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"Lesley..." The woman's voice was full of affectionate exasperation, as she frowned at her son across her needlework. "We don't need the extra money that badly, Les. Your luck'll run out eventually."
The broad-shouldered man sighed, regretting the worry in his mother's blue eyes but not the actions that had led to it. "I know. And it's not luck, it's skill. And I have enough."
Despite the obvious differences - one brown haired and dark eyed, one blonde and blue, one solidly built, the other fine-boned and slender - their relationship was obvious too, from full lips and precisely matching light brown tan to the knotwork tattoos on their arms, hers a faded indigo and his charcoal black, just barely visible between the pins on the sleeves of his chiton.
"I worry! I can't sleep when I know you'll be in the arena-"
"That's why I don't tell you," Lesley muttered, foolishly, and got smacked in the arm for it. He accepted it as deserved, and appreciated the fact she'd missed the linen bandage covering one of several sets of stitches. If the physician at the arena hadn't drugged his wine, he'd have come home last night... ah, she'd probably have noticed he was injured anyway. She wasn't blind, as she was fond of reminding him.
The petite Celt pursed her lips, but all she said was, "Ach, you never listen to your poor mother anyway. And go outside if you're going to smoke."
He glanced down and noticed what he was fiddling with, then shrugged and did as he was told. It was a good thing they didn't need more money than what she made selling her highly decorated himations and epiblemae, and what he made training the next generation of gladiators, one of whom would doubtless eventually go on to kill him... these days, half what he won whenever he fought went to the opiates that helped him stay on his feet while recovering from the consequences of his inability to actually retire.
He didn't feel like 'trapping' himself in their little courtyard, so he grabbed a himation nearly at random, wrapping it around himself and pinning it at the shoulder as he stepped out the front. If he was going to stand around on the street, he might as well advertise Riona's work.
"Don't you dare get ash on that!" followed him out the door. He didn't bother with a response.
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"Lesley..." The woman's voice was full of affectionate exasperation, as she frowned at her son across her needlework. "We don't need the extra money that badly, Les. Your luck'll run out eventually."
The broad-shouldered man sighed, regretting the worry in his mother's blue eyes but not the actions that had led to it. "I know. And it's not luck, it's skill. And I have enough."
Despite the obvious differences - one brown haired and dark eyed, one blonde and blue, one solidly built, the other fine-boned and slender - their relationship was obvious too, from full lips and precisely matching light brown tan to the knotwork tattoos on their arms, hers a faded indigo and his charcoal black, just barely visible between the pins on the sleeves of his chiton.
"I worry! I can't sleep when I know you'll be in the arena-"
"That's why I don't tell you," Lesley muttered, foolishly, and got smacked in the arm for it. He accepted it as deserved, and appreciated the fact she'd missed the linen bandage covering one of several sets of stitches. If the physician at the arena hadn't drugged his wine, he'd have come home last night... ah, she'd probably have noticed he was injured anyway. She wasn't blind, as she was fond of reminding him.
The petite Celt pursed her lips, but all she said was, "Ach, you never listen to your poor mother anyway. And go outside if you're going to smoke."
He glanced down and noticed what he was fiddling with, then shrugged and did as he was told. It was a good thing they didn't need more money than what she made selling her highly decorated himations and epiblemae, and what he made training the next generation of gladiators, one of whom would doubtless eventually go on to kill him... these days, half what he won whenever he fought went to the opiates that helped him stay on his feet while recovering from the consequences of his inability to actually retire.
He didn't feel like 'trapping' himself in their little courtyard, so he grabbed a himation nearly at random, wrapping it around himself and pinning it at the shoulder as he stepped out the front. If he was going to stand around on the street, he might as well advertise Riona's work.
"Don't you dare get ash on that!" followed him out the door. He didn't bother with a response.
"Lesley..." The woman's voice was full of affectionate exasperation, as she frowned at her son across her needlework. "We don't need the extra money that badly, Les. Your luck'll run out eventually."
The broad-shouldered man sighed, regretting the worry in his mother's blue eyes but not the actions that had led to it. "I know. And it's not luck, it's skill. And I have enough."
Despite the obvious differences - one brown haired and dark eyed, one blonde and blue, one solidly built, the other fine-boned and slender - their relationship was obvious too, from full lips and precisely matching light brown tan to the knotwork tattoos on their arms, hers a faded indigo and his charcoal black, just barely visible between the pins on the sleeves of his chiton.
"I worry! I can't sleep when I know you'll be in the arena-"
"That's why I don't tell you," Lesley muttered, foolishly, and got smacked in the arm for it. He accepted it as deserved, and appreciated the fact she'd missed the linen bandage covering one of several sets of stitches. If the physician at the arena hadn't drugged his wine, he'd have come home last night... ah, she'd probably have noticed he was injured anyway. She wasn't blind, as she was fond of reminding him.
The petite Celt pursed her lips, but all she said was, "Ach, you never listen to your poor mother anyway. And go outside if you're going to smoke."
He glanced down and noticed what he was fiddling with, then shrugged and did as he was told. It was a good thing they didn't need more money than what she made selling her highly decorated himations and epiblemae, and what he made training the next generation of gladiators, one of whom would doubtless eventually go on to kill him... these days, half what he won whenever he fought went to the opiates that helped him stay on his feet while recovering from the consequences of his inability to actually retire.
He didn't feel like 'trapping' himself in their little courtyard, so he grabbed a himation nearly at random, wrapping it around himself and pinning it at the shoulder as he stepped out the front. If he was going to stand around on the street, he might as well advertise Riona's work.
"Don't you dare get ash on that!" followed him out the door. He didn't bother with a response.
The streets were not a foreign place to many of Athenia. Down the main street was where most of the merchants came to peddle their goods, be it from the neighboring kingdoms in Greece, or from further away. Situated near the port of the capitol, not only was it bright, but the weather was balmy as well, making it a perfect jaunt for anyone - even a princess.
See, Emilia of Xanthos, second daughter to the current ruling King Minas of Xanthos, monarch of Athenia, was shopping. And it happened to be her favorite past time too! But today... well, today, she had greater plans. In just a few days time, it would be Emilia's first day in attendance to the court. Having just turned sixteen not too long ago, the young brunette was now of the age to attend court, just as her sister Persephone had been doing for over the past few years. Her sister had expressly told her that this was a duty greatly important for a princess in their position. In the absence of their mother, Persephone - and now, by extension, Emilia - would play the part of hostess, ensuring the ballroom of their home would be spotless for their guests of nobility.
And she understood that, truly, she did. She wanted to be of great help to her sister and father, who were the only two family they have left.But attending court also meant that Emilia could get new dresses, and that was what thrilled her the most.
Dressed in a simple chiton of teal and white with golden edges, Emilia had eschewed her usual crown and only donned a simple golden bangle on each wrist. With only one lady's maid and two guards at her back, she was doing her best to appear not at all like her position. This area of the streets was not somewhere she had been advised to go, and should either her sister or father find out, Emilia would likely be grounded for a month.
But she desperately wanted a specific kind of dye one would only find in the sparser of shops, a dye that would give her clothings the hue of the purple sunset, a beautiful gown that would befit her debut to the Athenian nobility.
Expressing the importance of her guards and lady's maid to not breathe a word of this to anyone, Emilia ran a hand through her brunette curls, before taking the turn down the street she had never been one before. Her hazel eyes were sharp as they observed the area, yet in the midst of her looking for that elusive dye, a bright colored piece suddenly caught her eye, as they oft did.
Like a hound, the young girl zeroed in, and with no warning to the ones at her heels, suddenly picked up the ends of her teal chiton and took off at a run. By the time she laid a hand on the shoulder's of the man wearing the bright colored himation, Emilia's cheeks were flushed and out of breathe, yet her smile was palpably excited as she asked in an eager tone, "Where did you find such a beautiful piece, kind sir?"
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The streets were not a foreign place to many of Athenia. Down the main street was where most of the merchants came to peddle their goods, be it from the neighboring kingdoms in Greece, or from further away. Situated near the port of the capitol, not only was it bright, but the weather was balmy as well, making it a perfect jaunt for anyone - even a princess.
See, Emilia of Xanthos, second daughter to the current ruling King Minas of Xanthos, monarch of Athenia, was shopping. And it happened to be her favorite past time too! But today... well, today, she had greater plans. In just a few days time, it would be Emilia's first day in attendance to the court. Having just turned sixteen not too long ago, the young brunette was now of the age to attend court, just as her sister Persephone had been doing for over the past few years. Her sister had expressly told her that this was a duty greatly important for a princess in their position. In the absence of their mother, Persephone - and now, by extension, Emilia - would play the part of hostess, ensuring the ballroom of their home would be spotless for their guests of nobility.
And she understood that, truly, she did. She wanted to be of great help to her sister and father, who were the only two family they have left.But attending court also meant that Emilia could get new dresses, and that was what thrilled her the most.
Dressed in a simple chiton of teal and white with golden edges, Emilia had eschewed her usual crown and only donned a simple golden bangle on each wrist. With only one lady's maid and two guards at her back, she was doing her best to appear not at all like her position. This area of the streets was not somewhere she had been advised to go, and should either her sister or father find out, Emilia would likely be grounded for a month.
But she desperately wanted a specific kind of dye one would only find in the sparser of shops, a dye that would give her clothings the hue of the purple sunset, a beautiful gown that would befit her debut to the Athenian nobility.
Expressing the importance of her guards and lady's maid to not breathe a word of this to anyone, Emilia ran a hand through her brunette curls, before taking the turn down the street she had never been one before. Her hazel eyes were sharp as they observed the area, yet in the midst of her looking for that elusive dye, a bright colored piece suddenly caught her eye, as they oft did.
Like a hound, the young girl zeroed in, and with no warning to the ones at her heels, suddenly picked up the ends of her teal chiton and took off at a run. By the time she laid a hand on the shoulder's of the man wearing the bright colored himation, Emilia's cheeks were flushed and out of breathe, yet her smile was palpably excited as she asked in an eager tone, "Where did you find such a beautiful piece, kind sir?"
The streets were not a foreign place to many of Athenia. Down the main street was where most of the merchants came to peddle their goods, be it from the neighboring kingdoms in Greece, or from further away. Situated near the port of the capitol, not only was it bright, but the weather was balmy as well, making it a perfect jaunt for anyone - even a princess.
See, Emilia of Xanthos, second daughter to the current ruling King Minas of Xanthos, monarch of Athenia, was shopping. And it happened to be her favorite past time too! But today... well, today, she had greater plans. In just a few days time, it would be Emilia's first day in attendance to the court. Having just turned sixteen not too long ago, the young brunette was now of the age to attend court, just as her sister Persephone had been doing for over the past few years. Her sister had expressly told her that this was a duty greatly important for a princess in their position. In the absence of their mother, Persephone - and now, by extension, Emilia - would play the part of hostess, ensuring the ballroom of their home would be spotless for their guests of nobility.
And she understood that, truly, she did. She wanted to be of great help to her sister and father, who were the only two family they have left.But attending court also meant that Emilia could get new dresses, and that was what thrilled her the most.
Dressed in a simple chiton of teal and white with golden edges, Emilia had eschewed her usual crown and only donned a simple golden bangle on each wrist. With only one lady's maid and two guards at her back, she was doing her best to appear not at all like her position. This area of the streets was not somewhere she had been advised to go, and should either her sister or father find out, Emilia would likely be grounded for a month.
But she desperately wanted a specific kind of dye one would only find in the sparser of shops, a dye that would give her clothings the hue of the purple sunset, a beautiful gown that would befit her debut to the Athenian nobility.
Expressing the importance of her guards and lady's maid to not breathe a word of this to anyone, Emilia ran a hand through her brunette curls, before taking the turn down the street she had never been one before. Her hazel eyes were sharp as they observed the area, yet in the midst of her looking for that elusive dye, a bright colored piece suddenly caught her eye, as they oft did.
Like a hound, the young girl zeroed in, and with no warning to the ones at her heels, suddenly picked up the ends of her teal chiton and took off at a run. By the time she laid a hand on the shoulder's of the man wearing the bright colored himation, Emilia's cheeks were flushed and out of breathe, yet her smile was palpably excited as she asked in an eager tone, "Where did you find such a beautiful piece, kind sir?"
He saw her coming of course, even if he couldn't pick out the details of faces or trim at any real distance movement was unmistakable and invariably caught his attention. Still, he wasn't expecting her to rush up to him quite that close, and barely refrained from breathing smoke in her face. He turned his head before releasing the lungful of white smoke, and coughed as his lungs objected to the sudden change in plans. "Excuse me." She was a cute thing, wasn't she? "This is my mother Riona's work, and her shop is just behind me. Come in and see." The invitation was accompanied by a polite smile; not the innocent cheerfulness of her own, nor anything close to the happy, eager anticipation that looked equally boyish and innocent to those who didn't know him, but not forced, either.
He gestured for her to precede him inside, and leaned against the door frame so he could, almost technically, still be smoking 'outside', while still politely paying attention until the young lady decided their interaction was over. The small shop was hung with fabric, some dyed strong colours with bold embroidery like his own, some pale gossamer with more subtle decoration, one pure white to better display the fine designs covering the entire width of it, birds and flowers and fish in all their proper colours, every shade carefully picked to complement ever other. That one was an advertisement-piece more than anything she expected ever to sell; both because the style was nothing at all close to greek, and that given how many hours of work had gone into it, it would cost a lord's ransom at anything close to a fair price. Skeins of coloured thread were laid out in neat rows, both for sale and to allow a customer to pick the exact shade they liked if they wanted to commission something. While most of the fabric was linen, the thread decorating it was nearly all wool, giving a weight and depth to the decoration despite the exceedingly fine thread, and much of it in rich, pure colours that linen simply would not take, or keep past the first few washings.
The shopkeep herself was a slender woman past childbearing age but not yet old enough that it would be polite to call her such, wearing a warm smile but her face still bearing the lines of a lifetime of worry. Her himation, too, advertised her work, hers a soft blue suitable for a woman yet not pale enough to suggest she wasn't aware of her years. Like most in the shop, it bore designs that were celtic enough to seem exotic, but still greek enough not to be uncomfortably foreign. It looked like she had started the day with it drawn up over her head, and ignored when it had slipped from her hair, or perhaps deliberately let it fall back after returning inside from an earlier outing. Her peplos was plainer, but the white fabric was trimmed in narrow knotwork as well.
"If you don't see anything that catches your fancy, do let me know, dear, and I'm sure I can make something to your taste. I dye all my own thread, so don't worry about not having enough of the shades you want."
The gladiator stayed by the door, quiet for the moment. Strong and silent wasn't a bad look on a man, and it was one he found comfortable enough. Certainly more comfortable than trying to come up with something to say to a cute girl, when Riona was already taking care of the sales pitch.
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He saw her coming of course, even if he couldn't pick out the details of faces or trim at any real distance movement was unmistakable and invariably caught his attention. Still, he wasn't expecting her to rush up to him quite that close, and barely refrained from breathing smoke in her face. He turned his head before releasing the lungful of white smoke, and coughed as his lungs objected to the sudden change in plans. "Excuse me." She was a cute thing, wasn't she? "This is my mother Riona's work, and her shop is just behind me. Come in and see." The invitation was accompanied by a polite smile; not the innocent cheerfulness of her own, nor anything close to the happy, eager anticipation that looked equally boyish and innocent to those who didn't know him, but not forced, either.
He gestured for her to precede him inside, and leaned against the door frame so he could, almost technically, still be smoking 'outside', while still politely paying attention until the young lady decided their interaction was over. The small shop was hung with fabric, some dyed strong colours with bold embroidery like his own, some pale gossamer with more subtle decoration, one pure white to better display the fine designs covering the entire width of it, birds and flowers and fish in all their proper colours, every shade carefully picked to complement ever other. That one was an advertisement-piece more than anything she expected ever to sell; both because the style was nothing at all close to greek, and that given how many hours of work had gone into it, it would cost a lord's ransom at anything close to a fair price. Skeins of coloured thread were laid out in neat rows, both for sale and to allow a customer to pick the exact shade they liked if they wanted to commission something. While most of the fabric was linen, the thread decorating it was nearly all wool, giving a weight and depth to the decoration despite the exceedingly fine thread, and much of it in rich, pure colours that linen simply would not take, or keep past the first few washings.
The shopkeep herself was a slender woman past childbearing age but not yet old enough that it would be polite to call her such, wearing a warm smile but her face still bearing the lines of a lifetime of worry. Her himation, too, advertised her work, hers a soft blue suitable for a woman yet not pale enough to suggest she wasn't aware of her years. Like most in the shop, it bore designs that were celtic enough to seem exotic, but still greek enough not to be uncomfortably foreign. It looked like she had started the day with it drawn up over her head, and ignored when it had slipped from her hair, or perhaps deliberately let it fall back after returning inside from an earlier outing. Her peplos was plainer, but the white fabric was trimmed in narrow knotwork as well.
"If you don't see anything that catches your fancy, do let me know, dear, and I'm sure I can make something to your taste. I dye all my own thread, so don't worry about not having enough of the shades you want."
The gladiator stayed by the door, quiet for the moment. Strong and silent wasn't a bad look on a man, and it was one he found comfortable enough. Certainly more comfortable than trying to come up with something to say to a cute girl, when Riona was already taking care of the sales pitch.
He saw her coming of course, even if he couldn't pick out the details of faces or trim at any real distance movement was unmistakable and invariably caught his attention. Still, he wasn't expecting her to rush up to him quite that close, and barely refrained from breathing smoke in her face. He turned his head before releasing the lungful of white smoke, and coughed as his lungs objected to the sudden change in plans. "Excuse me." She was a cute thing, wasn't she? "This is my mother Riona's work, and her shop is just behind me. Come in and see." The invitation was accompanied by a polite smile; not the innocent cheerfulness of her own, nor anything close to the happy, eager anticipation that looked equally boyish and innocent to those who didn't know him, but not forced, either.
He gestured for her to precede him inside, and leaned against the door frame so he could, almost technically, still be smoking 'outside', while still politely paying attention until the young lady decided their interaction was over. The small shop was hung with fabric, some dyed strong colours with bold embroidery like his own, some pale gossamer with more subtle decoration, one pure white to better display the fine designs covering the entire width of it, birds and flowers and fish in all their proper colours, every shade carefully picked to complement ever other. That one was an advertisement-piece more than anything she expected ever to sell; both because the style was nothing at all close to greek, and that given how many hours of work had gone into it, it would cost a lord's ransom at anything close to a fair price. Skeins of coloured thread were laid out in neat rows, both for sale and to allow a customer to pick the exact shade they liked if they wanted to commission something. While most of the fabric was linen, the thread decorating it was nearly all wool, giving a weight and depth to the decoration despite the exceedingly fine thread, and much of it in rich, pure colours that linen simply would not take, or keep past the first few washings.
The shopkeep herself was a slender woman past childbearing age but not yet old enough that it would be polite to call her such, wearing a warm smile but her face still bearing the lines of a lifetime of worry. Her himation, too, advertised her work, hers a soft blue suitable for a woman yet not pale enough to suggest she wasn't aware of her years. Like most in the shop, it bore designs that were celtic enough to seem exotic, but still greek enough not to be uncomfortably foreign. It looked like she had started the day with it drawn up over her head, and ignored when it had slipped from her hair, or perhaps deliberately let it fall back after returning inside from an earlier outing. Her peplos was plainer, but the white fabric was trimmed in narrow knotwork as well.
"If you don't see anything that catches your fancy, do let me know, dear, and I'm sure I can make something to your taste. I dye all my own thread, so don't worry about not having enough of the shades you want."
The gladiator stayed by the door, quiet for the moment. Strong and silent wasn't a bad look on a man, and it was one he found comfortable enough. Certainly more comfortable than trying to come up with something to say to a cute girl, when Riona was already taking care of the sales pitch.
Emilia had instinctively leaned backwards when a cloud of smoke appeared, for she had no love for the residual scent it left, yet the man in question seemed nothing but polite as he spoke, despite his rough nature. Smiling sweetly at him when he mentioned it being his mother's work, Emilia eagerly followed his lead towards the house. Almost immediately, Emilia's gaze was captured by the colorful hues of the dyed fabrics, all of which were making her eyes shine the brightest of delights. She may very well spent the wealth of her Dynasteia here, had her sister not limited her available funds.
Finding her breathe taken away by the gorgeous myriad of colors available of her - but none more so then a gorgeous white fabric decorated with the finest of workmenship that Emilia could recognize in the designs and colored threads. Her mouth hung agape as she stared, craning her neck to try and see as much as possible, trying to catch sight of the whole shop at once if she could.
When Emilia finally notice the shopkeep, her smile was breathless as she whirled around, eyes shining with excitement like a kid given candy. "What if everything catches my fancy?" she asked in return, laughing once she realized just how absurd her statement was. "Do you have a shade the color of sunset purple? And what of this piece? This is gorgeous." she brushed her fingers upon the white fabric with gorgeous designs of birds and flowers and fish of all shades, delight clear on her features.
Turning to the man who had led her here, but who had remained by the doorway, he was treated to that same, flushed excited look. "How did you come across such a gorgeous place?"
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Emilia had instinctively leaned backwards when a cloud of smoke appeared, for she had no love for the residual scent it left, yet the man in question seemed nothing but polite as he spoke, despite his rough nature. Smiling sweetly at him when he mentioned it being his mother's work, Emilia eagerly followed his lead towards the house. Almost immediately, Emilia's gaze was captured by the colorful hues of the dyed fabrics, all of which were making her eyes shine the brightest of delights. She may very well spent the wealth of her Dynasteia here, had her sister not limited her available funds.
Finding her breathe taken away by the gorgeous myriad of colors available of her - but none more so then a gorgeous white fabric decorated with the finest of workmenship that Emilia could recognize in the designs and colored threads. Her mouth hung agape as she stared, craning her neck to try and see as much as possible, trying to catch sight of the whole shop at once if she could.
When Emilia finally notice the shopkeep, her smile was breathless as she whirled around, eyes shining with excitement like a kid given candy. "What if everything catches my fancy?" she asked in return, laughing once she realized just how absurd her statement was. "Do you have a shade the color of sunset purple? And what of this piece? This is gorgeous." she brushed her fingers upon the white fabric with gorgeous designs of birds and flowers and fish of all shades, delight clear on her features.
Turning to the man who had led her here, but who had remained by the doorway, he was treated to that same, flushed excited look. "How did you come across such a gorgeous place?"
Emilia had instinctively leaned backwards when a cloud of smoke appeared, for she had no love for the residual scent it left, yet the man in question seemed nothing but polite as he spoke, despite his rough nature. Smiling sweetly at him when he mentioned it being his mother's work, Emilia eagerly followed his lead towards the house. Almost immediately, Emilia's gaze was captured by the colorful hues of the dyed fabrics, all of which were making her eyes shine the brightest of delights. She may very well spent the wealth of her Dynasteia here, had her sister not limited her available funds.
Finding her breathe taken away by the gorgeous myriad of colors available of her - but none more so then a gorgeous white fabric decorated with the finest of workmenship that Emilia could recognize in the designs and colored threads. Her mouth hung agape as she stared, craning her neck to try and see as much as possible, trying to catch sight of the whole shop at once if she could.
When Emilia finally notice the shopkeep, her smile was breathless as she whirled around, eyes shining with excitement like a kid given candy. "What if everything catches my fancy?" she asked in return, laughing once she realized just how absurd her statement was. "Do you have a shade the color of sunset purple? And what of this piece? This is gorgeous." she brushed her fingers upon the white fabric with gorgeous designs of birds and flowers and fish of all shades, delight clear on her features.
Turning to the man who had led her here, but who had remained by the doorway, he was treated to that same, flushed excited look. "How did you come across such a gorgeous place?"
When she asked about that piece, Riona hesitated, while Lesley gave her an evaluating look, trying to decide whether the question was serious. The shopkeep didn't even sigh at the fact the next question had been directed at her son, and let him answer. Thirty five years was plenty of time to get used to Greek assumptions, and in this case it really was his answer to give or not.
"Ah, it wasn't this nice when she started twenty years ago," Lesley admitted simply, swallowing his own awkwardness. The number of people who assumed he ran the business increased every year; when he hadn't been around, and then the few years he hadn't really been present despite being physically here, the truth had been obvious. "I bought an old building, that was all. The rest was skill and hard work, and none of it mine. As for that one," he named a price that was, indeed, a prince's ransom. Even his mother stared at him. "What? That took you a year. And I know what the dyes cost."
"I, ah, wasn't planning on selling that," the seamstress said, hesitantly, but gave her customer an evaluating look. Emilia didn't look like a princess at the moment - especially without an escort - but there was no mistaking the wealth implied by her clothes, and given her complexion and lack of muscles, noble didn't seem a far stretch. Then she gave her son a more pointed look. "But if the price was enough that you didn't need to fight any more..."
The gladiator's face went completely still, and he turned to blow smoke out the door so he didn't have to meet her eyes. "My apologies," he said, voice as emotionless as his face. "That one's not for sale."
Riona gave her son a pained look, one he fully expected and was deliberately not looking at, but she had a customer, so she visibly pulled herself together and set her embroidery aside. "Purples," she said thoughtfully, determined to bring the conversation back around to something that wasn't going to upset anyone and would hopefully lead to an actual sale. She stood up and went over to gather up some likely threads.
Lesley's expression relaxed from blank to thoughtful, and he sighed quietly, wishing he had some way to share his confidence with her. Then again, back when she had been viscerally aware of exactly how dangerous he was, she'd been even more stressed and for even less comfortable reasons. After another moment, his attention returned to the inside of the shop, and if their young customer glanced at him he gave her a wry smile.
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When she asked about that piece, Riona hesitated, while Lesley gave her an evaluating look, trying to decide whether the question was serious. The shopkeep didn't even sigh at the fact the next question had been directed at her son, and let him answer. Thirty five years was plenty of time to get used to Greek assumptions, and in this case it really was his answer to give or not.
"Ah, it wasn't this nice when she started twenty years ago," Lesley admitted simply, swallowing his own awkwardness. The number of people who assumed he ran the business increased every year; when he hadn't been around, and then the few years he hadn't really been present despite being physically here, the truth had been obvious. "I bought an old building, that was all. The rest was skill and hard work, and none of it mine. As for that one," he named a price that was, indeed, a prince's ransom. Even his mother stared at him. "What? That took you a year. And I know what the dyes cost."
"I, ah, wasn't planning on selling that," the seamstress said, hesitantly, but gave her customer an evaluating look. Emilia didn't look like a princess at the moment - especially without an escort - but there was no mistaking the wealth implied by her clothes, and given her complexion and lack of muscles, noble didn't seem a far stretch. Then she gave her son a more pointed look. "But if the price was enough that you didn't need to fight any more..."
The gladiator's face went completely still, and he turned to blow smoke out the door so he didn't have to meet her eyes. "My apologies," he said, voice as emotionless as his face. "That one's not for sale."
Riona gave her son a pained look, one he fully expected and was deliberately not looking at, but she had a customer, so she visibly pulled herself together and set her embroidery aside. "Purples," she said thoughtfully, determined to bring the conversation back around to something that wasn't going to upset anyone and would hopefully lead to an actual sale. She stood up and went over to gather up some likely threads.
Lesley's expression relaxed from blank to thoughtful, and he sighed quietly, wishing he had some way to share his confidence with her. Then again, back when she had been viscerally aware of exactly how dangerous he was, she'd been even more stressed and for even less comfortable reasons. After another moment, his attention returned to the inside of the shop, and if their young customer glanced at him he gave her a wry smile.
When she asked about that piece, Riona hesitated, while Lesley gave her an evaluating look, trying to decide whether the question was serious. The shopkeep didn't even sigh at the fact the next question had been directed at her son, and let him answer. Thirty five years was plenty of time to get used to Greek assumptions, and in this case it really was his answer to give or not.
"Ah, it wasn't this nice when she started twenty years ago," Lesley admitted simply, swallowing his own awkwardness. The number of people who assumed he ran the business increased every year; when he hadn't been around, and then the few years he hadn't really been present despite being physically here, the truth had been obvious. "I bought an old building, that was all. The rest was skill and hard work, and none of it mine. As for that one," he named a price that was, indeed, a prince's ransom. Even his mother stared at him. "What? That took you a year. And I know what the dyes cost."
"I, ah, wasn't planning on selling that," the seamstress said, hesitantly, but gave her customer an evaluating look. Emilia didn't look like a princess at the moment - especially without an escort - but there was no mistaking the wealth implied by her clothes, and given her complexion and lack of muscles, noble didn't seem a far stretch. Then she gave her son a more pointed look. "But if the price was enough that you didn't need to fight any more..."
The gladiator's face went completely still, and he turned to blow smoke out the door so he didn't have to meet her eyes. "My apologies," he said, voice as emotionless as his face. "That one's not for sale."
Riona gave her son a pained look, one he fully expected and was deliberately not looking at, but she had a customer, so she visibly pulled herself together and set her embroidery aside. "Purples," she said thoughtfully, determined to bring the conversation back around to something that wasn't going to upset anyone and would hopefully lead to an actual sale. She stood up and went over to gather up some likely threads.
Lesley's expression relaxed from blank to thoughtful, and he sighed quietly, wishing he had some way to share his confidence with her. Then again, back when she had been viscerally aware of exactly how dangerous he was, she'd been even more stressed and for even less comfortable reasons. After another moment, his attention returned to the inside of the shop, and if their young customer glanced at him he gave her a wry smile.
The words' 'a year' had Emilia taken aback by just the slightest. Her surprise was clear in her hazel eyes as she blinked, as if she wanted to make sure she did not hear wrongly, doing a double take on the piece of fabric, and then back at the male speaking, whilst her mind tried to comprehend working on something for that length of time. Her admiration was clear in her eyes as she turned to the elderly lady, face bright - only to have it deflated just a moment later.
Of course, her sister would likely have been highly displeased if Emilia had spent what was equivalent to a king's ransom on a bolt of fabric, but the quality of it was impeccable. Almost immediately, Emilia's face turned into that which resembled a kicked puppy dog, bottom lip pushed out in a sad expression when her unspoken request to purchase it got rejected. "But why?" she immediately implored. Riona had went ahead to gather the purple threads, and Emilia turned to thank her, but immediately turned back to the gladiator, eyes large and watery.
"I would pay the price, the one you had named. It is a beautiful piece of work, Madam!" she directed the last comment to the elder lady as she returned with the threads in the few hues Emilia had requested.
With light feet, the brunette pranced over to the fabric that was pricey enough to pay for a king, and couldn't resist reaching out to brush the surface of her fingers over the light, gossamer thin material. Anyone who saw her could see how her face lit up in front of the beautifully wrought material, and there was almost a sense of longing within her as she looked upon it, and turned hopeful eyes back upon the gladiator.
"At the very least, may I know why it isn't for sale, despite its obvious quality?"
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The words' 'a year' had Emilia taken aback by just the slightest. Her surprise was clear in her hazel eyes as she blinked, as if she wanted to make sure she did not hear wrongly, doing a double take on the piece of fabric, and then back at the male speaking, whilst her mind tried to comprehend working on something for that length of time. Her admiration was clear in her eyes as she turned to the elderly lady, face bright - only to have it deflated just a moment later.
Of course, her sister would likely have been highly displeased if Emilia had spent what was equivalent to a king's ransom on a bolt of fabric, but the quality of it was impeccable. Almost immediately, Emilia's face turned into that which resembled a kicked puppy dog, bottom lip pushed out in a sad expression when her unspoken request to purchase it got rejected. "But why?" she immediately implored. Riona had went ahead to gather the purple threads, and Emilia turned to thank her, but immediately turned back to the gladiator, eyes large and watery.
"I would pay the price, the one you had named. It is a beautiful piece of work, Madam!" she directed the last comment to the elder lady as she returned with the threads in the few hues Emilia had requested.
With light feet, the brunette pranced over to the fabric that was pricey enough to pay for a king, and couldn't resist reaching out to brush the surface of her fingers over the light, gossamer thin material. Anyone who saw her could see how her face lit up in front of the beautifully wrought material, and there was almost a sense of longing within her as she looked upon it, and turned hopeful eyes back upon the gladiator.
"At the very least, may I know why it isn't for sale, despite its obvious quality?"
The words' 'a year' had Emilia taken aback by just the slightest. Her surprise was clear in her hazel eyes as she blinked, as if she wanted to make sure she did not hear wrongly, doing a double take on the piece of fabric, and then back at the male speaking, whilst her mind tried to comprehend working on something for that length of time. Her admiration was clear in her eyes as she turned to the elderly lady, face bright - only to have it deflated just a moment later.
Of course, her sister would likely have been highly displeased if Emilia had spent what was equivalent to a king's ransom on a bolt of fabric, but the quality of it was impeccable. Almost immediately, Emilia's face turned into that which resembled a kicked puppy dog, bottom lip pushed out in a sad expression when her unspoken request to purchase it got rejected. "But why?" she immediately implored. Riona had went ahead to gather the purple threads, and Emilia turned to thank her, but immediately turned back to the gladiator, eyes large and watery.
"I would pay the price, the one you had named. It is a beautiful piece of work, Madam!" she directed the last comment to the elder lady as she returned with the threads in the few hues Emilia had requested.
With light feet, the brunette pranced over to the fabric that was pricey enough to pay for a king, and couldn't resist reaching out to brush the surface of her fingers over the light, gossamer thin material. Anyone who saw her could see how her face lit up in front of the beautifully wrought material, and there was almost a sense of longing within her as she looked upon it, and turned hopeful eyes back upon the gladiator.
"At the very least, may I know why it isn't for sale, despite its obvious quality?"
She hadn't seemed to catch the significance of the very brief fight with his mom. Lesley would have been happy enough to have her politely ignore it, but the naivete only added to her cuteness and he couldn't help smile at her.
"It draws customers," he explained it away. "Go ahead and ignore me, though, I always get in trouble when I stick my nose into the business." That earned him another look from his mother, which he ignored again. Though it did remind him that possibly the girl had simply no concept that anything the woman said would actually have an effect on the price or availability of anything in the shop, once the apparent man of the house had decided something.
"Is it that you would pay it, or you could pay it?" he added, lightly teasing, as he finished his smoke and knocked the ash out of the incense pipe, carefully doing so against the outside of the doorframe and reaching far enough to avoid getting any on his clothing. "Better to get several of the others, I should think. Something for every occasion rather than one that would look that unusual anywhere." Not that he had any sense of high fashion whatsoever, nor on exactly how many occasions a young lady of rank might want to stand out as much as possible. Lesley's own clothing could be divided simply into 'as practical as possible' and 'respectable enough not to have his mother scold him'.
"Are you looking for a himation or an epiblema, dear?" Riona asked, and at the answer, shooed her son off to fetch one of the undyed silks and a couple of the finer wools, so Emilia could pick the weight of fabric she wanted.
"Yes, mother." Prompt and obedient, as much as any father could have expected. Riona still could get the sharp edge of Lesley's tongue, or run up against the stone wall of his contrary stubborn foolishness, but not when he was still feeling vaguely guilty.
While he was in the back room, Riona began chattering to her customer about embroidery styles and shading and how fibre affected dyes, "... if you want the main fabric dyed this shade then linen won't do at all..." She didn't want to have a fight about the other piece, but she was not going to let the rich girl walk out with only a cheap purchase, either, and deliberately drew her eye to several items she thought might end up an additional purchase, questioning her about her tastes and whether she already had a particular dress she wanted to compliment. Riona was always happy to provide a fancy base layer to an outfit as well, but it wasn't what she was known for, so she assumed it wasn't what the girl was specifically looking for.
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She hadn't seemed to catch the significance of the very brief fight with his mom. Lesley would have been happy enough to have her politely ignore it, but the naivete only added to her cuteness and he couldn't help smile at her.
"It draws customers," he explained it away. "Go ahead and ignore me, though, I always get in trouble when I stick my nose into the business." That earned him another look from his mother, which he ignored again. Though it did remind him that possibly the girl had simply no concept that anything the woman said would actually have an effect on the price or availability of anything in the shop, once the apparent man of the house had decided something.
"Is it that you would pay it, or you could pay it?" he added, lightly teasing, as he finished his smoke and knocked the ash out of the incense pipe, carefully doing so against the outside of the doorframe and reaching far enough to avoid getting any on his clothing. "Better to get several of the others, I should think. Something for every occasion rather than one that would look that unusual anywhere." Not that he had any sense of high fashion whatsoever, nor on exactly how many occasions a young lady of rank might want to stand out as much as possible. Lesley's own clothing could be divided simply into 'as practical as possible' and 'respectable enough not to have his mother scold him'.
"Are you looking for a himation or an epiblema, dear?" Riona asked, and at the answer, shooed her son off to fetch one of the undyed silks and a couple of the finer wools, so Emilia could pick the weight of fabric she wanted.
"Yes, mother." Prompt and obedient, as much as any father could have expected. Riona still could get the sharp edge of Lesley's tongue, or run up against the stone wall of his contrary stubborn foolishness, but not when he was still feeling vaguely guilty.
While he was in the back room, Riona began chattering to her customer about embroidery styles and shading and how fibre affected dyes, "... if you want the main fabric dyed this shade then linen won't do at all..." She didn't want to have a fight about the other piece, but she was not going to let the rich girl walk out with only a cheap purchase, either, and deliberately drew her eye to several items she thought might end up an additional purchase, questioning her about her tastes and whether she already had a particular dress she wanted to compliment. Riona was always happy to provide a fancy base layer to an outfit as well, but it wasn't what she was known for, so she assumed it wasn't what the girl was specifically looking for.
She hadn't seemed to catch the significance of the very brief fight with his mom. Lesley would have been happy enough to have her politely ignore it, but the naivete only added to her cuteness and he couldn't help smile at her.
"It draws customers," he explained it away. "Go ahead and ignore me, though, I always get in trouble when I stick my nose into the business." That earned him another look from his mother, which he ignored again. Though it did remind him that possibly the girl had simply no concept that anything the woman said would actually have an effect on the price or availability of anything in the shop, once the apparent man of the house had decided something.
"Is it that you would pay it, or you could pay it?" he added, lightly teasing, as he finished his smoke and knocked the ash out of the incense pipe, carefully doing so against the outside of the doorframe and reaching far enough to avoid getting any on his clothing. "Better to get several of the others, I should think. Something for every occasion rather than one that would look that unusual anywhere." Not that he had any sense of high fashion whatsoever, nor on exactly how many occasions a young lady of rank might want to stand out as much as possible. Lesley's own clothing could be divided simply into 'as practical as possible' and 'respectable enough not to have his mother scold him'.
"Are you looking for a himation or an epiblema, dear?" Riona asked, and at the answer, shooed her son off to fetch one of the undyed silks and a couple of the finer wools, so Emilia could pick the weight of fabric she wanted.
"Yes, mother." Prompt and obedient, as much as any father could have expected. Riona still could get the sharp edge of Lesley's tongue, or run up against the stone wall of his contrary stubborn foolishness, but not when he was still feeling vaguely guilty.
While he was in the back room, Riona began chattering to her customer about embroidery styles and shading and how fibre affected dyes, "... if you want the main fabric dyed this shade then linen won't do at all..." She didn't want to have a fight about the other piece, but she was not going to let the rich girl walk out with only a cheap purchase, either, and deliberately drew her eye to several items she thought might end up an additional purchase, questioning her about her tastes and whether she already had a particular dress she wanted to compliment. Riona was always happy to provide a fancy base layer to an outfit as well, but it wasn't what she was known for, so she assumed it wasn't what the girl was specifically looking for.
For a moment, Emilia wore a petulant expression, the kind that Midas had long scolded out of her. As a child, Emilia had wanted many things that her mother had provided her, but when Lucille of Xanthos had passed, Emilia had been raised by a father who doted on her, but did not necessarily give in to her every whim and fancy. That had made Emilia grow up to be a less bratty child, although the occasional streaks of her being the youngest and quite doted on does surface.
"I... would pay for it." she finished off. Of course, it wasn't that the Xanthos coffers couldn't pay for it, but for such an exorbitant amount, she was quite sure that she'd have to confer with Persephone and her father first before she flippantly spent the amount on clothing. Emilia flashed the male a cheeky smile, and then giggled at the elder lady who had glared at the male. She could see that the woman was obviously the mother, but she'd speak to anyone who could provide her what she wanted.
The suggestion of getting several others, while it had its merit, did still make Emilia deflate a little like a balloon. She really wanted that beautiful brocade of designs, but if they were unwilling, she couldn't strong arm them into selling it to her. Plus, she didn't particularly want to throw her title around, not when she was out without her title to purchase what she wanted.
So in the end, it was a subdued Emilia that nodded with a sigh, and went with Riona as she asked. "Both? I'm fine with anything, so long as the colors do not clash." she murmured, eyes sparkling once again as they conversed about her favorite topic. Hiding a giggle again when the male hurried off as the mother had instructed, Emilia studied the embroidery styles and shading with dyes, nodding along with the instructions. The woman was well versed, and quite knowledgeable, and Emilia was glad for the help and tips.
She couldn't resist but asking however, when they hit a lull in the conversation. "Is he your son, Madam?" Emilia's voice held a hint of a tease, her smile a mixture of shy and cheeky. "He seems quite handsome, if I may be so bold. And very obedient to you. I feel as if I've seen him somewhere before?"
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For a moment, Emilia wore a petulant expression, the kind that Midas had long scolded out of her. As a child, Emilia had wanted many things that her mother had provided her, but when Lucille of Xanthos had passed, Emilia had been raised by a father who doted on her, but did not necessarily give in to her every whim and fancy. That had made Emilia grow up to be a less bratty child, although the occasional streaks of her being the youngest and quite doted on does surface.
"I... would pay for it." she finished off. Of course, it wasn't that the Xanthos coffers couldn't pay for it, but for such an exorbitant amount, she was quite sure that she'd have to confer with Persephone and her father first before she flippantly spent the amount on clothing. Emilia flashed the male a cheeky smile, and then giggled at the elder lady who had glared at the male. She could see that the woman was obviously the mother, but she'd speak to anyone who could provide her what she wanted.
The suggestion of getting several others, while it had its merit, did still make Emilia deflate a little like a balloon. She really wanted that beautiful brocade of designs, but if they were unwilling, she couldn't strong arm them into selling it to her. Plus, she didn't particularly want to throw her title around, not when she was out without her title to purchase what she wanted.
So in the end, it was a subdued Emilia that nodded with a sigh, and went with Riona as she asked. "Both? I'm fine with anything, so long as the colors do not clash." she murmured, eyes sparkling once again as they conversed about her favorite topic. Hiding a giggle again when the male hurried off as the mother had instructed, Emilia studied the embroidery styles and shading with dyes, nodding along with the instructions. The woman was well versed, and quite knowledgeable, and Emilia was glad for the help and tips.
She couldn't resist but asking however, when they hit a lull in the conversation. "Is he your son, Madam?" Emilia's voice held a hint of a tease, her smile a mixture of shy and cheeky. "He seems quite handsome, if I may be so bold. And very obedient to you. I feel as if I've seen him somewhere before?"
For a moment, Emilia wore a petulant expression, the kind that Midas had long scolded out of her. As a child, Emilia had wanted many things that her mother had provided her, but when Lucille of Xanthos had passed, Emilia had been raised by a father who doted on her, but did not necessarily give in to her every whim and fancy. That had made Emilia grow up to be a less bratty child, although the occasional streaks of her being the youngest and quite doted on does surface.
"I... would pay for it." she finished off. Of course, it wasn't that the Xanthos coffers couldn't pay for it, but for such an exorbitant amount, she was quite sure that she'd have to confer with Persephone and her father first before she flippantly spent the amount on clothing. Emilia flashed the male a cheeky smile, and then giggled at the elder lady who had glared at the male. She could see that the woman was obviously the mother, but she'd speak to anyone who could provide her what she wanted.
The suggestion of getting several others, while it had its merit, did still make Emilia deflate a little like a balloon. She really wanted that beautiful brocade of designs, but if they were unwilling, she couldn't strong arm them into selling it to her. Plus, she didn't particularly want to throw her title around, not when she was out without her title to purchase what she wanted.
So in the end, it was a subdued Emilia that nodded with a sigh, and went with Riona as she asked. "Both? I'm fine with anything, so long as the colors do not clash." she murmured, eyes sparkling once again as they conversed about her favorite topic. Hiding a giggle again when the male hurried off as the mother had instructed, Emilia studied the embroidery styles and shading with dyes, nodding along with the instructions. The woman was well versed, and quite knowledgeable, and Emilia was glad for the help and tips.
She couldn't resist but asking however, when they hit a lull in the conversation. "Is he your son, Madam?" Emilia's voice held a hint of a tease, her smile a mixture of shy and cheeky. "He seems quite handsome, if I may be so bold. And very obedient to you. I feel as if I've seen him somewhere before?"
"He is, you may, and you'd be right," Riona laughed at Emilia's request for permission to be bold. "Vain, too, I suspect, given he's somehow managed never to get his face messed up. At this point I'm forced to assume it's because he considers it a priority." She sighed, and decided not to comment on her son's obedience or lack thereof. "You may have seen him at the arcus. Lesley's a gladiator." No, best not to mention any of his faults to a young lady who thought he was handsome. Rationally, Riona didn't expect anything to come of it, the chances of a rich girl of that age not being at least already engaged, falling for her foolish son, and having a father willing to even consider her opinions in arranging a marriage, were effectively nonexistent, but she was willing to grasp at any straw available to find something that might motivate him to settle down and stay out of the arena. Even if the right girl smiling at him was enough to make him consider looking for a wife, or even a mistress, she'd be endlessly grateful. She offered another smile. "He thinks I'm foolish for worrying, but-" she shrugged. "Ah, thank you, dear."
Lesley set the requested fabric down on the counter for them, and gave both women a mildly bemused look, taking a moment to process the bits that he'd overheard and figure out whether he wanted to interject. The fact was that he considered protecting his head a priority, but he'd certainly taken a few blows regardless, and on occasion he still felt a tad slow, especially when lingering pain and opium conspired to keep him distracted and without adrenaline sharpening his focus. "I never said you were foolish," he commented mildly. "Is she telling you all about how disappointed she is with my career choices?" he asked Emilia with a teasing glint in his eyes.
"I never said I was disappointed," Riona retorted, equally mildly and equally untruthfully. Les ignored that particular statement, his attention on their customer, though he was careful not to seem too focused on her. He had been treated to everything from enthusiasm to fear to scorn, once someone matched the face in front of them to the scarred, inked and blood-soaked spectacle in the arena. She didn't look like she was going to spook, but sometimes people took a few minutes to figure out their reaction.
He'd given up pretending he wasn't fully aware people might not be comfortable around him, but he did try not to make people feel like they were standing in front of a lion sizing them up for it's next meal, knowing many tended to be a bit more sensitive to that right after they found out. Well... usually. He was about as far from a killing mood as he ever got at the moment though, and he wouldn't want to scare away a customer regardless.
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"He is, you may, and you'd be right," Riona laughed at Emilia's request for permission to be bold. "Vain, too, I suspect, given he's somehow managed never to get his face messed up. At this point I'm forced to assume it's because he considers it a priority." She sighed, and decided not to comment on her son's obedience or lack thereof. "You may have seen him at the arcus. Lesley's a gladiator." No, best not to mention any of his faults to a young lady who thought he was handsome. Rationally, Riona didn't expect anything to come of it, the chances of a rich girl of that age not being at least already engaged, falling for her foolish son, and having a father willing to even consider her opinions in arranging a marriage, were effectively nonexistent, but she was willing to grasp at any straw available to find something that might motivate him to settle down and stay out of the arena. Even if the right girl smiling at him was enough to make him consider looking for a wife, or even a mistress, she'd be endlessly grateful. She offered another smile. "He thinks I'm foolish for worrying, but-" she shrugged. "Ah, thank you, dear."
Lesley set the requested fabric down on the counter for them, and gave both women a mildly bemused look, taking a moment to process the bits that he'd overheard and figure out whether he wanted to interject. The fact was that he considered protecting his head a priority, but he'd certainly taken a few blows regardless, and on occasion he still felt a tad slow, especially when lingering pain and opium conspired to keep him distracted and without adrenaline sharpening his focus. "I never said you were foolish," he commented mildly. "Is she telling you all about how disappointed she is with my career choices?" he asked Emilia with a teasing glint in his eyes.
"I never said I was disappointed," Riona retorted, equally mildly and equally untruthfully. Les ignored that particular statement, his attention on their customer, though he was careful not to seem too focused on her. He had been treated to everything from enthusiasm to fear to scorn, once someone matched the face in front of them to the scarred, inked and blood-soaked spectacle in the arena. She didn't look like she was going to spook, but sometimes people took a few minutes to figure out their reaction.
He'd given up pretending he wasn't fully aware people might not be comfortable around him, but he did try not to make people feel like they were standing in front of a lion sizing them up for it's next meal, knowing many tended to be a bit more sensitive to that right after they found out. Well... usually. He was about as far from a killing mood as he ever got at the moment though, and he wouldn't want to scare away a customer regardless.
"He is, you may, and you'd be right," Riona laughed at Emilia's request for permission to be bold. "Vain, too, I suspect, given he's somehow managed never to get his face messed up. At this point I'm forced to assume it's because he considers it a priority." She sighed, and decided not to comment on her son's obedience or lack thereof. "You may have seen him at the arcus. Lesley's a gladiator." No, best not to mention any of his faults to a young lady who thought he was handsome. Rationally, Riona didn't expect anything to come of it, the chances of a rich girl of that age not being at least already engaged, falling for her foolish son, and having a father willing to even consider her opinions in arranging a marriage, were effectively nonexistent, but she was willing to grasp at any straw available to find something that might motivate him to settle down and stay out of the arena. Even if the right girl smiling at him was enough to make him consider looking for a wife, or even a mistress, she'd be endlessly grateful. She offered another smile. "He thinks I'm foolish for worrying, but-" she shrugged. "Ah, thank you, dear."
Lesley set the requested fabric down on the counter for them, and gave both women a mildly bemused look, taking a moment to process the bits that he'd overheard and figure out whether he wanted to interject. The fact was that he considered protecting his head a priority, but he'd certainly taken a few blows regardless, and on occasion he still felt a tad slow, especially when lingering pain and opium conspired to keep him distracted and without adrenaline sharpening his focus. "I never said you were foolish," he commented mildly. "Is she telling you all about how disappointed she is with my career choices?" he asked Emilia with a teasing glint in his eyes.
"I never said I was disappointed," Riona retorted, equally mildly and equally untruthfully. Les ignored that particular statement, his attention on their customer, though he was careful not to seem too focused on her. He had been treated to everything from enthusiasm to fear to scorn, once someone matched the face in front of them to the scarred, inked and blood-soaked spectacle in the arena. She didn't look like she was going to spook, but sometimes people took a few minutes to figure out their reaction.
He'd given up pretending he wasn't fully aware people might not be comfortable around him, but he did try not to make people feel like they were standing in front of a lion sizing them up for it's next meal, knowing many tended to be a bit more sensitive to that right after they found out. Well... usually. He was about as far from a killing mood as he ever got at the moment though, and he wouldn't want to scare away a customer regardless.
She liked the woman. She seemed easygoing, and Emilia found herself smiling as she laughed, especially when she referred to her son as vain. "Perhaps the Gods are agreeable to protecting that which he considers important." she returned with a grin in his direction. Her eyes widened when Riona finally inferred to him as a gladiator, putting two and two together. Emilia was rarely allowed to go down to the arcus, for she had only recently come of an allowed age to be attending court sessions, but the few times she had entered the arcus, the girl had found herself unintentionally ogling the half-naked men there, until Persephone had shifted Emilia and used her ownself to block her view, much to Emilia's annoyance.
Not that she did not understand why her sister did so, it was unbecoming for a young sixteen year old princess to ogle at the gladiators... but they looked good!
Her cheeks flushed when he returned with the bolt of fabric, now fully aware that he had likely been one of those her eyes had zeroed in on the few times she had accompanied her father and sister, but Emilia was never one to simply shy away. Instead, she took a deep fortifying breathe to calm her blood rushing, and then turned to grin in return to his bemused look. "Somewhat." her retort was quick, almost cheeky. "But we've also learned... or surmised, that you somehow consider your face a priority. Is that true?'
The twinkle in her hazel depths made it clear that Emilia was not at all shocked by his choice of a career. It was a legit choice, was it not? Everyone needed to scrape by somehow, and as long as it wasn't pillaging or murder on purpose, Emilia did not see how one's choice of a job, no matter how dangerous, should be villified.
Brushing her fingers across the new bolts of fabric he had brought out as per his mother's instructions, Emilia held out a few of the finer fabrics that she found herself preferring, and then picked out a few shades of purple for the dyes to stick. Purple was an expensive color, rare as it was, but it was one that Emilia preferred, and she occasionally would splurge on it. Smiling as she took a step back once she's made her choices, Emilia couldn't help but take one last look at the young man who had been the reason she had been led here, sharing a grin with his mother before she asked, "May I know your name, kind sir?"
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She liked the woman. She seemed easygoing, and Emilia found herself smiling as she laughed, especially when she referred to her son as vain. "Perhaps the Gods are agreeable to protecting that which he considers important." she returned with a grin in his direction. Her eyes widened when Riona finally inferred to him as a gladiator, putting two and two together. Emilia was rarely allowed to go down to the arcus, for she had only recently come of an allowed age to be attending court sessions, but the few times she had entered the arcus, the girl had found herself unintentionally ogling the half-naked men there, until Persephone had shifted Emilia and used her ownself to block her view, much to Emilia's annoyance.
Not that she did not understand why her sister did so, it was unbecoming for a young sixteen year old princess to ogle at the gladiators... but they looked good!
Her cheeks flushed when he returned with the bolt of fabric, now fully aware that he had likely been one of those her eyes had zeroed in on the few times she had accompanied her father and sister, but Emilia was never one to simply shy away. Instead, she took a deep fortifying breathe to calm her blood rushing, and then turned to grin in return to his bemused look. "Somewhat." her retort was quick, almost cheeky. "But we've also learned... or surmised, that you somehow consider your face a priority. Is that true?'
The twinkle in her hazel depths made it clear that Emilia was not at all shocked by his choice of a career. It was a legit choice, was it not? Everyone needed to scrape by somehow, and as long as it wasn't pillaging or murder on purpose, Emilia did not see how one's choice of a job, no matter how dangerous, should be villified.
Brushing her fingers across the new bolts of fabric he had brought out as per his mother's instructions, Emilia held out a few of the finer fabrics that she found herself preferring, and then picked out a few shades of purple for the dyes to stick. Purple was an expensive color, rare as it was, but it was one that Emilia preferred, and she occasionally would splurge on it. Smiling as she took a step back once she's made her choices, Emilia couldn't help but take one last look at the young man who had been the reason she had been led here, sharing a grin with his mother before she asked, "May I know your name, kind sir?"
She liked the woman. She seemed easygoing, and Emilia found herself smiling as she laughed, especially when she referred to her son as vain. "Perhaps the Gods are agreeable to protecting that which he considers important." she returned with a grin in his direction. Her eyes widened when Riona finally inferred to him as a gladiator, putting two and two together. Emilia was rarely allowed to go down to the arcus, for she had only recently come of an allowed age to be attending court sessions, but the few times she had entered the arcus, the girl had found herself unintentionally ogling the half-naked men there, until Persephone had shifted Emilia and used her ownself to block her view, much to Emilia's annoyance.
Not that she did not understand why her sister did so, it was unbecoming for a young sixteen year old princess to ogle at the gladiators... but they looked good!
Her cheeks flushed when he returned with the bolt of fabric, now fully aware that he had likely been one of those her eyes had zeroed in on the few times she had accompanied her father and sister, but Emilia was never one to simply shy away. Instead, she took a deep fortifying breathe to calm her blood rushing, and then turned to grin in return to his bemused look. "Somewhat." her retort was quick, almost cheeky. "But we've also learned... or surmised, that you somehow consider your face a priority. Is that true?'
The twinkle in her hazel depths made it clear that Emilia was not at all shocked by his choice of a career. It was a legit choice, was it not? Everyone needed to scrape by somehow, and as long as it wasn't pillaging or murder on purpose, Emilia did not see how one's choice of a job, no matter how dangerous, should be villified.
Brushing her fingers across the new bolts of fabric he had brought out as per his mother's instructions, Emilia held out a few of the finer fabrics that she found herself preferring, and then picked out a few shades of purple for the dyes to stick. Purple was an expensive color, rare as it was, but it was one that Emilia preferred, and she occasionally would splurge on it. Smiling as she took a step back once she's made her choices, Emilia couldn't help but take one last look at the young man who had been the reason she had been led here, sharing a grin with his mother before she asked, "May I know your name, kind sir?"
Impressed and blushing was a good reaction. Much better than a lot of others, for certain. Lesley might have no interest in an actual relationship, but he was not immune to the flattery implicit in a pretty girl smiling at him.
"Hard to win when you've got blood in your eyes," he commented mildly. Was she calling him handsome, or vain? Either way, it did not seem to be a criticism, but he wasn't sure how to react. He hadn't enough hubris to mention keeping safe what the gods had blessed him with. Not with how he'd marred the rest of his body standing mute testament to the hypocrisy of such a statement. Luckily the fabric stole her attention again, saving him from needing to say anything else right away. His eyes dropped to the subject of discussion between his mother and her customer as well, and something about the way the thread curled as it lay across the soft wrinkles of the silk caught his eye. His fingers went to the small pouch at his belt, but he didn't have the bit of wrapped charcoal he often used to doodle with today... probably just as well. Riona was liable to get annoyed, unreasonably so given that it easily washed off most surfaces. Instead, he pulled out a white pebble, turning it over and over in his fingers and letting the familiar motion quiet the need to do something.
The gladiator glanced up immediately when her attention returned to him, and couldn't help the twitch of his lips as she called him kind for the second time. If there was ever an adjective that did not truthfully apply to him, that was probably it. He tucked the pebble away, conscious of his manners.
"Shall we trade?" he suggested with the hint of an amused chuckle. "I'm Lesley." No house name, not even a province. He'd been Lesley the Briton in the arena for years, but he'd been raised in Greece and had never claimed that moniker for himself. Not only being one of the top fighters despite being at an age some men were welcoming grandchildren into the world, though, but surviving two decades of blood sport to get to that point, earned him the privilege of being known only by a single name.
"Do you watch the fights?" He wasn't going to ask if she'd been in the audience yesterday. That would be a bit too obviously fishing for compliments.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Impressed and blushing was a good reaction. Much better than a lot of others, for certain. Lesley might have no interest in an actual relationship, but he was not immune to the flattery implicit in a pretty girl smiling at him.
"Hard to win when you've got blood in your eyes," he commented mildly. Was she calling him handsome, or vain? Either way, it did not seem to be a criticism, but he wasn't sure how to react. He hadn't enough hubris to mention keeping safe what the gods had blessed him with. Not with how he'd marred the rest of his body standing mute testament to the hypocrisy of such a statement. Luckily the fabric stole her attention again, saving him from needing to say anything else right away. His eyes dropped to the subject of discussion between his mother and her customer as well, and something about the way the thread curled as it lay across the soft wrinkles of the silk caught his eye. His fingers went to the small pouch at his belt, but he didn't have the bit of wrapped charcoal he often used to doodle with today... probably just as well. Riona was liable to get annoyed, unreasonably so given that it easily washed off most surfaces. Instead, he pulled out a white pebble, turning it over and over in his fingers and letting the familiar motion quiet the need to do something.
The gladiator glanced up immediately when her attention returned to him, and couldn't help the twitch of his lips as she called him kind for the second time. If there was ever an adjective that did not truthfully apply to him, that was probably it. He tucked the pebble away, conscious of his manners.
"Shall we trade?" he suggested with the hint of an amused chuckle. "I'm Lesley." No house name, not even a province. He'd been Lesley the Briton in the arena for years, but he'd been raised in Greece and had never claimed that moniker for himself. Not only being one of the top fighters despite being at an age some men were welcoming grandchildren into the world, though, but surviving two decades of blood sport to get to that point, earned him the privilege of being known only by a single name.
"Do you watch the fights?" He wasn't going to ask if she'd been in the audience yesterday. That would be a bit too obviously fishing for compliments.
Impressed and blushing was a good reaction. Much better than a lot of others, for certain. Lesley might have no interest in an actual relationship, but he was not immune to the flattery implicit in a pretty girl smiling at him.
"Hard to win when you've got blood in your eyes," he commented mildly. Was she calling him handsome, or vain? Either way, it did not seem to be a criticism, but he wasn't sure how to react. He hadn't enough hubris to mention keeping safe what the gods had blessed him with. Not with how he'd marred the rest of his body standing mute testament to the hypocrisy of such a statement. Luckily the fabric stole her attention again, saving him from needing to say anything else right away. His eyes dropped to the subject of discussion between his mother and her customer as well, and something about the way the thread curled as it lay across the soft wrinkles of the silk caught his eye. His fingers went to the small pouch at his belt, but he didn't have the bit of wrapped charcoal he often used to doodle with today... probably just as well. Riona was liable to get annoyed, unreasonably so given that it easily washed off most surfaces. Instead, he pulled out a white pebble, turning it over and over in his fingers and letting the familiar motion quiet the need to do something.
The gladiator glanced up immediately when her attention returned to him, and couldn't help the twitch of his lips as she called him kind for the second time. If there was ever an adjective that did not truthfully apply to him, that was probably it. He tucked the pebble away, conscious of his manners.
"Shall we trade?" he suggested with the hint of an amused chuckle. "I'm Lesley." No house name, not even a province. He'd been Lesley the Briton in the arena for years, but he'd been raised in Greece and had never claimed that moniker for himself. Not only being one of the top fighters despite being at an age some men were welcoming grandchildren into the world, though, but surviving two decades of blood sport to get to that point, earned him the privilege of being known only by a single name.
"Do you watch the fights?" He wasn't going to ask if she'd been in the audience yesterday. That would be a bit too obviously fishing for compliments.
His almost-smile drew one of Emilia's own as she regarded his visage - a little rough around the edges, but with a smile that clearly meant he was not entirely bad to begin with. So what if he was a gladiator? If he had to earn the coin, Emilia was not one to fault someone for their choice in career, only if they made the best of it. If one were to ask Emilia if she particularly wanted being a princess, she would have no straight answer for you. But did she enjoy and make the situation the best? You bet she did.
Laughing at his offer of a trade, Emilia nodded in return, and tilted her head sideways when he offered his name. "Lesley." she echoed, trying the name out on her tongue, her cheeks flushing as she did so. The name rolled in her tongue, but added on to the amused look he wore, made the girl's breathe hitch as she raised her chin a little. "My name is Emilia." Like him, she too offered no house name, no province. Emilia found a distaste for when people's demeanour changed as they found out who she was, the grovelling and the kneeling... it brought a bad flavor in her mouth. She much preferred this method of gettng to know people.
To his question, Emilia shook her head. "My sister and my father would not allow me often, but occasionally I am permitted. You fight well Sir Lesley. You should be proud." she directed her last comment at his mother with a smile, and then took another step back. "I will send my maid to pick up my purchases once it has been dyed and dried. Thank you very much for today. And... I hope to see you again, Lesley." With a final small, respectful tilt of her head in their direction, Emilia turned on her heels and left the small house, to return to the streets where her lone maid waited for her.
Princess Emilia was famous for falling headlong for many men, usually multiple in a y ear, if not a month. And she may have just done so, yet again.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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His almost-smile drew one of Emilia's own as she regarded his visage - a little rough around the edges, but with a smile that clearly meant he was not entirely bad to begin with. So what if he was a gladiator? If he had to earn the coin, Emilia was not one to fault someone for their choice in career, only if they made the best of it. If one were to ask Emilia if she particularly wanted being a princess, she would have no straight answer for you. But did she enjoy and make the situation the best? You bet she did.
Laughing at his offer of a trade, Emilia nodded in return, and tilted her head sideways when he offered his name. "Lesley." she echoed, trying the name out on her tongue, her cheeks flushing as she did so. The name rolled in her tongue, but added on to the amused look he wore, made the girl's breathe hitch as she raised her chin a little. "My name is Emilia." Like him, she too offered no house name, no province. Emilia found a distaste for when people's demeanour changed as they found out who she was, the grovelling and the kneeling... it brought a bad flavor in her mouth. She much preferred this method of gettng to know people.
To his question, Emilia shook her head. "My sister and my father would not allow me often, but occasionally I am permitted. You fight well Sir Lesley. You should be proud." she directed her last comment at his mother with a smile, and then took another step back. "I will send my maid to pick up my purchases once it has been dyed and dried. Thank you very much for today. And... I hope to see you again, Lesley." With a final small, respectful tilt of her head in their direction, Emilia turned on her heels and left the small house, to return to the streets where her lone maid waited for her.
Princess Emilia was famous for falling headlong for many men, usually multiple in a y ear, if not a month. And she may have just done so, yet again.
His almost-smile drew one of Emilia's own as she regarded his visage - a little rough around the edges, but with a smile that clearly meant he was not entirely bad to begin with. So what if he was a gladiator? If he had to earn the coin, Emilia was not one to fault someone for their choice in career, only if they made the best of it. If one were to ask Emilia if she particularly wanted being a princess, she would have no straight answer for you. But did she enjoy and make the situation the best? You bet she did.
Laughing at his offer of a trade, Emilia nodded in return, and tilted her head sideways when he offered his name. "Lesley." she echoed, trying the name out on her tongue, her cheeks flushing as she did so. The name rolled in her tongue, but added on to the amused look he wore, made the girl's breathe hitch as she raised her chin a little. "My name is Emilia." Like him, she too offered no house name, no province. Emilia found a distaste for when people's demeanour changed as they found out who she was, the grovelling and the kneeling... it brought a bad flavor in her mouth. She much preferred this method of gettng to know people.
To his question, Emilia shook her head. "My sister and my father would not allow me often, but occasionally I am permitted. You fight well Sir Lesley. You should be proud." she directed her last comment at his mother with a smile, and then took another step back. "I will send my maid to pick up my purchases once it has been dyed and dried. Thank you very much for today. And... I hope to see you again, Lesley." With a final small, respectful tilt of her head in their direction, Emilia turned on her heels and left the small house, to return to the streets where her lone maid waited for her.
Princess Emilia was famous for falling headlong for many men, usually multiple in a y ear, if not a month. And she may have just done so, yet again.
