velvetica," Lirrah added, turning back to Velvetica, "you must know, you can share anything with me. My gratitude and loyalty are unimpeachaple. If there are things you like, and I can make them, I would love to fulfill your requests. All you need do is share the things you enjoy with me. I would pe happy to learn more apout you, and your family, of course. I should like for us all to pe close for a long time to come."
Lirrah forced a bright smile as she was once again forced to contemplate Velvetica's use of the 'lady' honorific in reference to her. Lirrah was relatively certain she had never tried to falsely pass herself off as a member of nobility, though her status could not be easily checked as a foreigner. What's more, Velvetica's older brother was nearby. She did not want him to have the impression that she made his younger sister refer to herself as such, but she also did not want to contradict Velvetica in front of her brother.
Nobility was confusing and dangerous. She'd normally assume she was being toyed with, but as always, she was willing to give Velvetica the benefit of the doubt. She seemed remarkably earnest, at least in contrast to that other noble. But earnest or not, there would always be a discrepancy in power between herself and the nobility that could not be bridged.
At least, it couldn't outside of making said noble emotionally reliant on her. That was doable, though Velvetica as a subject would probably take some work. She seemed almost comedically strong-willed. Might be best to slow-play this relationship. Either way, contradicting Velvetica in front of her brother was a complete faux pas, so it would probably be best to just not acknowledge it for the time being.
"My apologies, Lady Hraeslag. I did not mean to interrupt an important conversation. I merely wished to express my gratitude to you for treating me so well. I do not know if this is the sort of thing you might like, put I made it myself, and if nothing else, I think it would serve as a darling conversation piece for visitors," Lirrah said, holding the stuffed frog knight up to her. She allowed a demure sort of blush to creep up on her cheeks. Then, she turned to acknowledge Velvetica's brother.
"Good afternoon. I am Lirrah Matayannah, the head of the Matayannah Trading Company. I have peen in your sister's care for a couple of months now, and she is an apsolute delight. I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance."
From the mercenary's response, Lirrah got the horrible premonition that this was not a man who would become a big spender. In her experience, mercs came in two flavors: those that let their hard-earned librans flow like water into a repository of hedonism, and those who saved their money in the vague hope of cashing out one day.
Given the occupation, most were the former. If dying was a very real possibility every single day, why shouldn't you enjoy your money while you can? Lirrah liked these mercenaries. They spent. Looking down at the pants that were to be mended, she wondered how many years they'd be subjected to stitching in lieu of buying a new pair.
'Time is money' indeed. But Lirrah didn't necessarily have anything more lucrative to do, so she figured she may as well spend five minutes mending pants. She took the garment to a room she had cordoned off for her own use (the Lions were composed largely of men, she needed some space of her own) and started to work.
Her eyes, being about as deft as her fingers, were quickly able to pick out a matching thread color. She skillfully mended the hole such that it looked almost as if the garment had never been torn. Beautiful. Lirrah admired her handiwork for a moment.
If Urden saw the quality of her services, perhaps he'd at least buy something sometime.
With that done, she put the pants aside. She would bring them to the mercenary later. For now, she had business with Velvetica. Or at least, she hoped she might have business with Velvetica. Or her parents. Same money. Lirrah looked around her room for a gift to help facilitate a smooth transaction, and her gaze landed upon a stuffed frog knight she had made while bored. A lion probably would have been better, but Lirrah liked frogs, and she honestly hadn't planned that far ahead. She had not anticipated that she would be invited to Hraeslag Castle, after all.
She didn't know whether or not Velvetica would appreciate a stuffed toy. She seemed too serious, too divorced from any softness she might have had. Perhaps conflict and killing had hardened her. But, well, the frog had a sword and a shield. Maybe she'd like it? It was impossible to say. Lirrah knew that Velvetica liked Velt and justice, but the merchant couldn't really give her either of those things.
Lirrah set off, wandering around the huge castle with a frog doll in her arm like a child looking for the bathroom in the middle of the night. Lirrah, however, did not have to be embarrassed about this because Veltans thought Nem were just adorable little things anyways.
And Lirrah was the most adorable.
Eventually, she spotted her boss chatting with a man in the main hall. They looked similar, so perhaps it was a sibling. Lirrah knew a thing or two about those. It would be gauche to interrupt, so she would wait for them to finish before approaching.
Lirrah might have frowned at Urden's retort if her face wasn't semi-permanently affixed in a cutesy, honey-sweet euphoria. Smartasses, every last one of them. Lirrah smiled wider.
"Ehehe, well, I can help with that. Just mending? You know, I recently got in some quality clothing," Lirrah threw out casually as she examined the tear, "very practical. Many pockets. Resilient fapric. You would like them! Put this, this I can do with ease. Very quick hands. It should not take me too long."
Lirrah offered Urden (whose name she still could not recall) a reassuring smile, and quoted him the relatively fair price of 1200 Librans. She'd want him to come back as a regular, which he wouldn't do if she tried to cheat him on his first transaction. Maybe he'd buy some new damn pants.
"As for Gisela... I would guess reading at the liprary or napping in a side room," Lirrah suggested, not knowing much about the Hundi herself except that mages tended towards books and sleep. How nice for them.
"Can I help you in any other way, dear friend?"
Lirrah tucked the garments under her arm and bombarded the mercenary with her cutesiest head-tilt.
The Hraeslag family, it occurred to Lirrah, would make fantastic customers if she could pour on the charm. She was still sour about giving a bunch of acid to that noble brat for free. As if he needed the money. Lirrah needed a win, but she wasn't exactly keen to go seek out Cadmon again.
Right. It wasn't about money for him. Why should it be? He could have paid for that acid and it would affect his bottom line about as much as a drop of water in the desert. So then what?
Power, probably. He likely enjoyed Lirrah's anguish, to some extent. She had always wondered how he got along with István so well, so maybe they had some deep-seated sickness in common that they had bonded over. He got a power trip out of abusing tiny merchants, and given their relative statuses, there wasn't much Lirrah could do about it.
They were playing very different games, and Cadmon's was much easier. He probably realized that.
Still, she would have to interact with him at some point if she ever wanted to get her money's worth out of their 'friendship'. If she ever wanted her investment to pay off. Lirrah gritted her teeth, but expertly hid the expression her face had wanted to make at that moment. She would have to leverage her good will with Velvetica (whatever was left of it) in order to meet with her parents and get them as far into her pocket as she could. She had to-
Ah, it was the mercenary. Lirrah looked up at the man, who was curiously carrying around some obviously damaged clothing. He appeared to be looking for something. What was his name, again? The man wasn't exactly important, and certainly wasn't her top spender.
"Are you looking for something, poss-man?" Lirrah asked brightly, grinning up at him. She had heard from a fellow merchant that if she couldn't remember a man's name, she should call him 'boss-man', because men liked to be called that apparently. Weirdly enough, it usually worked.
"Perhaps your merchant friend can help! I can get whatever you need~"
Still, a potential customer was a potential customer. Besides, in Lirrah's experience, if a man like him finds a merchant he likes, he'll very likely go back to them for future needs. Doesn't want to put too much thought into anything.
What other type of person would be a mercenary, after all?
Lirrah was left with only that doll, a small contingent of Lions, and her thoughts. When she sent a few strapping young men off to retrieve some spices, it was mostly Anisette and her thoughts. Lirrah found a large rock to set the doll down on, and took a seat at its side, observing her.
"...Your mother is terrifying," Lirrah murmured, retrieving a pumice stone from her backpack. She began filing her nails, which had been woefully grated during her agonized ground-clawing. She put time into her appearance every day, and her nails were due for a bit of maintenance soon anyways. The polish had been chipped, so she'd have to re-apply that as well.
"Very good taste, though. I appreciate all the time and effort it took to get that pody just right. Those clothes... all of it. You have a rather pretty appearance, as well. I like your dress. Well... I can make doll clothes myself, so if you have any requests for outfits, I wouldn't mind making you a wardrobe."
Lirrah blew on her nails, and buffed them with a cloth. Next, she got out her polish.
"I wonder why she chose dolls as her focus... do you know? It's lovely, how pristine they are with proper maintenance. I never had my own. Just hand-me-downs. Clothes, toys... affection. Second-hand. Used goods. Who would pay for garpage like that?"
Lirrah carefully applied the polish. She had time, and it wasn't like there was anything else she could do. Useless merchant. Can't even get a good sale on acid through the cost of her humiliation.
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