#but I seem to have gotten attached to this cute little raen girl

[fell-court]

I really need to design Ajisai, actually

[vibrantstillness]

Prompt #30: Close

Anabelle had been minding her own business, picking up a few necessities from the Seventh Sage, when she saw what she swore was a familiar sight across the walkway. With a hawkish frown, she made the turn down the path to the Bismarck. Best to make sure about these things, and maybe sometimes it was nice to see what all the city's fancy folk was eating anyroad. More than the piled plates, what caught her eye was a pair of white horns attached to a face she was certain she'd seen before. She squinted as she drew nearer, faces becoming distinct amidst the wafting aromas of fine fare. She ignored the rumbling it prompted in her stomach. Probably all too rich for her blood anyway, she was an honest woman.

Certainty clinched her gut like a vice when she reached the edge of the eatery's patio. It was that priestess from... Nag's Shaw! The one who showed up out of nowhere with some ragtag band of attendants and a story about eastern spirits getting grumpy from being up past their bedtime so she could make off with the comb! Her comb! The one proof of the Twelve looking after her she ever had in her life, whisked away by this foreign girl and her crew for a song and a week's worth of grub promised by an attendant. Assistant? Co-conspirator? The sturdy Xaela who showed up every day with the food was a handsome fella in his own way and the meals were admittedly divine, even if he got skittish whenever she turned on the charm. Some men wouldn't know a good thing if it slapped them in the face.

Still, Anabelle never could quite shake the feeling she'd gotten a raw deal - a comb that made her the fairest lady in all of Vylbrand just by brushing her hair, swapped out for a dozen steaks? She'd traded a fairy tale for lunch! And dinner. And a few breakfasts. Anyway, it didn't seem right and hells take the insistences that she'd run through its blessings and they'd all turn to curses soon. She hadn't seen a whit of it, and if not for her scaredy-cat sister... None of that was the point right now. She strode up to the little strumpet's table and folded her arms with a glare.

"Fancy meetin' you here, priest-tess," she spat.

The dining couple looked up in surprise, meal interrupted. Needed to return the comb to the east, did she? Needed to give her frail little eastern spirits their nap time? Pshaw, here she was chowing on a fancy fish steak with all the fixings, across the table from some Ul'dahn mort with a ridiculous haircut! Her fence, probably.

The woman smiled politely enough, even if her indistinguishably Eastern accent made it sound like she had a mouth half full of mush to her Roegadyn accuser. "Ek'skyus me?"

"Said you needed to nip back to Nag's Shaw or wherever! Said you was a priest-tess! Now here I find you gobblin' dainties in a fancy dress! When'd you learn to speak proper, anyhow?"

A gentle frown met her anger, the seated Raen's hazel eyes searching her own. After a long silence Anabelle was about to break herself, the smaller woman drew back with an offended glare, her voice rising in nasal indignation.

"I hav been learrning sins I was sik'steen! I am sorry if my d'ress is fancier than yourrs, but I would theink you not to becom upset about this. Nald does not feivor us all ekually."

With a dismissive snort, the Au Ra began examining her manicured nails. Why, that little- Horns or no, she was the spitting image of a spoiled merchant's wife! And that voice jangled on Anabelle's nerves, it was... different from the low, soothing melody of the priestess' voice, wasn't it? Well, voices were easy to fake. She was far from convinced.

"Anyway, you kin only afford all this 'cause you stole my comb! Where's it at, girl? You fob it off on this cove?"

The Easterner's eyebrow shot up sharply in disbelief, an unspoken question hanging in the air. It was her date who spoke first.

"Your... comb. Musta been one hell of a comb."

"It was a blessin' from Llymlaen!"

"Uh huh. You in the habit of stealin' blessings from th'Twelve, dove?"

The tanned, top-knotted man turned to his companion across the table with an infuriatingly condescending smirk. She nodded with a vapid smile and brayed a reply.

"Oh, yes! It is a thing we sneaky Easterners do all the tiym. I hav also stolen one of Thal's balls. Would you liyk to see it when we get home?"

"Left or right?"

"I was in a hurry and did not check!"

The man burst into obnoxious laughter urged on by the little thief's indulgent smile, fanning the flames of Anabelle's ire.

"Now hol' up a minute, I saw it was you, horns an' all!"

"Ah-" said the woman, one hand flying up to touch a horn self-consciously. "Darrling, som woman with horns has upset her. It must have been me. I hav horns, do I not? Or perrhaps all of us horrned people look the seim. I would not be upset wer I to fiynd you in bed with another woman. All Raen look so similar, how would you know?"

"Why, I'd know by your cute lil' nose, dove!" returned the man, leaning across the table with a wink... Completely ignoring Anabelle. She clenched her fists.

"I aren't neither blind nor dumb, an' I know what I saw! You said you was Matchy... Snow-oh or somethin', from the Valley of the Fallin' Rainbow! A priest-tess!"

The Raen stilled immediately, staring. Had she got her? A triumphant smile began to rise to the Roegadyn's face. She'd got her, dead to rights! Then the little minx burst into a fit of giggles. Maybe she hadn't got her. What in the hells was going on here?

"Th," she gasped beween snickers, "The p’riestess of the Valley of the Fallen Reinbow. Came hier. To you. To teik a comb." Her mocking little smile was subtle, yet carried the derisive weight of a hammer's blow. "Oh, oh, madam. You ar blessed. How inportant you must be!"

Anabelle reeled a half-step back. She was sure, though! They looked the damned same! Didn't they? Sure a lot of them souls from the east looked similar, but... Her train of thought derailed at a crisp clearing of the throat at her elbow. She turned to see a sternly frowning Roegadyn man in an apron.

"Beg your pardons madame, but we at the Bismarck take the dining experience of our patrons very seriously. We appreciate your enthusiasm, but unless you intend to dine, I'd like to request we not bother the Yellowjackets over this."

"Awright," she exploded. "I gotcha, right enough. Was about to choke on all the smarm, anyroad!"

The Limsan stormed off, fuming. Maybe she was wrong and maybe she wasn't, but she didn't deserve this kind of treatment either way! Leave it to Nag's Shaw spirits to make a mess of everything. At least she still had leftovers from her brief spate of popularity, so she wasn't entirely up the creek. Geraldine, her worrywart sister, had set in pressuring her to sell the velvet painting she'd commissioned while the comb was still working its magic. She'd been holding out, but maybe it was time to let it go, however fond of it she was.

The artist had taken a few... liberties, made her look like a right proper lady in ways she didn't mind at all. In fact, maybe it was best it found its way into other hands. They'd wonder who the lovely lass depicted was, dream of what a fine dame she must've been... And if it was a bit better’n than real, what of it? One day she'd be gone, the painting would still be knocking about, and it'd be as close to truth as it got. That's right, she was Anabelle, one of the few ladies who left the world a more glamorous place than she’d found it. Let that stick in the craw of that damned priestess, wherever she was.

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@miyasukeietada Thanks for letting me borrow your NPC!