We found her on the street of Coins of all things, nowhere even near the currulean where, if you ask me, such commerce really ought to be done and not in the open where it can affront the senses! But that is all right, I suppose, since it is a boon for me.
Faboo and I were on the quest for a new supplier of threads for the price of the red has gone up much too much at my usual vendors. How crude of them to attempt to pass off their tax increases onto the customer! Don't they understand that it will only increase their taxes, since their revenue will increase, and create a vicious circle of lining someone's rich pockets? Honestly, how much easier to simply tighten the belt, as it were, and live more modestly until better times are upon us once more. What is the problem with my beloved city bitching about such things as taxes and salt? Surly the powers that be do all that they can. It is the stupidest most ridiculous bunch of whining I have ever heard.
But Max really is a nice fellow, for an overbearing care taker.
At any rate, we had happened upon a disreputable sort selling two slaves out of hand on the street. Both seemed dejected things, with down cast eyes and morose features. The other was a little too salacious for my tastes, even going so far as to wink at Faboo! Can you imagine? Winking at a slave boy? I know the hot trend right now is for vicious fighting musical genius slave boys that also can tend a woman's compartment and fix wounds, but a few of them are still just slaves, less then men. I am not sure I approve of the new culture of my world, but I am sure I can adjust.
The second girl seemed to me despondent and uncaring, but of course she had to care, since all slave girls adore their owners and are hurt when sold. Such is the way of things. I bought her for a very reasonable price when the few gathered on lookers were busy bidding on the bare-breasted other slave -scandelous!- and brought her home to the shop before Maxwell could walk around the corner and see. The letch.
I should tell him sometime, I know, and I will. When the time is right. He is so busy right now with bills and taxes, companion and children, I don't need to add another thing onto his mind. So it is really a kindness on my part, isn't it?
I've put together plans to make her a new outfit, for of course the one she came in simply will not do. Faboo will drill her in the ins and outs of the shops which will give me time for more important things, like, embroidery and that new book I borrowed from Hillary. The genre is growing on me.
Delilah
Depreciation
Dear Diary,
I have been as busy as ever, but I haven't had too many new customers added to my lists. A friend of mine suggested that I purchase a comely slave to draw the eyes of men, it is what she does. It seems to me such a low, and low brow approach to business, and that I could offer eye candy with a nice painting or a statue and not have to bother myself with this slave business. I of course, am not fond of slaves. Except for Faboo, but come on, he is fabulous, and that is only as fond as I can get about a kajirus, like one would a pet or good friend so no smart remarks thank you!
Apparently, this is what her employer does in his shop. He produces woven cloth, they all being weavers on that section of the district, and he has two slave girls who kneel all day at the door smiling to men and offering to serve them. I have to admit, he turns a pretty penny, and can afford not only to pay these new ridiculous taxes, but to have five employees, free ones, that work for him. And not even family! I do not know what Maxwell would think of the idea and I have the bad feeling he'd "gift" me toy if I asked him. Faboo tells me that Toy's charms have worn off on both Felicity and now Maxwell and that Augustus delights in kicking her in the ass. Those who work for a living just do not do well with that kind of animal, the kind that do nothing but look nice and show off their assets all day. I really do not want to end up with Toy. That would be awful.
But a nice handmaiden would be nice, maybe. Not only a symbol of prestige, but also a helper in my abode. I'd not want to house her at Vierge, then I'd have to tell Max. I do not plan to inform him of this one and if he finds out, well it just slipped my mind! Otherwise he'd have his hands on her and I just couldn't stand that idea. Gross! Men are so gross!
I've mentioned the idea to Faboo, under secrecy of course, and he seemed amused for he chuckled. He's got a good eye for bargin and quality though, perhaps during one of our shopping sojourns we can find something that suits my purposes? We shall see.
Happy Ending
Dear Diary,
I am pleased to report that the business with the scribe is concluded now- and in my favor! Faboo told me it would be all right and it was! He is a good sort, for a man, and a kajirus. But I swear, and this is a secret, sometimes I consider him a better friend then the girls. He doesn't gossip for one, except about slaves, and who cares about that, and he acts sort of not like a man, enough that I can ignore that he physically is one.
Anyway, the scribe did haul me before a magistrate and made her case. Maxwell refused to hire a lawyer for such a "triffle" as the case, but he stood for me himself. Once the woman was done ranting she called several witnesses, all of which attested to the unraveling of the thread and her tripping over her own robes and landing so...aaa well, it seems she had shown off some of the frilly undergarments she wore to everyone who was there, sometime while breaking her pinky finger.
After she was finished, she demanded I give to her the price of the work, and twenty gold! Twenty! I would not see that in a lifetime! I had started to cry again when Maxwell spoke, and Diary, he was magnificent! He illustrated so expertly that I can't be held accountable for the damages since I did not place the door nail where it was, or force the scribe to get caught by it, and that since the work had been paid for after it was done and inspected, if she had fault with it, she should have not paid at all, but since she did, she admited de facto that the work was superior enough to pay for. Something like that, he said many words I did not understand.
At any rate, the magistrate listened very gravely to the scribe's pricey lawyer and to my humble dyer brother, and he decided in our favor! He even instructed the woman to pay us for court costs, and to pay him for wasting his time with "drivel." It is odd how all men have considered this matter so unimportant, but how important we women thought it to be. The scribe swore she would ruin me for this and tell all her high caste friends not to patron the shop and I do not doubt she will try. But my regulars come, and my business has not suffered at all during this long, long worrisome month, and I have the feeling that more consider it more her fault then my own.
I think I will make a new tunic for Faboo to wear at the shop. I think I will make it scribe caste blue.
The Lost Thimble
Dear Diary,
Life is horrible! I don't think I can ever show my face in public again! I had done work for a woman of the Scribe's caste, way too much blue if you asked me, and it was good work. She paid me fully and then went to her party, or whatever it was that she went to and she snagged the rising moon on her hem on a door nail. The embroidery began to pull out, leaving what she claimed was a trail of blue thread in her wake. She claims she did not notice it and that many laughed at her behind her back, and then she says that she tripped over the thread and broke her pinky finger and now it is all crooked!
But the worst is, she blames me for this incident. Oh, diary, what ever shall I do! The woman accosted me in the middle of the market as I was purchasing some red threads, and accused me of subpar workmanship! Was it my fault that she is a clumsy, graceless cow? Is it my fault her party was held in a place falling apart that has door nails sticking out?? Oh, but she made such a scene, and ranted and shrieked and pointed her broken finger at me, and it is all crooked now, and oh! I think I am ruined!
I cried all afternoon on Faboo's shoulder. He has been great in all of this, politely turning away my regulars and asking them to return tomorrow. Though he cited "family" issues, everyone in Ar must have heard of the incident by now! If it were not for Faboo, I would be more a wreck then I am. He locked up the shop and suggested I return to my apartment to "get a hold" as he put it. And then he came up bringing tea and listened to me cry the remainder of the day until he had to return to Maxwell's. Why can't more men be like Faboo? Understanding and gentle I mean. Maxwell blew off my complaint as if it were nothing! Nothing! I am ruined and he thinks it nothing and my only friend left is a kajirus!
My work is NOT shoddy, that bitch should have watched where she was going! I hate women like that, who think because of station or wealth they can get away with anything. But Diary, she is threatening to sue me unless I return her what she paid, plus pain and suffering. I could be hauled before a magistrate! I could end up in the stocks! Ruined, for the good of a door nail!
What a somber epitaph that would be. Here lies Lucretia's Pyre, Maxwell could say, dead for the good of a door nail.
A day in the Life
Dear Diary,
Today was so splendid I couldn't stand it! The weather was perfect, honest, you could not ask for better weather then today's. The birds sang in the trees, the flowers bloomed, the skies were clear and bluer then even my bluest thread. Although Ar is undergoing some sort of trouble of a political nature, which I am politely ignoring since it is almost always undergoing some sort of political trouble, the people seemed favorably effected by this gorgeousness of nature, and well they ought!
I woke to the sound of birds and ate a light breakfast of fresh melon, sprinkled with a little sugar. Since it is the fifth day of the hand, I did not bother going down to the shop, but had the entire day to luxuriate. I wondered what Faboo does on the day off? Doubtless my brother keeps him gainfully employed, it does not due to let slaves idle all the day long, though if you ask me, he deserves some time off. I guess that is what kajirualia is for?
I read through two books, one of them had the most darling pictures, so sweetly formed and pretty, it was hard to look at the words. And that was fine, since it was a book on tarnraces, and the subject does not greatly intrigue me. I like the pictures though, it gives me good design ideas. So strange the amount of women that request stylish faction patches for the races! I do not know why any would want to watch those blood-soaked sporting events. I can understand why the wealthy might, they usually sponsor them, and I suppose a few enjoy wagering on anything. But if you ask me, leave the tarns to the men! Horrid beasts!
After reading, I dropped by the Whimsy for a spot of tea, and Hillary was there. She thanked me for the return of her books and then offered a new one. I declined; love and romance interest me slightly less then tarnraces do. And there are not even any pretty pictures to distract one from the tripe of the printed word. They are all the same, those romances. Some spirited woman secretly years to be swept off her feet, and when she least expects it, but the reader most expects it, some tarnsman, pirate, dashing warrior, plains man, pasha or jarl enters her life. At first there is always strife as he demands she be warm and docile like a kajira, but he is intrigued by her eyes. At some point he steals a peek at her ankles, and at another the rogue lifts her veils to kiss her lips. She ends up bringing out the strong caring side in him, and he stirs her warmth, and they end up getting companioned without a contractual ending and birth triplets.
Bunch of hogwash if you ask me. Honestly, no wonder free women detest slaves so, if that is the silly nonsense floating about in their heads.
After tea, I strolled the gardens which are now in high bloom. The light from above was a bit warming in the veils, so at midday I retired to my apartment, threw open the window, and took a nap to the sounds of the street below. A very light breeze comforted me, I enjoyed the feeling of air upon my face.
Toward evening, I prepared a nice light soup and a salad for supper, and I wrote two more chapters on my own embroidery book. It won't come close to mother's of course, but I like how it is turning out thus far.
I think I shall sleep now, diary dear, the moons are high and the night still. Such balmy evenings suit me. Perhaps I might consider a vacation next winter in Bazi?
Threads
Dear Diary,
Today was a great day. Faboo and I had gone to market for more red thread (why does every customer require so much red in their designs?) and found a great bargain. Helena is going out of business and put her entire stock out for half price! She hadn't been forced out of business of course, she is getting companioned to a man of Lara, and so will be moving there. I wish her much luck, she is a good woman even if her work is subpar.
The girls of the cafe say that Helena and her companion were introduced by her father, the man being a business partner of his. He sells sorp dye, apparently. It is good to keep relations within the caste outside of Ar friendly, I suppose, though I could not imagine leaving Ar! Also, the girls say the man has ten slave girls. Poor Helena! To be stuck in a strange city with a man she does not know and ten slave girls! We all chipped in to buy her a going away present, and got her a beaded quirt. I think it will see much work.
At any rate, her wares are all half priced and all of us descended upon the remnants, to snag what we could. With the problems with taxes lately in Ar, every copper bit counts! I snagged the bulk of the threads and a set of needles. I am forever loosing my needles.
I was so pleased by the purchase that I offered Faboo to a bosk steak lunch. I have never seen a man turn down bosk before! He asked for some cheese, bread and a spot of wine instead and I didn't see any reason to turn him down. I guess I should have allowed it once he got the threads back to the shop, it took forever with him stumbling around and giggling! Strange man!
It's a girl!
Dear Diary,
It's a girl! Morgana was born late last night, she is so perfect and so cute it almost makes me want one! Almost. Augustus, her older and slightly pernicious brother, reminds me why I really don't. Felicity is doing well, resting, the birth had gone off without a hitch. I have heard that if you have one, the second is easy. Felicity told me I was full of...something no lady would repeat. I'll not hold it against her then as she was in a bit of discomfort at the time.
I do not think Maxwell is especially pleased with a girl. He's never been comfortable around young children, and I think he fears Morgana might end up like Mareena. He and Felicity have decided to renew the contract for another year and I am glad. Children should not grow up without a mother. I think since Morgana is a girl, Felicity might find her contract renewed until the girl is companioned herself.
In the meantime, Maxwell bought himself another slave, one he calls "toy." Scandelous and a dreadful name I know. I do not much care for Toy, she is a little snotty and has very little sense of decorum. Faboo tells me she is a first rate "bitch" and tells me plenty of stories about how she has set herself up as the favorite and even has been caught trying to usurp some of Felicity's duties! Once Felicity is off her feet, that will swiftly change I assure you. But for the meantime, she is busy with the baby, so certain things have to fall to someone else. Better a slave then another free woman! That makes it six slaves that Maxwell owns; five female and Faboo.
But Morgana for now is only an infant, and beautiful and perfect at that. I wanted to hold her forever! But she had to eat and so I had to give her back. I still have that new baby smell on my robes. Life is so wonderful!
Established Reputations
Dear Diary,
It isn't often a man comes into my shop, though the one that did was merely shopping for his daughter. He had managed to contract her to a man of high caste, and he as a merchant, enjoyed the prestige that went with being the relation of builders. It is just the way it is on Gor that young ladies are companioned off for business, rather then the romantic notion of love that fills so many books.
That reminds me, I need to return Hillary's books to her, it's been three months. Yikes!
At any rate, he came into my shop and Faboo fawned all over him. Not as a shopkeeper might fawn over a patron, but it was more reminiscent to something else entirely. The man was not too comfortable and I think mentioned tunics again, and quickly left to patron one of my friendly near-by rivals. To say the least, I wasn't too happy.
It isn't the first time Faboo has seemingly prevented a sale just by being himself. Most of my regulars are used to him by now, it has been two months since Max bought him, but a few of the newer ones are uneasy, at first at least. My reputation, my work and my prices give me plenty of repeat customers, but I do not relish losing a single sale to that hack, Helena. She has absolutely no talent, a well trained jit could sew as well as she, and her designs are so second rate as to be laughable. Plus, she charges too much and is a bit snobby for a simple seamstress.
For the time being, I'll banish Faboo to the backrooms, where he belongs anyway carting things about. I've tried just forbidding him to speak to the customers, but several ask his opinion, and in my opinion, his opinions are first rate. The man does know colors! The standing order is, if a man enters the shop, Faboo goes to the store room. He seems disheartened by this but I think he understands the reason.
I wish I did. Oh well, time for brunch!
Faboo
Dear Diary,
His name is Faboo, which is a funny name, but then people name slaves such odd things. I had heard one called pudding once, and another called spot. He is a nice looking boy, no Milo by any stretch of the imagination!- but handsome in a gracile graceful sort of way. Better though is his attitude. He adores embroidery, and fashion! I do not anticipate any problems with Faboo.
Maxewell bought him from House Adenicus actually, and I am slightly surprised because that is so not one of the cheaper slaving houses in Ar. He is also tenth generation bred, another surprise, bred slaves are costly! For some reason they found him unfit for breeding, but that is fine with me, such a distasteful if necessary business it is. I do not know what he cost, but Max assures me it was well within his price range. It is so funny how Max refers to Faboo as "it." "It will be housed at Vierge." "It will be fed by you." "It will report for work daily at the sixth bar and return to the house no later then the sixteenth or it will really be a tunic." I still do not know what it means for a man to be a tunic, but I have the feeling I do not want to know anyway.
In the meantime, I have my laborer, and I am pleased. After the fair goers left for the Sadars, I have had more time to relax, but when they return it will be time to get ready for the love feast!
Happy En'Kara!
Dear Diary,
Happy En'Kara, Ar! Oh this time of the year is such a splendid thing, it truly is! The entire city is in celebration now that the waiting hand is up, and thank the Priest-Kings for that! Brak bush is so drab and boring to see everywhere and all the white doors just depresses me.
I had so many orders during the time of reflection that I scarcely had time to reflect. Since opening, my reputation seems to be growing by word of mouth, which is grand since I do not see any point in spending money on advertisement. The lower I keep my overhead, Max tells me, the lower I can keep my prices. It seems every woman in Ar will be wearing my designs during the feasts! Well, not quite that many, but a lot.
After nearly breaking my ankle while hauling a crate, I have decided that I need help in the shop. I need a strong hand, but I do not relish the idea of a free man, or a burly kajira. So I have asked Max for a kajirus and he was less then receptive to the idea.
"What do you want one of those for???"
"To haul things around the house, so I do not break my ankle again."
"It isn't broken, you merely twisted it, and the physician said it is not even a bad twist."
"You can pick him out for me, Maxwell? I do not really have much a head for the purchase of slave flesh, to be honest, having never done it before."
"You want me to pick it out?????"
It went on like that until Felicity stepped in on my behalf. The toddler had woken up, and she being seven months pregnant was not in the mood for an argument in her house just then. Maxwell agreed to go to one of the cheaper slaving houses in search of a labor slave, and he did mention something about getting a "tunic" but I did not really hear him, and did not understand the reference anyway.
Embroidery by Lucretia
Dear Diary,
I have settled on a name, and I think it is a good name. When mother would speak of opening her own shop, she would call it Embroidery by Madeline. I will order the frontage sign tomorrow, I want her signature piece to be on it so it will be tricky. I will embroider it myself, have it mounted upon wood, and covered in glass to protect it from the elements.
It will also be expensive. I am sure Max will not mind.
Maxwell's silver thimble
Dear Diary,
I suppose Max was a good little brother, but of course we siblings didn't spend that much time with each other. I spent more time with Mareena and that is all I will reflect on that for the moment. So when Maxwell finally agreed to get me my own shop, I was flabbergasted!
He purchased Uncle's shop down on Lorna, before some stranger could purchase it from out of the family. I am glad, it is a good solid building and had been grandfather's. It should have been mother's but, that is the way it goes. Mother always liked the shop, she spoke of it fondly and would frequent it just to breathe in the air.
I've moved out of house Vierge and into the apartment loft located above the shop floor. It isn't a huge apartment, there are but four rooms and the 'necessity' room, but it is mine. My workspace is downstairs, but upstairs is still littered with half done projects, threads, designs and I am pretty sure I just sat on a needle. They are sticking out of everything that has cushioning.
That reminds me, I need to buy some new needles. I seem to keep running out.
He also gifted to me this little book and I have decided to make a diary out of you. I will sew a custom cover for you tomorrow, perhaps with herlits and gims, and flowers all over! I have a beautiful scrap of silk that should be just perfect. I couldn't bring myself to discard it, too small for all but a tiny purse, but for a book cover it should work grandly! This will be fun.
It isn't decorated yet, since I just moved in last hand, but I will get around to that in due time. For now, I get to cook for myself, read by myself, and enjoy myself! I think I shall go have a bath.