In Which Jothein Finds a Thorn Among Roses

August 31, 1164

"Good morning, Seoth," Jothein greeted the innkeeper as he strode into the shop.

Seoth grunted. "I suppose you could call it that. Thank you for your good spirits, Jothein, but I'm afraid they are quite wasted on me today."

He then proceeded to scan the shop; Jothein knew the glances of his customers, and he could identify Seoth's as that of a man with a particular item in mind. "May I ask what it is you're looking for?"

The other man paused for a moment, then mused, "Oh right, you left early last night. Well, I doubt this will surprise you, but your friend Florian somehow got it into his head to challenge gravity and, well... long story short, I need some new bar-stools."

That was Florian, all right--and Jothein had a sneaking suspicion that the man hadn't even been drunk at the time. Some time ago, Seoth had revealed himself to be a rather easy individual to annoy, and Florian had made a point to capitalize. "I see. Well, I don't have any right now, but if I don't get too many other customers today, I can probably make some for you fairly quickly. Do you mind if I send Rifden to the inn with you for the measurements? The boy could use some practice."

The innkeeper shrugged. "How old is he? He isn't one of those grubby-handed little children who only serve to make a mess of places, is he?"

"He's twelve--and rather tidy, I assure you."

"Very well, then."

Jothein turned toward the staircase. "Rifden! I need you to take some measurements for Master Altharaine here!"

As the boy clambered down the steps, Seoth ventured a slight chuckle. "You know, maybe I should count myself fortunate. If the man trashes my inn here in distant Veldorashire, I shudder to think of the state of all those inns in the actual vicinity of his house."

"Actually, he barely sets foot in any of them," Jothein informed him. "He claims that their beer tastes like piss."

Seoth sighed. "Lucky bastards. Anyway, thank you, Jothein, and I will pay you upon completion--though you might want to warn Florian that I'm adding the cost to his tab."

Rolling his eyes, Jothein nodded. "I'll tell him."

"Excellent--and this might go without saying, but I want these to be among the most expensive you've ever made."

"Well, the customer is always right."

Tossing his head back, Seoth gave a crisp, cold laugh. "Indeed. Now, come along, boy; this shouldn't take too long."

Jothein retreated to the table as Seoth led Rifden outside. He knew that he would be slaving over this new project for quite some time after the boy returned, so he figured he'd better take advantage of the opportunity to sit down while he could.

Or, so he thought before the knock on the door told him otherwise. He closed his eyes and sighed. "Enter."

As if by magic, the door swung open to reveal a young woman in a creamy velvet gown. Jothein raised an eyebrow; if Lady Alina had dresses so fine, he had neither seen nor even heard of them. And that circlet--real gold, he could tell. Who was this girl? And why on earth had she come to his humble little shop dressed like a princess?

"Can I help you?" he offered, hoping his confusion wasn't too apparent.

"I'm sorry to bother you," the girl began, making her way to the table, "but my mother sells flowers nearby, and she's hoping for a little more business, so we're giving out samples."

That only raised more questions. "I wasn't aware that anyone sold flowers around here." Not to mention, how can the daughter of a flower seller afford to dress like that?

"Oh, we're a little off the beaten trail," she hastily explained; there was something about the way her eyes bulged that unnerved him somewhat. "Anyway, these are for you. You can put them up in here somewhere, or give them to your wife, or whatever you choose."

Jothein squinted, studying the roses. He did not seem to recall ever seeing such a color before. "You know, my wife isn't really the sort of woman who cares much for flowers."

"But they're a gift!" protested the girl. "Please, just take them--you have nothing to lose."

Figuring that at least it would get her to leave, Jothein bit his lip and reached for the bouquet. "Well, I suppose you're right. Thank--ow!"

The girl blinked as he recoiled. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he insisted. "Just... caught a thorn, that's all."

>With more caution this time, he took the flowers from the girl and set them on the table. "Thank you."

She nodded. "You're welcome. I hope you enjoy them, and that you'll come by for more."

I highly doubt I will, he thought to himself, but it seemed a rather rude to say so to her face. "We shall see. Take care."

"You as well," she acknowledged, turning away from him and briskly making her way out of the shop. "You as well."

His finger was bleeding where the thorn had pricked him, he noticed. Odd--thorns weren't typically so sharp, or at least not as far as he knew. Oh well, it would scab over before he started on Seoth's order; by the time Rifden returned, Jothein doubted he would even remember it.

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