Cold. Wet. They are not friends to the Maraskai. Cocooned within thermal wear, leather and denim, a scarf wrapped around his face to ward off the chill from his throat, Kha closes the door with a soft, plaintive tinkling from the bell overhead. The scar is drawn down as he crosses to the counter, to pause, a sandcat's frozen stillness, as an object is placed upon it. Baffled eyes lift to the woman there, then drop to the package again as he listens to the news of why it's there - and who had left it.
Finally, the Maraskai takes another step forward, awkward and uncomfortable, before nodding. Not the serving woman's fault or problem, and it would be churlish to leave it there. "Just....the mulled wine. Please." Really, it could have been spiced water. Kha can't drink it anyway. Accepting the hot cup, he wraps freshly bared fingers around it, greedy for the heat, before taking his gift and retreating to the usual flat cushion next to the heater.
Setting package and cup aside, Khason abandons them long enough to retrieve a book. 'Species of the Realm - common intelligent beings to be found in and around the world of Rhy'din'. The brief information on each and examples of male and female specimens depicted will, at least, give the horseman a starting point to work with when encountering strange species. Balancing the book across his knees as he sinks down, fluid and natural, into a cross-legged seat, Kha wraps both hands around his cup of wine again as he considers the package. The darkstone in the room - a term that may have no meaning, anywhere by Maraska. Or at least not the same meaning.
Finally, Kha releases a sigh, and pushes the book off his knees to replace it with the box. One handed, switching the cup back and forth to warm either hand as the other gets chilled, the horseman picks at the wrapping until he's worried it loose, carefully preserving the pieces for re-use. The garments within earn a startled consideration, thoughtful, before he lifts them out one at a time. The gloves get tucked into his pockets, to join those already there. The hat he pulls on, grimacing at the static crackle. The scarf gets wrapped around his neck to compliment the one already there - more warmth is always welcome.
Only the packets remain, and the Maraskai examines those closely, puzzling out their purpose. A soft sound indicates that he's figured it out - and they get stored carefully in inner pockets of his coat. Armor against future emergencies. Finally, the box is empty, and Kha sits considering it for several minutes. He doesn't rise to leave the shop. Instead, the paper is replaced in the box, and it's set aside, before he digs into the inner pockets of his coat.
A roll of long, coarse hairs is removed - coarse compared to the hair on a human's head. Fine and silky, but remarkably strong, to touch. Setting the cup aside, he wriggles a little closer to the heater and starts unwinding the hairs, stretching them out as they're sorted by color across his lap. Black strands, white and grey. Several strands of his own hair join the white, before slender fingers start the slow, careful task of braiding them. Twisting in and around, over and back, looping and plaiting.
It would have gone faster, and with fewer mistakes, had he not been so cold....but stiff fingers make for slow, careful work. Finally the book is opened again - Kha can read as he works. Slowly, gradually, a narrow plait forms. Light and dark hairs weave in and out, forming a pattern in the braid. Sealed at the ends, bound around by bands once it's finished to form a double loop.
And then another, considerably longer. Bound at regular intervals by similar bands of braided hair, it's stronger than most metal chains of similar thickness. A tuft at the end holds a core of pale hair, ringed by a sheath of shorter, dark hairs, and at one point Kha pauses. With the length pinned between his lips, the horseman digs into his pockets to locate a stone - blue Labradorite, already nested into a band of pale horsehair.
It's the work of moments to add on a braided loop, and tighten it to secure solidly in place on the growing plait. Taking a moment to turn a page, Kha continues working as he reads. At one point, the woman behind the counter brings him a fresh cup of mulled wine, taking away the cold one. She's paid with a smile, and a few pennies.
Strands weave in and out, back and forth, light and dark. A balance. Finally, a short, wide-bladed knife trims the trailing ends of the hairs, creating a matching tuft to the beginning. Bands of hair bind the ends together, creating the slip-chokes that will allow its size to be adjusted. Carefully, it's placed next to the matching bracelet already shaped - without the tufts, or the stone.
Wrapping both hands around his wine again, Kha warms them for several minutes before wrapping the two pieces of jewelry neatly before fitting it back into the box his own gift had been left in. Carefully, his own name is scratched out, and 'Thank you' written in its stead, before the Maraskai rises to his feet.
The package is returned to the counter, to be given back to the woman who'd left the box with different contents. The wine, almost cooled, is left there as well, the book to its shelf. As quietly as he'd arrived, hands buried in gloves again, Kha slips out into the night again.
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