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 Posted: Mon Jan 21, 2019 7:17 pm
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The hour was early. The sun had barely crested above the line of the horizon and beneath the graceful, crimson paws the grasses were still damp and slick with the early morning dew. It left a trail of crumpled shoots in her wake as she wandered from soul to soul collecting the wares that would be displayed on behalf of House Heidr come market hours. Most of them were used to her zeal by now; Mairead took the honor of Farmadr very seriously and expected her crafters to meet her toe to toe.
After all, she had a promise to keep. They had grandeur to uphold.
As she wandered through the early morning rays, the crude necklaces and pelts strung across and over her bodice glistened, twinkling promises of the day to come. Today would be a record in her figurative books and she would be damned if anyone would stand in the way of that. As she paused outside of a workspace she knew all too well, she drew herself up and narrowed her eyes. No one would stand in the way today, she reaffirmed in her thoughts, least of all a stingy Skinnr with too much pride to part with his wares.
"Good Morning, Skald," her voice purred, forcefully expectant and pleasant despite the hour and her expectations. The Jarl's younger sister would try plying him with pleasantries first; it was far too early to butt heads if she didn't have to. "I've come to gather the collection for market. I have faith your wares are particularly plentiful today."
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Posted: Wed Jan 23, 2019 10:39 am
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Deep inside the den, in a setting that looked like something out of a horror movie, the may tools he used in put away neatly amongst the more...gory materials used in tanning and preparing the many pelts that he worked on for his house's glory...and for the satisfaction he got from coaxing them into the form he saw when the rough materials came into his keeping.
Skald was already at work, carefully trimming the edges of a pelt he'd been working on for some time, finally close to getting it to where he was satisfied. He wasn't changing the shape of it by much, but doing so emphasized a unique whorl of fur that had sat along the shoulders of the beast who it had been collected from, and in his eyes, it elevated the otherwise rather plain-looking brown pelt, setting it apart.
It was a pelt that should go to someone whose pelt was flashier, but who didn't have a mane that would cover up the uniqueness of it. Grunting, even as he carefully rolled it up, he knew that, unfortunately, it was unlikely that she would see it the same way. Today was the day he could, like clockwork, expect a visit from her.
There was no arguing that their house's Farmadr was good at bringing honor to the house, but she had no respect for the artistry that he put into the pelts he made. They were all as unique as the creatures they'd come from, and he took pride in bringing those qualities out in his final product...only to have her treat them interchangeably.
Almost as if he'd summoned her by his thoughts, like some kind of demon he couldn't help but hunch his shoulders slightly in reaction to her greeting. It was going to be like that, then. Grunting again, he moved toward the entrance of his den. "Mairead." He greeted her simply, inclining his head almost imperceptibly, even as he narrowed his dark blue-green eyes at her in disapproval.
"You always focus on the quantity, when it should be about the quality." He said, raising an eyebrow in challenge. It was readily apparent that the Skinnr had no such hesitation on diving right into their usual verbal skirmish...probably helped along by the fact that he'd slept very little, focused on finishing the pelt he'd just rolled up with such care.
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Posted: Wed Jan 23, 2019 3:49 pm
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The fiery lioness wanted to punctuate her mood with a deep sigh but she knew, staring into that stoic face, that her feminine irritation would do very little to sway him away from this dance they repeated every week. Thus, she only smiled, tight lipped, and met his ocean gaze with her brilliant, shining one.
"The eye sees what the mind values," her voice was light, even if those eyes had narrowed enough to crinkle at the edges and tug the swirls at the corner of her eyes down. "Two pelts fetch more than one; it is simple as that."
She flicked her tail so that her mother's feather wavered in the wind, using it to distract his attention as she casually shifted to lean sideways and look behind him at his work station. A quick glance made an account of how many pelts he had hidden and tucked away. As her eyes came back to him she clucked her tongue behind her teeth in a loud, pointed tsk.
"I appreciate your work as ever, Skald," but did she really? "Yet I barter with other merchants, not the crafters, for a reason. You're all much too emotionally tied to your wares to do this job."
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Posted: Sun Feb 10, 2019 11:26 am
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Sometimes, he wasn't sure why he even bothered - it was like she was willfully obtuse. "Perhaps we're closer to the product, and so more apt to see the subtle differences that extra effort make in the final product, but you undersell them by reducing them to mere numbers." he began, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. "A properly treated pelt will last longer, and won't crack or be as likely to form bald spots as the fur sheds out. It takes more effort on our parts to create, but it's a better product than two more hastily-prepared ones, hmm? Part of effectively selling our wares is in knowing what makes them better than our competitor's, wouldn't you say?"
Not really giving her a chance to interject, he continued. "And that doesn't include the cutting and shaping of the pelt, which can contribute to it staying in place, and not chafing with activity. While I wouldn't want to say that you don't do the best job possible for our house..." he trailed off, expression clearly implying that yes, he most certainly was implying just that. "It seems to me that understanding more than simply how many pelts you have to trade would better enable you to understand what they're actually worth." He wasn't disparaging the other Skinnrs of their house, by any means, but it was a fact of life that not everyone was equally skilled.
He was soapboxing...but then, this wasn't the first time (nor was it likely to be the last). It wasn't as though he wasn't used to others not quite understanding what he did, or why he was so...impassioned about his work, but Mairead got his back up, and he couldn't seem to stop himself, pointless though his efforts seemed to be, from trying to get her to appreciate the artistry of his labors.
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Posted: Sat Feb 16, 2019 12:52 pm
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As the insufferable Skinnr lay his scalding criticism of her job at her feet, she felt the coals in her belly beginning to flare to life. The brilliant, golden eyes that were typically curious and perceptive were a raging fire set in her ruby fur and she could not resist the urge to dig her claws into the coarse, rocky earth beneath her feet; it was that, or strike him with them.
"How dare you even think to imply that I do not have the proper skill or knowledge to do this job efficiently." Her head raised so with all of the indignant pride that was blinding her and she tilted her chin up so she need stare down her nose to see him at all. "How dare you challenge me on how best to represent this house."
She was seething.
"Our pelts earn more than any other house at the market and, while I wish I could have the satisfaction of saying no one looks twice at yours by comparison, they do fetch the most profit of those I bring with me. So, when I tell you that I need more of your wares you should take it as a compliment you insufferable, bullheaded Skinnr."
Well, for what it was worth, she had started the counter rant with some form of dignity before it devolved to petty insults. She seemed now, more than ever, like she might actually hit him. Her eyes narrowed and her teeth clenched before she spat out a last, clipped addition to her tirade:
"But, if you would like to sit here and hoard your wares I'd be more than happy to let my brother know that you had nothing to do with our profits this week."
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Posted: Sat Feb 23, 2019 10:48 am
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A frisson of satisfaction rolled through him - apparently, he'd hit a nerve...and the satisfaction of having pulled her down to his level had the effect of banking his own annoyance. And yet, much as he'd probably spend a bit of time picking this apart later, (the better to remember how to get under her skin in future, when she got too...her words didn't give him the option of reveling in his small victory.
Raising an eyebrow at her, he couldn't resist a retort. "You were the one who implied that two pelts were better than one, ignoring quality, so I don't see that it was an unfair remark."
As she continued, though, he found his own temper sparking...again. "It's never complimentary to have one's efforts belittled, is it?" He couldn't resist pointing out that she had started this, and he felt no qualms about pricking her temper further.
"And yet that's what you came in here doing - I take pride in my work, have never refused to put forth my pelts to be traded - all I've ever asked is that you treat them with the respect that those efforts deserve. I put a great deal of thought into each piece individually, and to have that reduced to being a flat number is insulting." He stepped up, almost toe-to-toe with her as he practically invited her to take a swing at him. Later, he'd feel a bit guilty for not giving her any slack, when she'd thrown a compliment (rather back-handed through it might be) into her own diatribe, but for now, he was intent on making his own point.
When she threatened to go...tattle to her brother though, he just smirked, his expression shifting from annoyed to cynical. "By all means, run and tell tales to your brother, if you don't think you're up to the job yourself." He couldn't resist the taunt, raking his gaze over her with a distinctly challenging air. The battle lines were drawn, and he found himself waiting with bated breath to see how she responded.
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Posted: Sat Feb 23, 2019 3:58 pm
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For a wonder, his words seemed to silence her for a moment. It wasn't because she felt ashamed, or because she thought there was any truth in his words, but because he had made her so completely and utterly enraged that her jaw clenched shut. The muscles at her jaw line bulged with her need to sink her teeth into something and the line of her body had gone perfectly rigid beneath his raking eyes, all but vibrating with the anger and tension that swell over her like an avalanche.
Her claws unsheathed but all she did was knead them against the earth below her, ripping up subtle bits of tufted earth and stone as she resisted the urge too strike him across the mug instead.
"You are insufferable," she spat tensely, "and you are wasting my time. Instead of standing here arguing about who is better at their job I should be nearly to the market by now with all of my pelts in tow."
Perhaps it was just an attempt to get out of this conversation for whatever reason or another but there was truth in it. The first one that arrived was often the first to make their sales and right now she was standing here, uselessly, as a mere Skinnr tried to tell her how much she had belittled him and his work. This was why all of the craftsman were impossible - they all thought themselves better, the best, and they none were happy with the deals that happened without their consent.
"I'll send an apprentice to collect what you have later."
It was a cowardly dismissal, perhaps, but she was done with this squabbling, unprofitable nonsense. She turned, resisting the urge to spit at his feet.
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Posted: Tue Mar 12, 2019 2:04 pm
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Skald made no effort to hide his (rather unholy) glee, his contrariness such that the more enraged she got, the easier he found it to check his own rather touchy temper (or perhaps it was that, as her own ire had risen, she hadn't resorted to insulting the one sensitive spot for him - his work).
Daringly, he raised an eyebrow at her clenched jaw - in all of their previous encounters, he'd been on the defensive, and seeing her so close to a physical response, practically twitching with it had something stirring inside him, something that was somewhat unfamiliar...but perhaps that was just the high from scoring a hit in their ongoing skirmish.
At her harshly spat words, he actually grinned, teeth bright against his dark pelt. While bringing honor, and profit, to their house with his wares was something he took pride in, make no mistake, this was more fun than he'd had in recent memory, and he found he was...slightly reluctant to let it end.
As she turned to stalk away, he deliberately murmured, just loud enough for her to hear him "Conceding the field so easily? Disappointing, but maybe that's what happens when one relies too much on the threat of their big brother to win their battles."
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Posted: Sun Mar 17, 2019 12:12 pm
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Mairead didn't know why this male crawled under her skin and set it to itching so easily, she only knew that he did. For all that she tried to remain calm, to be a good merchant and a better haggler, she knew who and what she was beneath it all. The daughter of Rebirth, the granddaughter of Fire. Her heritage sang in her veins like a song and when he mumbled that last, wretched insult at her, she couldn't take it any longer.
The world turned red and Mairead turned to him.
The first step was pointed, the second propelled her, and then she was closing what little distance she had put between them in a bound that could mean nothing more than violence with that ferocity stretched across her face. A low growl rumbled from her throat as she sprang at him at last, aiming to knock him off of his feet so that she could swat sharp, unsheathed claws at his face. Maybe if she scarred all that dark fur he would think twice about talking back to her.
She didn't need Eamonn. She didn't need anyone.
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Posted: Sun Jul 07, 2019 9:59 pm
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The eyebrow he'd raised when her back was turned came down swiftly, surprise making his eyes widen slightly. He'd been hoping to provoke a reaction, but he hadn't thought he'd get quite this much of one. The smirk on his maw slipped slightly, although his teeth still stood out, vibrant slashes of mirth against the inky-black.
Protecting his face (after all, if she took out an eye, it could impact his work going forward), he was too entertained by the response he'd brought forth to do much more than defend against the worst of it. His haunches flexed as claws bit into flesh, prompting a small grunt, pain intermingling with his satisfaction. A few new scars would be worth it...
"Hit a little close to home?" he taunted, even as he was swept off his feet. There was something about her that was strangely appealing when she wasn't holding herself coldly aloof. While he was unlikely to admit it, he understood passion for one's work, and her defensiveness in reltion her own gave him the smallest glimmer of respect...where before there'd been nothing but disgust (at least, that was his story, and he was sticking to it...even to himself).
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