Ygraine was bored, so very, very bored. And there was a dearth of interesting ones to alleviate that boredom. Interesting - not overmuscled, dragon slaying thugs who wanted to grunt, flex and show that they were manlier than the next hero-type. She'd seen men swinging swords. It was about as interesting as watching grass grow, and three times as noisy. Irritating, very irritating. And irritation caused frowns. Frowns made wrinkles and wrinkles made you look old, and old courtesans didn't exactly attract patrons.
She sighed, smoothed her features and leaned against the baulestrade, unaware that within moments she was scowling again as she watched the morning to-and-fro there in the street below. So distracted even, that she hardly even noticed when the usual catcalls and suggestions were called up to her.
Most mornings she would smile. Blow kisses. Pour hot tea down on certain upraised heads. Today she just... stared. Not at them, but over their heads, over the buildings across the way to the mountains that were little more than a purplish-blur on the horizon.
She could (and did) turn and walk across the very well appointed room, to the balcony that looked out over the harbor. At night it was a spectacular view, the sunset a lush backdrop for the masts of the ships that were always there. The view in the morning was.... no nearly so fascinating. Sweating, cursing sailors, many of them suffering from overindulgance- lugging crates and bales onto the ships getting ready to leave for places near and far.
There were days she wished to be on one of those ships, heading off to some place different, exotic, possibly even (say it isn't SO!) Romantic. Then reality checked back in and she remembered that she had tried exotic, different, romantic. And found herself stranded in Rhydin. No coin but her smile, her body, her own wits.
She sighed, smoothed her features and leaned against the baulestrade, unaware that within moments she was scowling again as she watched the morning to-and-fro there in the street below. So distracted even, that she hardly even noticed when the usual catcalls and suggestions were called up to her.
Most mornings she would smile. Blow kisses. Pour hot tea down on certain upraised heads. Today she just... stared. Not at them, but over their heads, over the buildings across the way to the mountains that were little more than a purplish-blur on the horizon.
She could (and did) turn and walk across the very well appointed room, to the balcony that looked out over the harbor. At night it was a spectacular view, the sunset a lush backdrop for the masts of the ships that were always there. The view in the morning was.... no nearly so fascinating. Sweating, cursing sailors, many of them suffering from overindulgance- lugging crates and bales onto the ships getting ready to leave for places near and far.
There were days she wished to be on one of those ships, heading off to some place different, exotic, possibly even (say it isn't SO!) Romantic. Then reality checked back in and she remembered that she had tried exotic, different, romantic. And found herself stranded in Rhydin. No coin but her smile, her body, her own wits.