A Maid in Cereraghu

The Kettle sings shrilly this morning, as boiling bubbles pop in the canister. A fine last act of the night, as the sun pulls itself up the mountain side, and Yawa relinquishes her name.

First tea was churned along with a breakfast, if you could call it that, of Narama-Bohne, Seed-of-Vakar and the Yi-Kopuklu the usual thing made for the ladies of the Aavabanu. An Inn built right into mount Ohchayaah, on the outskirts of Cereraghu, a majorly agricultural town.

It is the early hours of this mountain side, and the meal was not so different from what was eaten by anyone else in Cereraghu as was to be expected, there were of course many women from in the town that lived and worked there.

The Aavabanu is a proper, though not altogether respectable inn, built on mount Ohchayaah, and while it wasn’t so far off from Cereraghu that anyone living there would be ignorant to the Inn’s management, they would be displeased at the acknowledgment.

That is discounting the economic benefits of a fairly clean if illicit establishment of meandering age.

Joia understood the dynamic well enough, even as an outsider from the profession, even well tired from her nightly escapades she understood. And with little concern for such things she pushed the service cart down the main Hall where the long-term borders lived.

Some would still be attending to long term customers, but the ones who’d managed an early night were often gifted with an early morning.

Like the Doyen Molly, she was older, and was in fact the landlord, and while she made all sorts of deals and appearances all the way into her eighties, she still managed to rise early enough for first tea. Joia knocks on her door in expectation, as she did almost every day.

“Oh, Joia. Come on in.” she says, as Joia does so. She’d hardly waited but such things weren’t minded, Joia was after all, less than one sixth her age.

“Thanks for the door,” she responds, setting the dishes at the Doyen’s low table. The Doyen watches her with a content hum, familiar with Joia’s newly obtained grace.

“Your growing up so quickly,” she says once seated, “Might need to take the profession just for posterity.” The elder says, touching Joia’s face.

“That sounds nice Doyenne, but I’d really be a terrible fit.” She says in earnest, her attendance of the Aavabanu was often strenuous but it was certainly less taxing than that of professionals like the Doyen.

The Doyen laughs, “My youngest and most studious sees me in morning light, with the bruising-of-wonder, and she says such labors would be ill-fitting.”

“Really, Doyenne. It’s a bit salacious to say a girl can’t lose sleep for anything else.” Joia says, almost foolishly in an Inn of ill repute, “Besides, what fun is there in the work of it? I know damn well the money in it. Tis better than mining for a living, but it’s hardly anything I’d enjoy.”

“I’m not saying you don’t take what you can from your lover, I only mean that there’d be much more in it if you’d take whomever as a client.” She says in concession, feeling a certain twinge looking at her youngest maid.

Joia was just too pretty to take up low labors thoughtlessly. Right? Nothing less was said, even among the Molly’s who disliked her.

“I’ll tell you again, I’ve not taken a lover.” Joia explained, though like many others the Doyenne might still disbelieve.

“You don’t seem to understand, Joia. I don’t mean to say it can’t be anything else! I only mean that such things, even the implication of an implication, can be seen as an invitation.” The Doyen said, accepting Joia’s explanation.

“An invitation?”

“An invitation.” The Doyen repeated, “Dear thing, I know that your- aware of the world. more so than some, even those who’ve come to work here. But in a place like this, its not unnatural for those within and without to take lurid fancy in someone of your status.”

“Status?” Joia asked, thinking over what this was meant to impart. She knew her age could be an issue, and even her unsaleable position.

The gap between the two and her workplace could be as such. She knew that. But she wasn’t all together convinced.

“Yes, you understand. It isn’t even rare enough that your supposed ignorance would take guardianship.” The Doyen explained that, unarguably. That wasn’t the line, for the type who didn’t like to pay.

“I suppose that’s true,” Joia says, unfortunately, “I don’t mean to make a nuisance, Doyenne. But it seems arrogant.”

It all seemed so egotistical, the kind who’d impose themselves and see it as nothing less than a right. To say nothing less of the kinds who’d let it be amongst the ladies living there.

“And what other manners are there?” the Doyen laughs, breaking the tension in her back.

“Finally, you say something sensible.” Joia smiles back.

“There you are writing invitations,” The Doyen says in flirtation, patting Joia’s head, “You know how well in service a sharp tongue is.”

There’s scarcely a pause, as she responds, “How vulgar! I’ve taken my time with you; I’ll go be insulted by some other Molly.” Near jumping up, the elder traces her arm from the shoulder.

“Go then, dear!” She laughs, happy to see her Joia in a tizz.

“Goodbye.” Joia says, as she closes the door and remans the cart toward the next Molly on her route.

The Doyen Molly scarcely needed a name what with her position, and it showed with her skills. Joia wasn’t of disposition toward her, but the woman could play anyone like a lute. And if anything, a child of this place should be something like a string instrument.

It seemed right to her.

Almost fair.

And as she went to each room tithing, with much the same expectations given her name, an hour and the day before any real dreams.

Beneath it all, she knew where she kept her whims. Past a door in the cellar, where her name was Yawa.