A Disregardful Larkspur in the Midst

In an determined mood Lark returns to the dark and dirty streets of The Nest. As she heel-clicks past one of the signs, some bigoted jerks had changed the sign to "They're Next" with very squished, poor common hand. She wrinkled her pert nose and realised they may have done it in their own bodily fluids. Great. Nice. Perfect.

She lets out a deep, soothing exhale for herself. The interior of her body feeling a gentle, warming anger that built over time - the more she saw what was going on in this part of the city. Something she knew she did not belong to, an interloper, a silver spoon that'd come to dig their earth and try and make it grow into something more. There were always resentments, rightfully so. However, she was not a poverty tourist or a part time charitable noble. Nor was she shopping for adoptable children.

Striding through, still with her customary sweetly bouncing steps and with swaying long black hair. A sight. Right now's very own circus.

Because this time she didn't bother hiding herself, gliding along in black, gold and pink - her half skirt hovering over the ground with filmy magic. Clear blue eyes, she knew were stormy as groups turned and considered calling out or approaching. 

"They seem rather stand offish on this day, Anastasie." Bitsy Pookums, Aka Beeps, Aka B'Piddy, aka Ferdinand the Fiery Destroyer. Hellhound of some renown. Sleek deep brown fur with black ashen paws and snout, as he pants with his tongue out and lolls it at the gaping crews of shivs. The gentle rise of embers from the open mouth and the deep and endless looking larval glow inside against sharp white teeth in double rows. 

"I don't know honey, you're a nice boy." Lark says absently, running a hand over his head and avoiding his sharply spiked collar. She'd long since given up trying to decorate it, as he always appeared with the same utilitarian spiked monstrosity. 

"If you never call me a nice boy again, I will surely escort you politely through this rancid latrine of a street." 

"It's a deal!" She says cheerfully, offering her hand to him. He stares at her until she stops. 

"I don't touch paw. I am not a pet." He says grandly, trotting along very much like a pet at her side. Ignoring her wry and mischievous smile. 

They reach another nondescript door, as usual. This one though has reinforced hinges and the windows are iron barred and boarded over the glass. 
She takes out the leaf and slips it under the door with her pointed boot toe. Waiting a little longer than usual, as she slides in - Beeps fades out with an ominous puff of sulfur. 

"I'm glad you're here Miss Larkspur. It's a right muddle. A conundrum, peas in the pudding!" Marta says angrily, wringing her damp hands on her brightly coloured apron, spattered in all sorts of layers of paints, pigments and whatnots. 

"Well, I'm here to work.. well. I will be once I change. Will you afford me that time?" Lark asks, resting her manicured hand on the human woman's shoulder gently. Making sure to make eye contact, a calming force. She did not need to actually ask for time, for they were not subordinate to boss. It was truly just - to give Marta's mind to think about something other than the 'calamity'. 

"Oh well of course! Of course. You know, if you're changing, I'll put on some tea. We'll.. we'll review over tea." and bustled off, with a pleased note in her hard commoners accent.

Lark had another private sigh, as in a little bit of time she could surely make sure all was well again, in this venture. The little warehouse of hopes and dreams. Standing in the small hall, an erected wall to hide the contents of the space with the neatly painted words "The Nest Makers Collective." 

And behind her, the hum of industry and the trill of laughter. Salvaged from the dull outside. 

Good. 

"Well, as you see here the research says!" Adamas points to the neatly printed board. Gordeth, Marta, Coryen and Lark watch him with interest. "Smoked.. meat.. Fresh Fallen Snow.. Coal" 
He goes white, red and then a nice shade of mottled as he reads down the list under his breath and then turns on her with an air of violence.

"What is this???" he hisses, turning his raised hand at the tall bright elf, then pretending he meant it towards the board as a warning glance from Marta puts pause into his momentum. 

"AH! The research." Lark puts on her round glasses, with the gold rims and cute red hearts on the arms. "So you asked me to poll my 'rich stupid friends' about their favourite smell." 

"Of soap!" he shouts over her, trying to avoid them hearing most of what she said.

"So you farmed out your work to the elf and she did as told." Marta claps slowly, a belly laugh from Gordeth and a disgusted expression from Coryen. 

"Oh yes, here are his original orders on paper so I don't forget!" and she deftly hands them to the patriarch, mage. Easily avoiding Adamas' meaty fist trying to grab her overalls. "Oops, excuse me Adamas!" 

Pivoting past in a whirl of ribbons, she ends up standing pertly in front of Gordeth as he examines the small slip of paper - reading it out loud in a dry, unamused voice: "Hey Knife ears, ask your stupid rich friends what their favourite smell is. Don't forget to do it moron. Put a stupid sticker on this paper, idiot. - A" 

The brightly clean wooden clad room becomes very, very, very quiet. Lark stands patiently, a vague patient smile on her face as she waits. Marta looks slightly ill, Coryeth puts a comforting hand on her shoulder and distances himself from his brother. Now a stark, oversized fur coat wearing a very very angry looking man. 

Beyond the locked door, they can hear the softly cheerful group singing a tavern favourite as they work hard for the Collective. Even the happy playing noises of the children in the grassed courtyard creche. 

Gordeth eventually gently guides Lark over to the board, "Does he speak to you like this all the time?" 
She puts her pink manicured hand on the tall man's robed arm and speaks in a whisper, "Some people do, he does yes. I'd rather talk about the data if we can." Then quickly raises her voice as if nothing more was said "See, I asked them their favourite smells and some of them knew I meant soap. Pointedly, they knew that strong favourite smells are 'just that' because they're RARE!" 

The room has gone from mortified to confused as Lark walks over to the sample soap and points at it.

"Okay, so Adamas ordered Valentino pigment which is-" 

"Expensive."
"Stupid."
"Out of budget."
"Smart PLANNING." 

Marta, Coreyth, Gordeth and Adamas say almost on top of one another with varying levels of anger and volume.

"Okay okay okay! And the same with the leafed gold. But! If we formulate some plans, we can reduce the waste significantly. I have an idea.. but I'll certainly wait to see what y'all say first!" Is the cheerful and Anastasie standard of response, holding up a small sheaf of papers with lots of notes, stickers and drawn lines. 

A quiet, more cultured voice speaks up quickly - sensing the danger.
"I suggest we remove the gold, give that to the paper group for foiling on expensive orders. Reformulate the Valentino to have a scent of musk and violet and keep a single sample at each stall for special order, thus not investing all of the ingredients at once." Coryen says hurriedly running  a hand through his short scruffy hair, clearly something he's been thinking on. Once finished he stands with hands in his pockets, not looking up at anyone. Adamas scoffs quietly. Gordeth makes an interested hmmm and then turns to his bigger, angrier grandson. 

"Well, I say we just stick with my model. It takes four times the price to make, so we make it four times the price of the others. End of. It looks good, why wouldn't people buy it?" With a very sure laugh.

"It doesn't smell like anything." Marta says sternly in a kind, motherly way. "Luxury products have to be luxurious." 

"Yes but it IS, it's got SO much pigment." He points at it on the platter.

"The buyers don't even know what pigment is. They just want soap. You can't sell it on your decision to pick a colour you like." Gordeth says curtly. "The floor is yours, Anastasie." 

"Okay! Purple. Lemons!" Lark says with a flourish, a tadaaaaa that is not shared. "Okay, wait. Let me explain. Valentino is four times more expensive than regular pigment due to the deep colour but if we mix it with white zinc which is a dross product from the other industries, we get a pale lilac in it's one fourth state. Three parts zinc, one part Valentino. Then Lemon is our best seller. So you make Purple Lemon!" 

"Which doesn't exist, MORON." Adamas says triumphantly and looks at the others like he's just proved the world is flat. His dark eyes darting around with undisguised malice as they don't seem to be reacting how he wants, muttering to each other and having a small gathering of whispers beyond his reach. 

"Ok ok ok ok! So it doesn't exist, OR DOES IT. The new luxury fruit that no one has ever seen, Purple Lemon, is only available in soap form. It's a tiny bit more expensive BUT marked down to our usual soap price. It's /limited/." 

The whispering intensifies. Lark stands patiently, holding her papers. Adamas not far from her, facing the three as they negotiate and cajole and explain in hushed tones. 

"I've totally got this, Valentino is the colour of the season." he says to her, folding his arms. The cuffs of his shirt, showing off that indeed it is popular. 

"I hope so! I mean, you put a lot of time and effort into your plan!" she replies cheerfully, giving him a wide smile and rocking back and forth on her crazy lime green boots. His puzzlement at her politeness is almost too much to bear and her smile gets wider. Will not laugh. Cannot laugh.

"BELL." Marta yells, and the door unlocks and opens, a little head pops in as the lady from the crafts department answers.

"Bell here, what is it Marta?" a sweet tanned face and cheerful brown eyes seem pleased to be called by the bellow. 

"Start illustrating purple lemons, shades of lilac to deep violet." The aproned woman orders, and hands her a paper with scrawled instructions.

"Exotic Purple Lemon Soap - Limited Edition." Bell puzzles for a moment and then curtseys. "Yes ma'am, will do." and slams the door, engaging the lock. 

"BUT. THEY. DON'T. EVEN. EXIST." Adamas rages. Aiming a big boot at a spindly chair before Gordeth puts a hand on his arm.

"They do now, my grandson. They do now. Lets' go to my quarters and talk about that note.. shall we?" And impressively manhandles him a little, up to the stairs he came from. 

Coreyth sidles over to Lark and offers her his hand to shake. "Good call, your idea was the best so far."
She grasps it and pulls him into a hug, slapping his back in a manly fashion. "Hey, your idea was awesome too. Maybe we should do a Luxury sample range?"

"Rock paper scissors to see who has to count the pigment and who has to measure?" He says as they break apart. 

"Best two out of three! You're on." and she tightens her ponytail, looking far too intent on winning.


Marta heaves a sigh of relief and returns to her glue-maidening.