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Neena appeared to ponder and consider the girl's question on whether it was difficult to learn a different language. It was hard for her to estimate whether it was challenge or not, given that she had started with a few already within her skillset. The Egyptian woman who had found her had been a Coptic speaker and the Bedoan trader she travelled with when little had spoken in the dialect of the Somalu. Hector, the ship captain she had then been sold to in the middle of her childhood had been Greek. By the time she had left him she even knew a few words in Latin from one of his crewmen and in Hebrew. It had taken until her travels in Judea, however, to gained a working knowledge of it.
"I don't think it's as difficult as people assume it to be." Neena commented as she watched the girl looking over the jewellery. "When you can speak more than one language, it's like you have a universal one in your head." Neena smiled as she pointed to her temple. "You know what you want to say and then your mouth works out which language to say it in, based on who you're talking to. But, in your head, it just sounds like what you wanted to say..." She made a wincing face and laughed. "Sorry, that's probably a horrible description."
As they moved on down the aisles of stalls, the Rwandi commented on the fact that Neena didn't speak of her family. Unsure if the girl meant her immediate family: parents, siblings, husband etc... or the family of her tribe (or simply assumed the two to be one in the same), Neena paused and thought before she answered...
"I have no family." She stated easily, as a place to begin. "Not blooded anyway. I was born to nothing and no-one." Her tone of voice was simple, factual, not revealing any hurt or feeling of loss from the fact that she had been born an orphan. She looked back over her shoulder towards a group of the Zaire, her eye catching on the figure of her husband before darting away again and turning to the girl with whom she spoke. "I am a part of the Zaire people now because I married their Leier. I am there for love and friendship but not family." She offered a light shrug. "Perhaps that is why I do not naturally speak of it." Her smile was still bright, despite the sad subject.
"Do you not wish to travel, then?" She asked the girl when she commented on how important her family were to her. "See more of the world for yourself?"
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Aug 18, 2019 17:20:57 GMT
Posted In Border Trade on Aug 18, 2019 17:20:57 GMT
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"Hmm..."
Neena appeared to ponder and consider the girl's question on whether it was difficult to learn a different language. It was hard for her to estimate whether it was challenge or not, given that she had started with a few already within her skillset. The Egyptian woman who had found her had been a Coptic speaker and the Bedoan trader she travelled with when little had spoken in the dialect of the Somalu. Hector, the ship captain she had then been sold to in the middle of her childhood had been Greek. By the time she had left him she even knew a few words in Latin from one of his crewmen and in Hebrew. It had taken until her travels in Judea, however, to gained a working knowledge of it.
"I don't think it's as difficult as people assume it to be." Neena commented as she watched the girl looking over the jewellery. "When you can speak more than one language, it's like you have a universal one in your head." Neena smiled as she pointed to her temple. "You know what you want to say and then your mouth works out which language to say it in, based on who you're talking to. But, in your head, it just sounds like what you wanted to say..." She made a wincing face and laughed. "Sorry, that's probably a horrible description."
As they moved on down the aisles of stalls, the Rwandi commented on the fact that Neena didn't speak of her family. Unsure if the girl meant her immediate family: parents, siblings, husband etc... or the family of her tribe (or simply assumed the two to be one in the same), Neena paused and thought before she answered...
"I have no family." She stated easily, as a place to begin. "Not blooded anyway. I was born to nothing and no-one." Her tone of voice was simple, factual, not revealing any hurt or feeling of loss from the fact that she had been born an orphan. She looked back over her shoulder towards a group of the Zaire, her eye catching on the figure of her husband before darting away again and turning to the girl with whom she spoke. "I am a part of the Zaire people now because I married their Leier. I am there for love and friendship but not family." She offered a light shrug. "Perhaps that is why I do not naturally speak of it." Her smile was still bright, despite the sad subject.
"Do you not wish to travel, then?" She asked the girl when she commented on how important her family were to her. "See more of the world for yourself?"
"Hmm..."
Neena appeared to ponder and consider the girl's question on whether it was difficult to learn a different language. It was hard for her to estimate whether it was challenge or not, given that she had started with a few already within her skillset. The Egyptian woman who had found her had been a Coptic speaker and the Bedoan trader she travelled with when little had spoken in the dialect of the Somalu. Hector, the ship captain she had then been sold to in the middle of her childhood had been Greek. By the time she had left him she even knew a few words in Latin from one of his crewmen and in Hebrew. It had taken until her travels in Judea, however, to gained a working knowledge of it.
"I don't think it's as difficult as people assume it to be." Neena commented as she watched the girl looking over the jewellery. "When you can speak more than one language, it's like you have a universal one in your head." Neena smiled as she pointed to her temple. "You know what you want to say and then your mouth works out which language to say it in, based on who you're talking to. But, in your head, it just sounds like what you wanted to say..." She made a wincing face and laughed. "Sorry, that's probably a horrible description."
As they moved on down the aisles of stalls, the Rwandi commented on the fact that Neena didn't speak of her family. Unsure if the girl meant her immediate family: parents, siblings, husband etc... or the family of her tribe (or simply assumed the two to be one in the same), Neena paused and thought before she answered...
"I have no family." She stated easily, as a place to begin. "Not blooded anyway. I was born to nothing and no-one." Her tone of voice was simple, factual, not revealing any hurt or feeling of loss from the fact that she had been born an orphan. She looked back over her shoulder towards a group of the Zaire, her eye catching on the figure of her husband before darting away again and turning to the girl with whom she spoke. "I am a part of the Zaire people now because I married their Leier. I am there for love and friendship but not family." She offered a light shrug. "Perhaps that is why I do not naturally speak of it." Her smile was still bright, despite the sad subject.
"Do you not wish to travel, then?" She asked the girl when she commented on how important her family were to her. "See more of the world for yourself?"
Mwenye stood from where he'd been sitting cross-legged on the floor, and stretched his hands far above his head until his spine popped right at the base of his neck. "That's better." He crouched again to pick up his tools and the pouch he'd just finished decorating, scrupulously picking up the trimmed ends of coloured thread before they could get ground into the fibres of the rug, the first to put away and the second to hand to his mother to sell. She was far better at bartering than he was; he could manage not to be taken advantage of, but she was far more practiced, and enjoyed it besides.
Instead, he slipped the satchel with his tools over his shoulder, and headed off to the other booths, to see whether he could acquire anything for the simple price of his labour repairing anyone else's equipment. It was never much - no tribe was without a leatherworker, so usually it was more a matter of providing an excuse to share a meal and socialize with a relative stranger. New gossip, new tales - that was the real trade. Sometimes the Egyptians paid somewhat more, though; their tribes sent representatives, rather than coming to trade en mass with their wives and children and all, so if something broke on the trip, they did not always have someone with them who could fix it.
Mwenye.
The prophet turned his head to look, checking whether it was someone alive who'd spoken. Sometimes it was obvious. Sometimes it was not. Especially when there were enough different conversations going on behind him for the individual voices to get jumbled up together.
Mwenye.
"Excuse me," he told the man he was speaking to with an apologetic smile. "I think someone's calling me. I'll be back later, if you haven't already sold this." With that, he wandered away, only absently glancing at a few other displays as he went.
The voice was silent for a while, and the Zaire's prophet sighed to himself, then resignedly shook his head. Maybe it hadn't been anything after all, just a greeting in passing. He wasn't seriously upset though; nothing of importance had been lost by the interruption, and if he wasn't mistaken, he was now headed towards the smell of roasting meat, and if he was lucky, some of it might be for trade. Today was too good of day to get irritated at anyone... good weather, happily playing children, plenty of trade, women gossiping together -
Go talk to her.
"What?" he muttered under his breath as he looked around, trying to figure out who the ancestor was talking about. "Who, Neena?" He couldn't guess why he ought to go talk to the Leier's second wife, and apparently neither could his silent conversational partner, because he got the distinct feeling he was being given the same you're a damned idiot look his sisters frequently directed at him.
Go talk to her.
They must mean the woman Neena was talking to, then. But why? He didn't recognize her - more accurately, he didn't recognize her clothing; she was modest enough to keep her face covered among so many strangers. "And say what, exactly?" Mwenye muttered under his breath. As he got closer, he recognized the woman's dialect, but not her voice. The second was unsurprising, given the first. He had never had occasion to speak to any of the women of the Rwandi before; only the men, on matters of trade or travel.
Go talk to her.
"Oh, thanks, that's helpful." He grinned at Neena as he reached them, unworried that she'd probably heard that last sarcastic comment. She was unlikely to be bothered by his habit of speaking to the empty air. The other woman, who knew what she'd think, but Mwenye wasn't going to waste too much time worrying about what a woman he'd likely never see again thought of him. "Neena, enjoying yourself, I see? Would you care to be kind enough to introduce me to your friend?" To the Rwandi woman directly, he added, "If you won't think it far too brazen of me, that is."
The voice's faint echo vanished, satisfied. That didn't make Mwenye inclined to count his job done and retreat as fast as was polite, though. He wasn't in the habit of half-assing his duty to either tribe or ancestors, and besides which he was curious to find out what about the woman had made that one decide to practically shove him at her.
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Aug 26, 2019 21:36:44 GMT
Posted In Border Trade on Aug 26, 2019 21:36:44 GMT
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Mwenye stood from where he'd been sitting cross-legged on the floor, and stretched his hands far above his head until his spine popped right at the base of his neck. "That's better." He crouched again to pick up his tools and the pouch he'd just finished decorating, scrupulously picking up the trimmed ends of coloured thread before they could get ground into the fibres of the rug, the first to put away and the second to hand to his mother to sell. She was far better at bartering than he was; he could manage not to be taken advantage of, but she was far more practiced, and enjoyed it besides.
Instead, he slipped the satchel with his tools over his shoulder, and headed off to the other booths, to see whether he could acquire anything for the simple price of his labour repairing anyone else's equipment. It was never much - no tribe was without a leatherworker, so usually it was more a matter of providing an excuse to share a meal and socialize with a relative stranger. New gossip, new tales - that was the real trade. Sometimes the Egyptians paid somewhat more, though; their tribes sent representatives, rather than coming to trade en mass with their wives and children and all, so if something broke on the trip, they did not always have someone with them who could fix it.
Mwenye.
The prophet turned his head to look, checking whether it was someone alive who'd spoken. Sometimes it was obvious. Sometimes it was not. Especially when there were enough different conversations going on behind him for the individual voices to get jumbled up together.
Mwenye.
"Excuse me," he told the man he was speaking to with an apologetic smile. "I think someone's calling me. I'll be back later, if you haven't already sold this." With that, he wandered away, only absently glancing at a few other displays as he went.
The voice was silent for a while, and the Zaire's prophet sighed to himself, then resignedly shook his head. Maybe it hadn't been anything after all, just a greeting in passing. He wasn't seriously upset though; nothing of importance had been lost by the interruption, and if he wasn't mistaken, he was now headed towards the smell of roasting meat, and if he was lucky, some of it might be for trade. Today was too good of day to get irritated at anyone... good weather, happily playing children, plenty of trade, women gossiping together -
Go talk to her.
"What?" he muttered under his breath as he looked around, trying to figure out who the ancestor was talking about. "Who, Neena?" He couldn't guess why he ought to go talk to the Leier's second wife, and apparently neither could his silent conversational partner, because he got the distinct feeling he was being given the same you're a damned idiot look his sisters frequently directed at him.
Go talk to her.
They must mean the woman Neena was talking to, then. But why? He didn't recognize her - more accurately, he didn't recognize her clothing; she was modest enough to keep her face covered among so many strangers. "And say what, exactly?" Mwenye muttered under his breath. As he got closer, he recognized the woman's dialect, but not her voice. The second was unsurprising, given the first. He had never had occasion to speak to any of the women of the Rwandi before; only the men, on matters of trade or travel.
Go talk to her.
"Oh, thanks, that's helpful." He grinned at Neena as he reached them, unworried that she'd probably heard that last sarcastic comment. She was unlikely to be bothered by his habit of speaking to the empty air. The other woman, who knew what she'd think, but Mwenye wasn't going to waste too much time worrying about what a woman he'd likely never see again thought of him. "Neena, enjoying yourself, I see? Would you care to be kind enough to introduce me to your friend?" To the Rwandi woman directly, he added, "If you won't think it far too brazen of me, that is."
The voice's faint echo vanished, satisfied. That didn't make Mwenye inclined to count his job done and retreat as fast as was polite, though. He wasn't in the habit of half-assing his duty to either tribe or ancestors, and besides which he was curious to find out what about the woman had made that one decide to practically shove him at her.
Mwenye stood from where he'd been sitting cross-legged on the floor, and stretched his hands far above his head until his spine popped right at the base of his neck. "That's better." He crouched again to pick up his tools and the pouch he'd just finished decorating, scrupulously picking up the trimmed ends of coloured thread before they could get ground into the fibres of the rug, the first to put away and the second to hand to his mother to sell. She was far better at bartering than he was; he could manage not to be taken advantage of, but she was far more practiced, and enjoyed it besides.
Instead, he slipped the satchel with his tools over his shoulder, and headed off to the other booths, to see whether he could acquire anything for the simple price of his labour repairing anyone else's equipment. It was never much - no tribe was without a leatherworker, so usually it was more a matter of providing an excuse to share a meal and socialize with a relative stranger. New gossip, new tales - that was the real trade. Sometimes the Egyptians paid somewhat more, though; their tribes sent representatives, rather than coming to trade en mass with their wives and children and all, so if something broke on the trip, they did not always have someone with them who could fix it.
Mwenye.
The prophet turned his head to look, checking whether it was someone alive who'd spoken. Sometimes it was obvious. Sometimes it was not. Especially when there were enough different conversations going on behind him for the individual voices to get jumbled up together.
Mwenye.
"Excuse me," he told the man he was speaking to with an apologetic smile. "I think someone's calling me. I'll be back later, if you haven't already sold this." With that, he wandered away, only absently glancing at a few other displays as he went.
The voice was silent for a while, and the Zaire's prophet sighed to himself, then resignedly shook his head. Maybe it hadn't been anything after all, just a greeting in passing. He wasn't seriously upset though; nothing of importance had been lost by the interruption, and if he wasn't mistaken, he was now headed towards the smell of roasting meat, and if he was lucky, some of it might be for trade. Today was too good of day to get irritated at anyone... good weather, happily playing children, plenty of trade, women gossiping together -
Go talk to her.
"What?" he muttered under his breath as he looked around, trying to figure out who the ancestor was talking about. "Who, Neena?" He couldn't guess why he ought to go talk to the Leier's second wife, and apparently neither could his silent conversational partner, because he got the distinct feeling he was being given the same you're a damned idiot look his sisters frequently directed at him.
Go talk to her.
They must mean the woman Neena was talking to, then. But why? He didn't recognize her - more accurately, he didn't recognize her clothing; she was modest enough to keep her face covered among so many strangers. "And say what, exactly?" Mwenye muttered under his breath. As he got closer, he recognized the woman's dialect, but not her voice. The second was unsurprising, given the first. He had never had occasion to speak to any of the women of the Rwandi before; only the men, on matters of trade or travel.
Go talk to her.
"Oh, thanks, that's helpful." He grinned at Neena as he reached them, unworried that she'd probably heard that last sarcastic comment. She was unlikely to be bothered by his habit of speaking to the empty air. The other woman, who knew what she'd think, but Mwenye wasn't going to waste too much time worrying about what a woman he'd likely never see again thought of him. "Neena, enjoying yourself, I see? Would you care to be kind enough to introduce me to your friend?" To the Rwandi woman directly, he added, "If you won't think it far too brazen of me, that is."
The voice's faint echo vanished, satisfied. That didn't make Mwenye inclined to count his job done and retreat as fast as was polite, though. He wasn't in the habit of half-assing his duty to either tribe or ancestors, and besides which he was curious to find out what about the woman had made that one decide to practically shove him at her.
The ride had been incredibly long. The tribe had been surrounded and bathed in dust, save for its leaders, who had the great fortune to be able to travel ahead of the rest. She’d merely smiled at the banter between Neena and Hasani but had not joined in. Like them, she too was feeling the effects of the ride and was trying to keep shifting so that she wouldn’t have sores. At one point, her balance was tested heavily as she rode on her knees.
Once they arrived and she was set safely on the ground, she’d adjusted her little bag that she liked to have with her while she browsed stalls. There was always something interesting to see or buy while here and she had her eye on a new pestle and mortar. Of course she could make one of her own but who wanted to sit there, day in and day out to grind and polish a marble bowl into the correct shape? Not her.
Inclining her head when Hasani kissed her temple, she slid her hand down his arm and waited for Neena to be handed down and then she walked with Neena for the first little bit while they browsed stalls. But, as usually happened, Neena had flitted off in search of more while Tanishe began haggling with one of the vendors for her new mortar and pestle. By the time she was done, her sister-wife was nowhere in sight. And neither was her husband, who’d gone a completely different direction.
For a little while, she wandered by herself through the market, accidentally receiving a flatbread for free because the Egyptian who’d given it to her had been someone she’d given advice to the last time they’d come here. She thanked the woman and turned around, finally spotting Neena speaking to a Bedoan woman that she did not know. Mwenye was standing there as well, speaking, though she was still a little too far away to make out what he was saying.
Walking over to them, the flatbread more of a burden than anything else, she brushed Neena’s arm with her own as she passed just beside her and came to join the little group. The veil on her headdress was pulled back, as there was no longer a need for it and she watched with interest the conversation passing. Wordlessly, she broke part of her flatbread apart and offered it to her sister-wife. Olive oil slid down her fingers, along the back of her hand, down to her wrist as she did so and her eyes widened. She did not want to wipe this on her clothes and she was sure she had a cloth somewhere to clean up with but the problem was getting to it without making a mess of everything else.
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Aug 26, 2019 22:27:19 GMT
Posted In Border Trade on Aug 26, 2019 22:27:19 GMT
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The ride had been incredibly long. The tribe had been surrounded and bathed in dust, save for its leaders, who had the great fortune to be able to travel ahead of the rest. She’d merely smiled at the banter between Neena and Hasani but had not joined in. Like them, she too was feeling the effects of the ride and was trying to keep shifting so that she wouldn’t have sores. At one point, her balance was tested heavily as she rode on her knees.
Once they arrived and she was set safely on the ground, she’d adjusted her little bag that she liked to have with her while she browsed stalls. There was always something interesting to see or buy while here and she had her eye on a new pestle and mortar. Of course she could make one of her own but who wanted to sit there, day in and day out to grind and polish a marble bowl into the correct shape? Not her.
Inclining her head when Hasani kissed her temple, she slid her hand down his arm and waited for Neena to be handed down and then she walked with Neena for the first little bit while they browsed stalls. But, as usually happened, Neena had flitted off in search of more while Tanishe began haggling with one of the vendors for her new mortar and pestle. By the time she was done, her sister-wife was nowhere in sight. And neither was her husband, who’d gone a completely different direction.
For a little while, she wandered by herself through the market, accidentally receiving a flatbread for free because the Egyptian who’d given it to her had been someone she’d given advice to the last time they’d come here. She thanked the woman and turned around, finally spotting Neena speaking to a Bedoan woman that she did not know. Mwenye was standing there as well, speaking, though she was still a little too far away to make out what he was saying.
Walking over to them, the flatbread more of a burden than anything else, she brushed Neena’s arm with her own as she passed just beside her and came to join the little group. The veil on her headdress was pulled back, as there was no longer a need for it and she watched with interest the conversation passing. Wordlessly, she broke part of her flatbread apart and offered it to her sister-wife. Olive oil slid down her fingers, along the back of her hand, down to her wrist as she did so and her eyes widened. She did not want to wipe this on her clothes and she was sure she had a cloth somewhere to clean up with but the problem was getting to it without making a mess of everything else.
The ride had been incredibly long. The tribe had been surrounded and bathed in dust, save for its leaders, who had the great fortune to be able to travel ahead of the rest. She’d merely smiled at the banter between Neena and Hasani but had not joined in. Like them, she too was feeling the effects of the ride and was trying to keep shifting so that she wouldn’t have sores. At one point, her balance was tested heavily as she rode on her knees.
Once they arrived and she was set safely on the ground, she’d adjusted her little bag that she liked to have with her while she browsed stalls. There was always something interesting to see or buy while here and she had her eye on a new pestle and mortar. Of course she could make one of her own but who wanted to sit there, day in and day out to grind and polish a marble bowl into the correct shape? Not her.
Inclining her head when Hasani kissed her temple, she slid her hand down his arm and waited for Neena to be handed down and then she walked with Neena for the first little bit while they browsed stalls. But, as usually happened, Neena had flitted off in search of more while Tanishe began haggling with one of the vendors for her new mortar and pestle. By the time she was done, her sister-wife was nowhere in sight. And neither was her husband, who’d gone a completely different direction.
For a little while, she wandered by herself through the market, accidentally receiving a flatbread for free because the Egyptian who’d given it to her had been someone she’d given advice to the last time they’d come here. She thanked the woman and turned around, finally spotting Neena speaking to a Bedoan woman that she did not know. Mwenye was standing there as well, speaking, though she was still a little too far away to make out what he was saying.
Walking over to them, the flatbread more of a burden than anything else, she brushed Neena’s arm with her own as she passed just beside her and came to join the little group. The veil on her headdress was pulled back, as there was no longer a need for it and she watched with interest the conversation passing. Wordlessly, she broke part of her flatbread apart and offered it to her sister-wife. Olive oil slid down her fingers, along the back of her hand, down to her wrist as she did so and her eyes widened. She did not want to wipe this on her clothes and she was sure she had a cloth somewhere to clean up with but the problem was getting to it without making a mess of everything else.
Hasani was careful to observe the man and his son that stood before him. Crossing his arms casually across his chest, he tipped his head to the boy and gave the child a jovial smile. "He has caused no harm, I assure you," Hasani shook his head just the slightest bit. His gaze had begun to wander the stalls again and he noted the way that Qen was eyeing one of the pieces of jewelry. He thought nothing of it, however, knowing that the man behind the stall would haggle for a good trade, if nothing else. "We trade here," he commented then, "We do not take gold but we will take nearly anything you might offer if we deem it valuable for such a nomadic lifestyle."
When Mahu asked who Hasani was, he smiled a little more, "I am leier of one of the tribes trading today. The leader," he assured him, glancing around again to ensure that his own tribemates were not finding trouble of any sort. They weren't. He was pleased. Though he did find himself eyeing Mwenye, lifting a single eyebrow and debating with himself as he watched the man trail back in the direction of both of his wives.
"There is nothing to forgive. Children are curious souls and curiosity is better encouraged than stifled," he commented, giving Mahu an easy wink. "Would you like to walk with me? I must continue my rounds now, but I wish you good fortune if you decide to trade," Hasani noted easily then, moving around Qen and Mahu in order to continue his round of the stalls. His wandering brought him back to the growing group of Bedoans who all seemed intent on a young Bedoan woman not of their tribe.
Seeing no reason not to be polite, Hasani approached them with his hands shoved into the front of his shirt, seeming all too casual. Trying to catch Tanishe's eye, he made a slight shake of his head to tell her not to warn Mwenye of his approach. As he came up behind the prophet, both of Hasani's large hands landed on the man's shoulders. "Did you find anything worth trading for or did you gravitate right to the women?" he chided the man playfully, a chuckle settled deep in his chest. He let Mwenye go and circled back to his first wife, his dark eyes flickering to her hands full and olive oil trailing down her arm.
Without a second thought, he pulled a cloth from the ties holding his trousers and brushed it upward from her elbow to her wrist to try and keep the flow of oil away from her clothing. He said nothing, but he did give her a loving little wink before doing the same to Neena. He didn't see the need to break into the conversation with Jawahir, letting the group talk amongst themselves as he debated where he might wander next. He bumped his hip gently against Tanishe's, however, holding out his hand in an offer to take her pack from her so that she didn't have to keep carrying whatever heavy object she had shoved into her pack.
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Aug 29, 2019 1:27:15 GMT
Posted In Border Trade on Aug 29, 2019 1:27:15 GMT
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Hasani was careful to observe the man and his son that stood before him. Crossing his arms casually across his chest, he tipped his head to the boy and gave the child a jovial smile. "He has caused no harm, I assure you," Hasani shook his head just the slightest bit. His gaze had begun to wander the stalls again and he noted the way that Qen was eyeing one of the pieces of jewelry. He thought nothing of it, however, knowing that the man behind the stall would haggle for a good trade, if nothing else. "We trade here," he commented then, "We do not take gold but we will take nearly anything you might offer if we deem it valuable for such a nomadic lifestyle."
When Mahu asked who Hasani was, he smiled a little more, "I am leier of one of the tribes trading today. The leader," he assured him, glancing around again to ensure that his own tribemates were not finding trouble of any sort. They weren't. He was pleased. Though he did find himself eyeing Mwenye, lifting a single eyebrow and debating with himself as he watched the man trail back in the direction of both of his wives.
"There is nothing to forgive. Children are curious souls and curiosity is better encouraged than stifled," he commented, giving Mahu an easy wink. "Would you like to walk with me? I must continue my rounds now, but I wish you good fortune if you decide to trade," Hasani noted easily then, moving around Qen and Mahu in order to continue his round of the stalls. His wandering brought him back to the growing group of Bedoans who all seemed intent on a young Bedoan woman not of their tribe.
Seeing no reason not to be polite, Hasani approached them with his hands shoved into the front of his shirt, seeming all too casual. Trying to catch Tanishe's eye, he made a slight shake of his head to tell her not to warn Mwenye of his approach. As he came up behind the prophet, both of Hasani's large hands landed on the man's shoulders. "Did you find anything worth trading for or did you gravitate right to the women?" he chided the man playfully, a chuckle settled deep in his chest. He let Mwenye go and circled back to his first wife, his dark eyes flickering to her hands full and olive oil trailing down her arm.
Without a second thought, he pulled a cloth from the ties holding his trousers and brushed it upward from her elbow to her wrist to try and keep the flow of oil away from her clothing. He said nothing, but he did give her a loving little wink before doing the same to Neena. He didn't see the need to break into the conversation with Jawahir, letting the group talk amongst themselves as he debated where he might wander next. He bumped his hip gently against Tanishe's, however, holding out his hand in an offer to take her pack from her so that she didn't have to keep carrying whatever heavy object she had shoved into her pack.
Hasani was careful to observe the man and his son that stood before him. Crossing his arms casually across his chest, he tipped his head to the boy and gave the child a jovial smile. "He has caused no harm, I assure you," Hasani shook his head just the slightest bit. His gaze had begun to wander the stalls again and he noted the way that Qen was eyeing one of the pieces of jewelry. He thought nothing of it, however, knowing that the man behind the stall would haggle for a good trade, if nothing else. "We trade here," he commented then, "We do not take gold but we will take nearly anything you might offer if we deem it valuable for such a nomadic lifestyle."
When Mahu asked who Hasani was, he smiled a little more, "I am leier of one of the tribes trading today. The leader," he assured him, glancing around again to ensure that his own tribemates were not finding trouble of any sort. They weren't. He was pleased. Though he did find himself eyeing Mwenye, lifting a single eyebrow and debating with himself as he watched the man trail back in the direction of both of his wives.
"There is nothing to forgive. Children are curious souls and curiosity is better encouraged than stifled," he commented, giving Mahu an easy wink. "Would you like to walk with me? I must continue my rounds now, but I wish you good fortune if you decide to trade," Hasani noted easily then, moving around Qen and Mahu in order to continue his round of the stalls. His wandering brought him back to the growing group of Bedoans who all seemed intent on a young Bedoan woman not of their tribe.
Seeing no reason not to be polite, Hasani approached them with his hands shoved into the front of his shirt, seeming all too casual. Trying to catch Tanishe's eye, he made a slight shake of his head to tell her not to warn Mwenye of his approach. As he came up behind the prophet, both of Hasani's large hands landed on the man's shoulders. "Did you find anything worth trading for or did you gravitate right to the women?" he chided the man playfully, a chuckle settled deep in his chest. He let Mwenye go and circled back to his first wife, his dark eyes flickering to her hands full and olive oil trailing down her arm.
Without a second thought, he pulled a cloth from the ties holding his trousers and brushed it upward from her elbow to her wrist to try and keep the flow of oil away from her clothing. He said nothing, but he did give her a loving little wink before doing the same to Neena. He didn't see the need to break into the conversation with Jawahir, letting the group talk amongst themselves as he debated where he might wander next. He bumped his hip gently against Tanishe's, however, holding out his hand in an offer to take her pack from her so that she didn't have to keep carrying whatever heavy object she had shoved into her pack.
Jawahir listened to Neena's description attentively. "No, truly it is a fine one!" the young girl protested when the other said the description was horrible." Jawahir made sure to keep an eye out for things that she would like, and made up her mind that she might ask her father if she was allowed to purchase anything. Though she had some issue with Neena saying that she was born to nothing, as everyone at least had something, she held her tongue until the other woman had finished speaking. "Ah." Jawahir did not understand the intense friendship necessary to stick by a tribe you were not born of, nor did she understand the love. She was young, though, and did have much to learn. She gave a small, sad, frown, before beginning to answer the question asked of her.
"Travel? We do so already when we move from place to place. I do believe some might be nice, but I am a little nervous around the water. Culture is interesting, I do admit, but I fear I may make a bad impression on ones that are not my own." She gestured to the way the Egyptian people were dressed, and then at her own modest coverings. Impressions, to Jawahir and her mother, were everything, as well as family privacy. She thought some of the other peoples' ways were odd, and though she had no intention to, did make mistakes. Jawahir thought the Egyptians' gods and the Judean god were rather different from her own beliefs, and if belief was anything to Jawahir, it was everything. She believed strongly in the ancestors, and those who disrespected that tended to fall on her bad side.
As she finished speaking, a man, unfamiliar to Jawahir, approached. She nodded her head in deference, recognizing that men were above her, as a woman. He said something about helpful, and Jawahir wondered who he was speaking to. Was her own explanation of wishes to understand more somehow helpful? She did not see how such a thing could be true. "Not brazen at all." Jawahir nodded. It was nice to know others' names, so that she may call upon them in future. "I am Jawahir of the Rwandi. Daughter of the Leier, Morathi." Jawahir tried to spot her father and point him out, but only caught the gaze of her mother, who looked at the new man with a look Jawahir could not quite place. Curiosity made up part of it, but she did not understand the other part. "May I know your name?" It helped Jawahir's nerves that Neena seemed familiar with this man, but her people were private around others, as could be understood. One never knew quite who one could trust.
Again, Jawahir and her party were joined by a person Jawahir did not know of, but who seemed familiar with her companions of the moment. "Is this a member of the friendship family you spoke of?" Jawahir spoke to Neena, the one she felt most comfortable with. She winced as the other woman's flatbread, a snack Jawahir would have been appreciative of, dripped oil down her wrist. "Oh my," Jawahir said, but was not surprised to see another man appear, who seemed to have knowledge of all three of those in company. It was nice that he was prepared to help clean. Jawahir smiled politely at him and nodded, acknowledging his presence respectfully.
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Jawahir listened to Neena's description attentively. "No, truly it is a fine one!" the young girl protested when the other said the description was horrible." Jawahir made sure to keep an eye out for things that she would like, and made up her mind that she might ask her father if she was allowed to purchase anything. Though she had some issue with Neena saying that she was born to nothing, as everyone at least had something, she held her tongue until the other woman had finished speaking. "Ah." Jawahir did not understand the intense friendship necessary to stick by a tribe you were not born of, nor did she understand the love. She was young, though, and did have much to learn. She gave a small, sad, frown, before beginning to answer the question asked of her.
"Travel? We do so already when we move from place to place. I do believe some might be nice, but I am a little nervous around the water. Culture is interesting, I do admit, but I fear I may make a bad impression on ones that are not my own." She gestured to the way the Egyptian people were dressed, and then at her own modest coverings. Impressions, to Jawahir and her mother, were everything, as well as family privacy. She thought some of the other peoples' ways were odd, and though she had no intention to, did make mistakes. Jawahir thought the Egyptians' gods and the Judean god were rather different from her own beliefs, and if belief was anything to Jawahir, it was everything. She believed strongly in the ancestors, and those who disrespected that tended to fall on her bad side.
As she finished speaking, a man, unfamiliar to Jawahir, approached. She nodded her head in deference, recognizing that men were above her, as a woman. He said something about helpful, and Jawahir wondered who he was speaking to. Was her own explanation of wishes to understand more somehow helpful? She did not see how such a thing could be true. "Not brazen at all." Jawahir nodded. It was nice to know others' names, so that she may call upon them in future. "I am Jawahir of the Rwandi. Daughter of the Leier, Morathi." Jawahir tried to spot her father and point him out, but only caught the gaze of her mother, who looked at the new man with a look Jawahir could not quite place. Curiosity made up part of it, but she did not understand the other part. "May I know your name?" It helped Jawahir's nerves that Neena seemed familiar with this man, but her people were private around others, as could be understood. One never knew quite who one could trust.
Again, Jawahir and her party were joined by a person Jawahir did not know of, but who seemed familiar with her companions of the moment. "Is this a member of the friendship family you spoke of?" Jawahir spoke to Neena, the one she felt most comfortable with. She winced as the other woman's flatbread, a snack Jawahir would have been appreciative of, dripped oil down her wrist. "Oh my," Jawahir said, but was not surprised to see another man appear, who seemed to have knowledge of all three of those in company. It was nice that he was prepared to help clean. Jawahir smiled politely at him and nodded, acknowledging his presence respectfully.
Jawahir listened to Neena's description attentively. "No, truly it is a fine one!" the young girl protested when the other said the description was horrible." Jawahir made sure to keep an eye out for things that she would like, and made up her mind that she might ask her father if she was allowed to purchase anything. Though she had some issue with Neena saying that she was born to nothing, as everyone at least had something, she held her tongue until the other woman had finished speaking. "Ah." Jawahir did not understand the intense friendship necessary to stick by a tribe you were not born of, nor did she understand the love. She was young, though, and did have much to learn. She gave a small, sad, frown, before beginning to answer the question asked of her.
"Travel? We do so already when we move from place to place. I do believe some might be nice, but I am a little nervous around the water. Culture is interesting, I do admit, but I fear I may make a bad impression on ones that are not my own." She gestured to the way the Egyptian people were dressed, and then at her own modest coverings. Impressions, to Jawahir and her mother, were everything, as well as family privacy. She thought some of the other peoples' ways were odd, and though she had no intention to, did make mistakes. Jawahir thought the Egyptians' gods and the Judean god were rather different from her own beliefs, and if belief was anything to Jawahir, it was everything. She believed strongly in the ancestors, and those who disrespected that tended to fall on her bad side.
As she finished speaking, a man, unfamiliar to Jawahir, approached. She nodded her head in deference, recognizing that men were above her, as a woman. He said something about helpful, and Jawahir wondered who he was speaking to. Was her own explanation of wishes to understand more somehow helpful? She did not see how such a thing could be true. "Not brazen at all." Jawahir nodded. It was nice to know others' names, so that she may call upon them in future. "I am Jawahir of the Rwandi. Daughter of the Leier, Morathi." Jawahir tried to spot her father and point him out, but only caught the gaze of her mother, who looked at the new man with a look Jawahir could not quite place. Curiosity made up part of it, but she did not understand the other part. "May I know your name?" It helped Jawahir's nerves that Neena seemed familiar with this man, but her people were private around others, as could be understood. One never knew quite who one could trust.
Again, Jawahir and her party were joined by a person Jawahir did not know of, but who seemed familiar with her companions of the moment. "Is this a member of the friendship family you spoke of?" Jawahir spoke to Neena, the one she felt most comfortable with. She winced as the other woman's flatbread, a snack Jawahir would have been appreciative of, dripped oil down her wrist. "Oh my," Jawahir said, but was not surprised to see another man appear, who seemed to have knowledge of all three of those in company. It was nice that he was prepared to help clean. Jawahir smiled politely at him and nodded, acknowledging his presence respectfully.
The prophet of the Zaire smiled at Jawahir's reassurance. "I am Mwenye of the Zaire," he replied. "Have you -" Hassani's sudden appearance behind him interrupted him, and twisted to give his leier a startled and slightly confused look, which lasted only a moment as the teasing properly registered.
Oh... that probably was what it looked like.
"I hope you're not accusing me of flirting with your wives," Mwenye retorted. "Because, well..." He gave the two unveiled women each a mock-skeptical look, and then squinted up at the Leier. "You're bigger than me."
Hasani knew him well, though, so Mwenye wasn't worried about what his friend might actually think he was up to.
"I'll admit I've not made any trades yet today, Hasani - but mother seemed pleased with her successes. I think Sauda decided to sell that idiot bay stallion to some Rwandi fellow - Ancestors help him." Good humour danced across his face as he nodded to the the veiled woman again. "Sorry, Jawahir - I seem to be easily distracted today." To the point he'd nearly forgotten his original question - but it hardly mattered, it had simply been absent small talk. "What have the Rwandi been up to lately?" Gossip, after all, was the lifeblood of Bedoin social life.
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The prophet of the Zaire smiled at Jawahir's reassurance. "I am Mwenye of the Zaire," he replied. "Have you -" Hassani's sudden appearance behind him interrupted him, and twisted to give his leier a startled and slightly confused look, which lasted only a moment as the teasing properly registered.
Oh... that probably was what it looked like.
"I hope you're not accusing me of flirting with your wives," Mwenye retorted. "Because, well..." He gave the two unveiled women each a mock-skeptical look, and then squinted up at the Leier. "You're bigger than me."
Hasani knew him well, though, so Mwenye wasn't worried about what his friend might actually think he was up to.
"I'll admit I've not made any trades yet today, Hasani - but mother seemed pleased with her successes. I think Sauda decided to sell that idiot bay stallion to some Rwandi fellow - Ancestors help him." Good humour danced across his face as he nodded to the the veiled woman again. "Sorry, Jawahir - I seem to be easily distracted today." To the point he'd nearly forgotten his original question - but it hardly mattered, it had simply been absent small talk. "What have the Rwandi been up to lately?" Gossip, after all, was the lifeblood of Bedoin social life.
The prophet of the Zaire smiled at Jawahir's reassurance. "I am Mwenye of the Zaire," he replied. "Have you -" Hassani's sudden appearance behind him interrupted him, and twisted to give his leier a startled and slightly confused look, which lasted only a moment as the teasing properly registered.
Oh... that probably was what it looked like.
"I hope you're not accusing me of flirting with your wives," Mwenye retorted. "Because, well..." He gave the two unveiled women each a mock-skeptical look, and then squinted up at the Leier. "You're bigger than me."
Hasani knew him well, though, so Mwenye wasn't worried about what his friend might actually think he was up to.
"I'll admit I've not made any trades yet today, Hasani - but mother seemed pleased with her successes. I think Sauda decided to sell that idiot bay stallion to some Rwandi fellow - Ancestors help him." Good humour danced across his face as he nodded to the the veiled woman again. "Sorry, Jawahir - I seem to be easily distracted today." To the point he'd nearly forgotten his original question - but it hardly mattered, it had simply been absent small talk. "What have the Rwandi been up to lately?" Gossip, after all, was the lifeblood of Bedoin social life.
One of the downsides of everything being a fascination - as Neena deliberately tried to live her life - was that it was easy to get distracted. So when a dancer set up shop just across the way, with a small folded blanket at their feet and a desire to earn a few coins through their rhythmic movements and pretty arches of limbs, even though she offered no music to accompany the dance, Neena was temporarily distracted, staring over the pretty Jawahir's shoulder to witness a girl who offered her familiar nostalgia of her own prior to her time as a slave. Dancing was just one of the many ways in which Neena had been known to make a little money on a street corner - enough to purchase some bread and mead for the night.
As such, she missed her opportunity to introduce the young Rwandi, offering the girl an expression of apology when she stepped in to introduce herself to the young man of the Zaire. A man that Neena had met on occasion and liked intensely as someone who believed in the beyond of their world. His contentedness in his native lands and family were perhaps the opposite of Neena's free spirit but Mwenye's interest in the tribes and cultures beyond the horizon was enough of a bridge between their personalities and Neena was never short of the stories the man seemed to crave.
As her sister-wife came to stand with them, Neena's eyes grew sweet and she showed no sense of offering distance when Tanishe joined them, arm brushing arm. Instead, she simply pursed her lips into an "ooh" gesture, already relishing the taste of the flatbread, as she had consumed nothing since before their journey began at dawn.
Taking the piece from her husband's first wife and watching at the oil tracked down her hand and arm, Neena grinned in amusement when Tanishe stood stock still, clearly unsure of how to get rid of it without a free hand and before it could start to soak into the sleeves of her kaftan, currently at her elbow.
"Just lick it off Tani." Neena instructed with a tone that clearly said - 'don't be so prissy'. Neena held neither notice nor care if the others found her suggestion barbaric but she was one for the simple solutions in life.
When she noticed her husband approaching behind Mwenye, casting a look and gesture at his first wife, Neena knew very well why no such communication had been given to her. A trickster herself, there was no way she would be giving away her husband's presence before he was able to shock the young man and the reaction that followed at Neena grinning broadly.
The newly arrived member of the group also solved Tanishe's issue with the oil, issuing an eye roll at Neena at his pampering of her sweet nature. Instead of commenting, however, she simply took a bit of her flatbread and let out an almost guttural moan at how good it was.
"Oh, my Gods," Neena said, using a Greek phrase she had picked up in her early years on Hector's sailing ship. "Which tribe did the creator of this belong to? We need to know their secret." She moaned again and bit into the morsel with relish.
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One of the downsides of everything being a fascination - as Neena deliberately tried to live her life - was that it was easy to get distracted. So when a dancer set up shop just across the way, with a small folded blanket at their feet and a desire to earn a few coins through their rhythmic movements and pretty arches of limbs, even though she offered no music to accompany the dance, Neena was temporarily distracted, staring over the pretty Jawahir's shoulder to witness a girl who offered her familiar nostalgia of her own prior to her time as a slave. Dancing was just one of the many ways in which Neena had been known to make a little money on a street corner - enough to purchase some bread and mead for the night.
As such, she missed her opportunity to introduce the young Rwandi, offering the girl an expression of apology when she stepped in to introduce herself to the young man of the Zaire. A man that Neena had met on occasion and liked intensely as someone who believed in the beyond of their world. His contentedness in his native lands and family were perhaps the opposite of Neena's free spirit but Mwenye's interest in the tribes and cultures beyond the horizon was enough of a bridge between their personalities and Neena was never short of the stories the man seemed to crave.
As her sister-wife came to stand with them, Neena's eyes grew sweet and she showed no sense of offering distance when Tanishe joined them, arm brushing arm. Instead, she simply pursed her lips into an "ooh" gesture, already relishing the taste of the flatbread, as she had consumed nothing since before their journey began at dawn.
Taking the piece from her husband's first wife and watching at the oil tracked down her hand and arm, Neena grinned in amusement when Tanishe stood stock still, clearly unsure of how to get rid of it without a free hand and before it could start to soak into the sleeves of her kaftan, currently at her elbow.
"Just lick it off Tani." Neena instructed with a tone that clearly said - 'don't be so prissy'. Neena held neither notice nor care if the others found her suggestion barbaric but she was one for the simple solutions in life.
When she noticed her husband approaching behind Mwenye, casting a look and gesture at his first wife, Neena knew very well why no such communication had been given to her. A trickster herself, there was no way she would be giving away her husband's presence before he was able to shock the young man and the reaction that followed at Neena grinning broadly.
The newly arrived member of the group also solved Tanishe's issue with the oil, issuing an eye roll at Neena at his pampering of her sweet nature. Instead of commenting, however, she simply took a bit of her flatbread and let out an almost guttural moan at how good it was.
"Oh, my Gods," Neena said, using a Greek phrase she had picked up in her early years on Hector's sailing ship. "Which tribe did the creator of this belong to? We need to know their secret." She moaned again and bit into the morsel with relish.
One of the downsides of everything being a fascination - as Neena deliberately tried to live her life - was that it was easy to get distracted. So when a dancer set up shop just across the way, with a small folded blanket at their feet and a desire to earn a few coins through their rhythmic movements and pretty arches of limbs, even though she offered no music to accompany the dance, Neena was temporarily distracted, staring over the pretty Jawahir's shoulder to witness a girl who offered her familiar nostalgia of her own prior to her time as a slave. Dancing was just one of the many ways in which Neena had been known to make a little money on a street corner - enough to purchase some bread and mead for the night.
As such, she missed her opportunity to introduce the young Rwandi, offering the girl an expression of apology when she stepped in to introduce herself to the young man of the Zaire. A man that Neena had met on occasion and liked intensely as someone who believed in the beyond of their world. His contentedness in his native lands and family were perhaps the opposite of Neena's free spirit but Mwenye's interest in the tribes and cultures beyond the horizon was enough of a bridge between their personalities and Neena was never short of the stories the man seemed to crave.
As her sister-wife came to stand with them, Neena's eyes grew sweet and she showed no sense of offering distance when Tanishe joined them, arm brushing arm. Instead, she simply pursed her lips into an "ooh" gesture, already relishing the taste of the flatbread, as she had consumed nothing since before their journey began at dawn.
Taking the piece from her husband's first wife and watching at the oil tracked down her hand and arm, Neena grinned in amusement when Tanishe stood stock still, clearly unsure of how to get rid of it without a free hand and before it could start to soak into the sleeves of her kaftan, currently at her elbow.
"Just lick it off Tani." Neena instructed with a tone that clearly said - 'don't be so prissy'. Neena held neither notice nor care if the others found her suggestion barbaric but she was one for the simple solutions in life.
When she noticed her husband approaching behind Mwenye, casting a look and gesture at his first wife, Neena knew very well why no such communication had been given to her. A trickster herself, there was no way she would be giving away her husband's presence before he was able to shock the young man and the reaction that followed at Neena grinning broadly.
The newly arrived member of the group also solved Tanishe's issue with the oil, issuing an eye roll at Neena at his pampering of her sweet nature. Instead of commenting, however, she simply took a bit of her flatbread and let out an almost guttural moan at how good it was.
"Oh, my Gods," Neena said, using a Greek phrase she had picked up in her early years on Hector's sailing ship. "Which tribe did the creator of this belong to? We need to know their secret." She moaned again and bit into the morsel with relish.
"Just lick it off Tani,” Neena encouraged, to which Tanishe flicked her eyes at her sister wife with a small you’re joking, yes? look, even though she knew Neena was completely serious. Firstly, she was not going to tongue her own arm in front of these people. Secondly, and more importantly, she couldn’t lick her own elbow. That presented the majority of the problem, but she was saved from this when their husband showed up beside them as though summoned. Tanishe had seen Neena’s eye roll and smiled at it, even going so far as to make an uncharacteristic gesture with her own tongue, sticking it out at Neena. So there, my dear, it said.
“No need to lick my elbow,” she smiled and allowed Hasani to take the bag from her. At the same moment, Neena was calling on strange gods and having a more delicious time with this flat bread than Tanishe had. It prompted her to look at her own, wondering if her standards were just that different. “It’s Egpytian,” she murmured, biting into it delicately again to try and get the same sort of lush experience her sister wife was having. Nope. Tasted the same. It was delightful, beyond a doubt, but she didn’t feel it would ever warrant licking her arm in public over.
She then became uncomfortably aware that she’d nearly wholly ignored Mwenye and this girl they were speaking to, Jawahir. The girl’s name had not escaped her but she had been too concerned with the oil on her own arm to be able to speak. Now that that had been taken care of, she swallowed her bite of flat bread, loosely held herself with her now free arm, and smiled.
“We are her family, yes. I am Tanishe, the Leier’s first wife. This is our husband, Leier Hasani. And I think you’ve met Mwenye.” Glancing between Jawahir and Neena, she said, “I didn’t mean to interrupt...please, continue.” She cut a half smile at Mwenye and nudged him firmly with her foot, letting him know what she thought of that flirting comment. A silly little joke that would never happen. Then she took another bite of the flat bread, nearly finished, content to listen to what Neena had been talking about. Tanishe was much more subdued and had no desire whatsoever to leave the tribe. While she liked to hear about the things Neena had seen and done, she didn’t want to experience them herself. Stories were enough.
From somewhere unseen, a camel bellowed and she glanced away, watching as a man fought with the beast. Part of her wanted to go over and show him how it was done. Jerking on the lead that way was only going to make the animal more upset. However, it was none of her business, and so she directed her attention back to the group, but it immediately wandered again to the dancer Neena had been distracted by. This made her brush against Neena again but no other outward sign escaped of where her thoughts had gone.
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"Just lick it off Tani,” Neena encouraged, to which Tanishe flicked her eyes at her sister wife with a small you’re joking, yes? look, even though she knew Neena was completely serious. Firstly, she was not going to tongue her own arm in front of these people. Secondly, and more importantly, she couldn’t lick her own elbow. That presented the majority of the problem, but she was saved from this when their husband showed up beside them as though summoned. Tanishe had seen Neena’s eye roll and smiled at it, even going so far as to make an uncharacteristic gesture with her own tongue, sticking it out at Neena. So there, my dear, it said.
“No need to lick my elbow,” she smiled and allowed Hasani to take the bag from her. At the same moment, Neena was calling on strange gods and having a more delicious time with this flat bread than Tanishe had. It prompted her to look at her own, wondering if her standards were just that different. “It’s Egpytian,” she murmured, biting into it delicately again to try and get the same sort of lush experience her sister wife was having. Nope. Tasted the same. It was delightful, beyond a doubt, but she didn’t feel it would ever warrant licking her arm in public over.
She then became uncomfortably aware that she’d nearly wholly ignored Mwenye and this girl they were speaking to, Jawahir. The girl’s name had not escaped her but she had been too concerned with the oil on her own arm to be able to speak. Now that that had been taken care of, she swallowed her bite of flat bread, loosely held herself with her now free arm, and smiled.
“We are her family, yes. I am Tanishe, the Leier’s first wife. This is our husband, Leier Hasani. And I think you’ve met Mwenye.” Glancing between Jawahir and Neena, she said, “I didn’t mean to interrupt...please, continue.” She cut a half smile at Mwenye and nudged him firmly with her foot, letting him know what she thought of that flirting comment. A silly little joke that would never happen. Then she took another bite of the flat bread, nearly finished, content to listen to what Neena had been talking about. Tanishe was much more subdued and had no desire whatsoever to leave the tribe. While she liked to hear about the things Neena had seen and done, she didn’t want to experience them herself. Stories were enough.
From somewhere unseen, a camel bellowed and she glanced away, watching as a man fought with the beast. Part of her wanted to go over and show him how it was done. Jerking on the lead that way was only going to make the animal more upset. However, it was none of her business, and so she directed her attention back to the group, but it immediately wandered again to the dancer Neena had been distracted by. This made her brush against Neena again but no other outward sign escaped of where her thoughts had gone.
"Just lick it off Tani,” Neena encouraged, to which Tanishe flicked her eyes at her sister wife with a small you’re joking, yes? look, even though she knew Neena was completely serious. Firstly, she was not going to tongue her own arm in front of these people. Secondly, and more importantly, she couldn’t lick her own elbow. That presented the majority of the problem, but she was saved from this when their husband showed up beside them as though summoned. Tanishe had seen Neena’s eye roll and smiled at it, even going so far as to make an uncharacteristic gesture with her own tongue, sticking it out at Neena. So there, my dear, it said.
“No need to lick my elbow,” she smiled and allowed Hasani to take the bag from her. At the same moment, Neena was calling on strange gods and having a more delicious time with this flat bread than Tanishe had. It prompted her to look at her own, wondering if her standards were just that different. “It’s Egpytian,” she murmured, biting into it delicately again to try and get the same sort of lush experience her sister wife was having. Nope. Tasted the same. It was delightful, beyond a doubt, but she didn’t feel it would ever warrant licking her arm in public over.
She then became uncomfortably aware that she’d nearly wholly ignored Mwenye and this girl they were speaking to, Jawahir. The girl’s name had not escaped her but she had been too concerned with the oil on her own arm to be able to speak. Now that that had been taken care of, she swallowed her bite of flat bread, loosely held herself with her now free arm, and smiled.
“We are her family, yes. I am Tanishe, the Leier’s first wife. This is our husband, Leier Hasani. And I think you’ve met Mwenye.” Glancing between Jawahir and Neena, she said, “I didn’t mean to interrupt...please, continue.” She cut a half smile at Mwenye and nudged him firmly with her foot, letting him know what she thought of that flirting comment. A silly little joke that would never happen. Then she took another bite of the flat bread, nearly finished, content to listen to what Neena had been talking about. Tanishe was much more subdued and had no desire whatsoever to leave the tribe. While she liked to hear about the things Neena had seen and done, she didn’t want to experience them herself. Stories were enough.
From somewhere unseen, a camel bellowed and she glanced away, watching as a man fought with the beast. Part of her wanted to go over and show him how it was done. Jerking on the lead that way was only going to make the animal more upset. However, it was none of her business, and so she directed her attention back to the group, but it immediately wandered again to the dancer Neena had been distracted by. This made her brush against Neena again but no other outward sign escaped of where her thoughts had gone.
Hasani was content to take the bag from Tanishe, still letting his gaze rest on Mwenye. He knew the man would never do such a thing. They were too good of friends and respect was one thing that much of his own tribe was adamant about. However, it was far too fun and entertaining to mess with Mwenye and Hasani couldn't help but give him a mock look of challenge. "You are quite defensive for a man who was just surrounded, alone, by there different women just a moment ago," Hasani teased with a flash of white teeth.
It was his goal to make Mwenye uncomfortable.
"Two of which are, in fact, my wives," Hasani said simply, cutting a glance to both Neena and Tanishe. He gave Neena a playful wink and then jumped slightly at Tanishe's little nudge with her foot. He pressed his lips affectionately to her temple, glancing down to the flatbread in her hand. He was hungry, but he would not ask, simply brushing his side against hers. The three of them, Tanishe, Hasani, and Neena all seemed content to remain close. Hasani the protective one of the little trio.
However, he had to clear his throat and shoot Neena a small look at the rather loud and uncomfortable moaning over the flatbread. It only made him hungrier, and not entirely for food. This time he avoided looking at either of his wives and turned his attention on the young Rawndi woman. "My name is Hasani. I am leier of the Zaire," he said confidently, lifting an eyebrow at Mwenye from across the circle. He tried to give a small signal to the man that said, 'go for it' if the prophet truly wanted.
Jawahir was pretty and seemingly well-tempered. She could make a good wife to one of the tribe's revered prophets if he ever stopped acting so dense and disinterested in women for long enough to secure himself a wife.
Neena moaned over her foot again and Hasani reached around Tanishe to settle a hand at the back of her neck, his fingers trailing against her skin in silent imploration for her to cease and enjoy her food in silence. These women. Together, he hardly knew what to do with himself. He had half a mind to wander away again just to distract himself and to maybe find some of that flatbread that Neena had gotten ahold of.
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Hasani was content to take the bag from Tanishe, still letting his gaze rest on Mwenye. He knew the man would never do such a thing. They were too good of friends and respect was one thing that much of his own tribe was adamant about. However, it was far too fun and entertaining to mess with Mwenye and Hasani couldn't help but give him a mock look of challenge. "You are quite defensive for a man who was just surrounded, alone, by there different women just a moment ago," Hasani teased with a flash of white teeth.
It was his goal to make Mwenye uncomfortable.
"Two of which are, in fact, my wives," Hasani said simply, cutting a glance to both Neena and Tanishe. He gave Neena a playful wink and then jumped slightly at Tanishe's little nudge with her foot. He pressed his lips affectionately to her temple, glancing down to the flatbread in her hand. He was hungry, but he would not ask, simply brushing his side against hers. The three of them, Tanishe, Hasani, and Neena all seemed content to remain close. Hasani the protective one of the little trio.
However, he had to clear his throat and shoot Neena a small look at the rather loud and uncomfortable moaning over the flatbread. It only made him hungrier, and not entirely for food. This time he avoided looking at either of his wives and turned his attention on the young Rawndi woman. "My name is Hasani. I am leier of the Zaire," he said confidently, lifting an eyebrow at Mwenye from across the circle. He tried to give a small signal to the man that said, 'go for it' if the prophet truly wanted.
Jawahir was pretty and seemingly well-tempered. She could make a good wife to one of the tribe's revered prophets if he ever stopped acting so dense and disinterested in women for long enough to secure himself a wife.
Neena moaned over her foot again and Hasani reached around Tanishe to settle a hand at the back of her neck, his fingers trailing against her skin in silent imploration for her to cease and enjoy her food in silence. These women. Together, he hardly knew what to do with himself. He had half a mind to wander away again just to distract himself and to maybe find some of that flatbread that Neena had gotten ahold of.
Hasani was content to take the bag from Tanishe, still letting his gaze rest on Mwenye. He knew the man would never do such a thing. They were too good of friends and respect was one thing that much of his own tribe was adamant about. However, it was far too fun and entertaining to mess with Mwenye and Hasani couldn't help but give him a mock look of challenge. "You are quite defensive for a man who was just surrounded, alone, by there different women just a moment ago," Hasani teased with a flash of white teeth.
It was his goal to make Mwenye uncomfortable.
"Two of which are, in fact, my wives," Hasani said simply, cutting a glance to both Neena and Tanishe. He gave Neena a playful wink and then jumped slightly at Tanishe's little nudge with her foot. He pressed his lips affectionately to her temple, glancing down to the flatbread in her hand. He was hungry, but he would not ask, simply brushing his side against hers. The three of them, Tanishe, Hasani, and Neena all seemed content to remain close. Hasani the protective one of the little trio.
However, he had to clear his throat and shoot Neena a small look at the rather loud and uncomfortable moaning over the flatbread. It only made him hungrier, and not entirely for food. This time he avoided looking at either of his wives and turned his attention on the young Rawndi woman. "My name is Hasani. I am leier of the Zaire," he said confidently, lifting an eyebrow at Mwenye from across the circle. He tried to give a small signal to the man that said, 'go for it' if the prophet truly wanted.
Jawahir was pretty and seemingly well-tempered. She could make a good wife to one of the tribe's revered prophets if he ever stopped acting so dense and disinterested in women for long enough to secure himself a wife.
Neena moaned over her foot again and Hasani reached around Tanishe to settle a hand at the back of her neck, his fingers trailing against her skin in silent imploration for her to cease and enjoy her food in silence. These women. Together, he hardly knew what to do with himself. He had half a mind to wander away again just to distract himself and to maybe find some of that flatbread that Neena had gotten ahold of.
Jawahir chuckled a little when Mwenye noted the size difference between him and the Leier of the Zaire, but answered the question. "We, truly, have not been up to much. Finding places to trade. Buying 'idiot bay stallion's." she quoted him, smiling. She had confidence that this member, whoever he may be, knew what he was doing. Those of Rwandi usually did. "A distant cousin of mine, a strong warrior," she noted,"recently got married." she held her tongue on the next part, which was that she wasn't certain the match was fit, especially since her cousin had already had one wife before, and was nearing having more wives than her father. She kept an eye on this, for though she knew most would not do something of the sort, and thus this worry was irrational, nor would it affect her--she was slightly suspicious.
She was partially startled by Neena's moan from eating the flatbread. More from shock then because it was particularly odd, though Jawahir was one of those who was always quiet when she ate, but even she had exceptions. Maybe this flatbread truly was the taste of whichever gods Neena referred to.
Jawahir hungered for a fresh fruit, peering around inconspicuously in order to see if her family or tribe was planning on picking some up. There was nothing Jawahir adored more than some sweet fruit, especially since the young woman knew it would spoil if uneaten.
Jawahir wondered briefly if Neena spoke of gods rather than ancestors because, as she had said earlier, she had no blood family. It made Jawahir feel pity for her, but clearly she had adapted beyond it. She wished there was a way that she could share blood with Neena, if only so the other had a blood family she could exclaim to instead of some random gods. Perhaps her husband or sister-wife had some that Neena could pray to.
"Certainly, it is quite nice to meet you." she flashed a winning smile to Tanishe, and then at Hasani. It was some comfort that there would always be family in the form of friends and sister-wives, though Jawahir personally hoped she'd never have the later, and did admit that at times the former could be better chosen than the young Leierseunin picked out for herself. Her father had always enforced in her, as well as her half sisters, the importance of being diplomatic to others.
"Is there much news in the Zaire?" she asked, raising an eyebrow curiously, subconsciously reflecting a question that Mwenye had asked earlier of her people to be about theirs. "Other than discovering a magnificent flatbread, of course." she tilted her head towards Neena.
It was interesting to speak to many different people, who of course would have many different opinions. Jawahir had found that, even in her tribe, people would disagree on minute details, if they believed the subject important enough. Jawahir was always a fan of knowing what was going on, socially, around her. It helped her get a bearing on the people.
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Jawahir chuckled a little when Mwenye noted the size difference between him and the Leier of the Zaire, but answered the question. "We, truly, have not been up to much. Finding places to trade. Buying 'idiot bay stallion's." she quoted him, smiling. She had confidence that this member, whoever he may be, knew what he was doing. Those of Rwandi usually did. "A distant cousin of mine, a strong warrior," she noted,"recently got married." she held her tongue on the next part, which was that she wasn't certain the match was fit, especially since her cousin had already had one wife before, and was nearing having more wives than her father. She kept an eye on this, for though she knew most would not do something of the sort, and thus this worry was irrational, nor would it affect her--she was slightly suspicious.
She was partially startled by Neena's moan from eating the flatbread. More from shock then because it was particularly odd, though Jawahir was one of those who was always quiet when she ate, but even she had exceptions. Maybe this flatbread truly was the taste of whichever gods Neena referred to.
Jawahir hungered for a fresh fruit, peering around inconspicuously in order to see if her family or tribe was planning on picking some up. There was nothing Jawahir adored more than some sweet fruit, especially since the young woman knew it would spoil if uneaten.
Jawahir wondered briefly if Neena spoke of gods rather than ancestors because, as she had said earlier, she had no blood family. It made Jawahir feel pity for her, but clearly she had adapted beyond it. She wished there was a way that she could share blood with Neena, if only so the other had a blood family she could exclaim to instead of some random gods. Perhaps her husband or sister-wife had some that Neena could pray to.
"Certainly, it is quite nice to meet you." she flashed a winning smile to Tanishe, and then at Hasani. It was some comfort that there would always be family in the form of friends and sister-wives, though Jawahir personally hoped she'd never have the later, and did admit that at times the former could be better chosen than the young Leierseunin picked out for herself. Her father had always enforced in her, as well as her half sisters, the importance of being diplomatic to others.
"Is there much news in the Zaire?" she asked, raising an eyebrow curiously, subconsciously reflecting a question that Mwenye had asked earlier of her people to be about theirs. "Other than discovering a magnificent flatbread, of course." she tilted her head towards Neena.
It was interesting to speak to many different people, who of course would have many different opinions. Jawahir had found that, even in her tribe, people would disagree on minute details, if they believed the subject important enough. Jawahir was always a fan of knowing what was going on, socially, around her. It helped her get a bearing on the people.
Jawahir chuckled a little when Mwenye noted the size difference between him and the Leier of the Zaire, but answered the question. "We, truly, have not been up to much. Finding places to trade. Buying 'idiot bay stallion's." she quoted him, smiling. She had confidence that this member, whoever he may be, knew what he was doing. Those of Rwandi usually did. "A distant cousin of mine, a strong warrior," she noted,"recently got married." she held her tongue on the next part, which was that she wasn't certain the match was fit, especially since her cousin had already had one wife before, and was nearing having more wives than her father. She kept an eye on this, for though she knew most would not do something of the sort, and thus this worry was irrational, nor would it affect her--she was slightly suspicious.
She was partially startled by Neena's moan from eating the flatbread. More from shock then because it was particularly odd, though Jawahir was one of those who was always quiet when she ate, but even she had exceptions. Maybe this flatbread truly was the taste of whichever gods Neena referred to.
Jawahir hungered for a fresh fruit, peering around inconspicuously in order to see if her family or tribe was planning on picking some up. There was nothing Jawahir adored more than some sweet fruit, especially since the young woman knew it would spoil if uneaten.
Jawahir wondered briefly if Neena spoke of gods rather than ancestors because, as she had said earlier, she had no blood family. It made Jawahir feel pity for her, but clearly she had adapted beyond it. She wished there was a way that she could share blood with Neena, if only so the other had a blood family she could exclaim to instead of some random gods. Perhaps her husband or sister-wife had some that Neena could pray to.
"Certainly, it is quite nice to meet you." she flashed a winning smile to Tanishe, and then at Hasani. It was some comfort that there would always be family in the form of friends and sister-wives, though Jawahir personally hoped she'd never have the later, and did admit that at times the former could be better chosen than the young Leierseunin picked out for herself. Her father had always enforced in her, as well as her half sisters, the importance of being diplomatic to others.
"Is there much news in the Zaire?" she asked, raising an eyebrow curiously, subconsciously reflecting a question that Mwenye had asked earlier of her people to be about theirs. "Other than discovering a magnificent flatbread, of course." she tilted her head towards Neena.
It was interesting to speak to many different people, who of course would have many different opinions. Jawahir had found that, even in her tribe, people would disagree on minute details, if they believed the subject important enough. Jawahir was always a fan of knowing what was going on, socially, around her. It helped her get a bearing on the people.
It wasn't exactly as if Neena had no sense of propriety. She knew that there was a level of formality that should be kept within the echelons of the first families. But given that all present (aside from Mwenye) were of their own tribes' royalties anyway, she simply didn't bother abiding by it. Which was generally her normal approach regardless but that was beside the point.
She didn't give a single hoot if anyone thought her strange in how she consumed the bread Tanishe had given her. It was delicious and she was going to express that as so. Neena was a woman who enjoyed everything she liked openly and remained silent on what she disliked. She just naturally thought it important to spread joy and enthusiasm, whilst holding back disgruntlements or negative energies. One thing she had learnt a lot of in her time travelling was that moods and thoughts were contagious. And she only wished to pass on positive thoughts and feelings if she could.
When her husband reached out a hand and used his fingertips to massage the back of her neck, Neena's head tilted a little. Like a cat, the scalp of her head, back of her neck and the line of her spine were particularly sensitive and Hasani would often use it to his advantage if he wanted her to capitulate on something.
Despite the delicious feeling at her nape, however, Neena shook him off playfully, knowing that the touch had been for her to be quiet and her action implying that she would do no such thing.
"Here." She said, instead, sharing some of the bread and drawing more attention to the whole thing in the direct opposite of what he had been asking. Before he could stop her, Neena had torn off a piece of the bread, reached out and full on stuffed it into Hasani's protesting mouth. "You should try. It's practically a sexual experience." She told him, her words practically scandalous and her concerns entirely non-present.
She then smiled back at Jawahir when the girl asked for news of the Zaire.
"Not a lot." She said with open chatter that belied politics entirely. "We had a bit of a sandstorm a few weeks back. Got all in my bedding and gave me a rash. I was not happy."
Her attentions were distracted from the conversation though by a noisy camel behind them. He narrowed her eyes at the animal and shook her head. She disliked camels. And horses. And any other animals that were meant for riding. She far preferred her own feet.
"That handler is about to end up on his butt." She stated to no-one in particular. She might not like animals, but she knew a disgruntled one when she saw one.
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It wasn't exactly as if Neena had no sense of propriety. She knew that there was a level of formality that should be kept within the echelons of the first families. But given that all present (aside from Mwenye) were of their own tribes' royalties anyway, she simply didn't bother abiding by it. Which was generally her normal approach regardless but that was beside the point.
She didn't give a single hoot if anyone thought her strange in how she consumed the bread Tanishe had given her. It was delicious and she was going to express that as so. Neena was a woman who enjoyed everything she liked openly and remained silent on what she disliked. She just naturally thought it important to spread joy and enthusiasm, whilst holding back disgruntlements or negative energies. One thing she had learnt a lot of in her time travelling was that moods and thoughts were contagious. And she only wished to pass on positive thoughts and feelings if she could.
When her husband reached out a hand and used his fingertips to massage the back of her neck, Neena's head tilted a little. Like a cat, the scalp of her head, back of her neck and the line of her spine were particularly sensitive and Hasani would often use it to his advantage if he wanted her to capitulate on something.
Despite the delicious feeling at her nape, however, Neena shook him off playfully, knowing that the touch had been for her to be quiet and her action implying that she would do no such thing.
"Here." She said, instead, sharing some of the bread and drawing more attention to the whole thing in the direct opposite of what he had been asking. Before he could stop her, Neena had torn off a piece of the bread, reached out and full on stuffed it into Hasani's protesting mouth. "You should try. It's practically a sexual experience." She told him, her words practically scandalous and her concerns entirely non-present.
She then smiled back at Jawahir when the girl asked for news of the Zaire.
"Not a lot." She said with open chatter that belied politics entirely. "We had a bit of a sandstorm a few weeks back. Got all in my bedding and gave me a rash. I was not happy."
Her attentions were distracted from the conversation though by a noisy camel behind them. He narrowed her eyes at the animal and shook her head. She disliked camels. And horses. And any other animals that were meant for riding. She far preferred her own feet.
"That handler is about to end up on his butt." She stated to no-one in particular. She might not like animals, but she knew a disgruntled one when she saw one.
It wasn't exactly as if Neena had no sense of propriety. She knew that there was a level of formality that should be kept within the echelons of the first families. But given that all present (aside from Mwenye) were of their own tribes' royalties anyway, she simply didn't bother abiding by it. Which was generally her normal approach regardless but that was beside the point.
She didn't give a single hoot if anyone thought her strange in how she consumed the bread Tanishe had given her. It was delicious and she was going to express that as so. Neena was a woman who enjoyed everything she liked openly and remained silent on what she disliked. She just naturally thought it important to spread joy and enthusiasm, whilst holding back disgruntlements or negative energies. One thing she had learnt a lot of in her time travelling was that moods and thoughts were contagious. And she only wished to pass on positive thoughts and feelings if she could.
When her husband reached out a hand and used his fingertips to massage the back of her neck, Neena's head tilted a little. Like a cat, the scalp of her head, back of her neck and the line of her spine were particularly sensitive and Hasani would often use it to his advantage if he wanted her to capitulate on something.
Despite the delicious feeling at her nape, however, Neena shook him off playfully, knowing that the touch had been for her to be quiet and her action implying that she would do no such thing.
"Here." She said, instead, sharing some of the bread and drawing more attention to the whole thing in the direct opposite of what he had been asking. Before he could stop her, Neena had torn off a piece of the bread, reached out and full on stuffed it into Hasani's protesting mouth. "You should try. It's practically a sexual experience." She told him, her words practically scandalous and her concerns entirely non-present.
She then smiled back at Jawahir when the girl asked for news of the Zaire.
"Not a lot." She said with open chatter that belied politics entirely. "We had a bit of a sandstorm a few weeks back. Got all in my bedding and gave me a rash. I was not happy."
Her attentions were distracted from the conversation though by a noisy camel behind them. He narrowed her eyes at the animal and shook her head. She disliked camels. And horses. And any other animals that were meant for riding. She far preferred her own feet.
"That handler is about to end up on his butt." She stated to no-one in particular. She might not like animals, but she knew a disgruntled one when she saw one.
Tanishe flushed deeply when Neena reached around her to shove the piece of flatbread in their husband’s mouth with the following, "You should try. It's practically a sexual experience." She was not usually embarrassed by Neena’s behavior because, in secret, she liked it. What she was more concerned about was what their new acquaintance would think. Already they’d drawn the notice of some vendors and the dancer across the way was openly watching them now as she moved her body in such a way as to re-attract notice. Her eyes flicked to Jawahir to see how she bore this and then she focused on eating her portion of the bread.
Except...that this now seemed rude. Breaking off pieces, she offered the rest of hers to both Jawahir and Mwenye with a blanket statement. “Since it is so delicious, why don’t you two try? I’m going to get more.” Excusing herself as Neena began to answer Jawahir’s question, she went in search for two more flat breads from the same stall. Maybe it was a bad idea, but she didn’t know how much of Neena’s orgasmic sounds she could take in public. They brought her thoughts to places they really didn’t need to go with other people around.
As she went along, she touched the lingering heat of her cheeks, trying to figure out if her face was really on fire, or if it was her imagination. She wasn’t sure that she could get much hotter without actually combusting. It took a little bit but she came back with two flatbreads, one in each hands, and she’d pointedly asked for less oil this time. Having so much sliding down both arms at once would have been...excessive.
“Here we are, friends,” she said, smiling, passing more around. Handing Neena the largest piece of the last one, she arched an eyebrow at her. “I hope this one is as good as the last.” She wasn’t exactly asking her sister wife to be quiet….and she wasn’t expecting it…………………………..but she hoped it. Well. Not quiet. Just...less loud. The loudness should be in their tent. Not on the street. Still, she couldn’t be too uncomfortable with Neena’s free spirited ways. They were one of her favorite things about the other girl. Neena was almost too free with herself, whereas Tanishe was almost never that way. Only with people she felt safe with, like Hasani, or Neena. She did not know Jawahir and was therefore much more shy than she was at home. Mwenye, too, she didn’t know well enough to tease Neena or even Hasani the way she might have done in their tent.
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Tanishe flushed deeply when Neena reached around her to shove the piece of flatbread in their husband’s mouth with the following, "You should try. It's practically a sexual experience." She was not usually embarrassed by Neena’s behavior because, in secret, she liked it. What she was more concerned about was what their new acquaintance would think. Already they’d drawn the notice of some vendors and the dancer across the way was openly watching them now as she moved her body in such a way as to re-attract notice. Her eyes flicked to Jawahir to see how she bore this and then she focused on eating her portion of the bread.
Except...that this now seemed rude. Breaking off pieces, she offered the rest of hers to both Jawahir and Mwenye with a blanket statement. “Since it is so delicious, why don’t you two try? I’m going to get more.” Excusing herself as Neena began to answer Jawahir’s question, she went in search for two more flat breads from the same stall. Maybe it was a bad idea, but she didn’t know how much of Neena’s orgasmic sounds she could take in public. They brought her thoughts to places they really didn’t need to go with other people around.
As she went along, she touched the lingering heat of her cheeks, trying to figure out if her face was really on fire, or if it was her imagination. She wasn’t sure that she could get much hotter without actually combusting. It took a little bit but she came back with two flatbreads, one in each hands, and she’d pointedly asked for less oil this time. Having so much sliding down both arms at once would have been...excessive.
“Here we are, friends,” she said, smiling, passing more around. Handing Neena the largest piece of the last one, she arched an eyebrow at her. “I hope this one is as good as the last.” She wasn’t exactly asking her sister wife to be quiet….and she wasn’t expecting it…………………………..but she hoped it. Well. Not quiet. Just...less loud. The loudness should be in their tent. Not on the street. Still, she couldn’t be too uncomfortable with Neena’s free spirited ways. They were one of her favorite things about the other girl. Neena was almost too free with herself, whereas Tanishe was almost never that way. Only with people she felt safe with, like Hasani, or Neena. She did not know Jawahir and was therefore much more shy than she was at home. Mwenye, too, she didn’t know well enough to tease Neena or even Hasani the way she might have done in their tent.
Tanishe flushed deeply when Neena reached around her to shove the piece of flatbread in their husband’s mouth with the following, "You should try. It's practically a sexual experience." She was not usually embarrassed by Neena’s behavior because, in secret, she liked it. What she was more concerned about was what their new acquaintance would think. Already they’d drawn the notice of some vendors and the dancer across the way was openly watching them now as she moved her body in such a way as to re-attract notice. Her eyes flicked to Jawahir to see how she bore this and then she focused on eating her portion of the bread.
Except...that this now seemed rude. Breaking off pieces, she offered the rest of hers to both Jawahir and Mwenye with a blanket statement. “Since it is so delicious, why don’t you two try? I’m going to get more.” Excusing herself as Neena began to answer Jawahir’s question, she went in search for two more flat breads from the same stall. Maybe it was a bad idea, but she didn’t know how much of Neena’s orgasmic sounds she could take in public. They brought her thoughts to places they really didn’t need to go with other people around.
As she went along, she touched the lingering heat of her cheeks, trying to figure out if her face was really on fire, or if it was her imagination. She wasn’t sure that she could get much hotter without actually combusting. It took a little bit but she came back with two flatbreads, one in each hands, and she’d pointedly asked for less oil this time. Having so much sliding down both arms at once would have been...excessive.
“Here we are, friends,” she said, smiling, passing more around. Handing Neena the largest piece of the last one, she arched an eyebrow at her. “I hope this one is as good as the last.” She wasn’t exactly asking her sister wife to be quiet….and she wasn’t expecting it…………………………..but she hoped it. Well. Not quiet. Just...less loud. The loudness should be in their tent. Not on the street. Still, she couldn’t be too uncomfortable with Neena’s free spirited ways. They were one of her favorite things about the other girl. Neena was almost too free with herself, whereas Tanishe was almost never that way. Only with people she felt safe with, like Hasani, or Neena. She did not know Jawahir and was therefore much more shy than she was at home. Mwenye, too, she didn’t know well enough to tease Neena or even Hasani the way she might have done in their tent.
Mwenye paid no heed to the flirting between his friend and his wives - it was common enough, everyone knew the leier loved them both, and it was none of his business. He accepted the piece of bread offered to him, careful to hold it so that the oil wouldn't drip too much as he ate it, since it would be impossible to hold a polite conversation if he simply stuffed the whole thing in his mouth at once.
"Thank you, Tanishe."
He offered Jawahir a crooked smile. "Little news of importance, I think. My brother Kayin is has made it a goal to embarrass himself around every unmarried woman in the tribe, Nsia is expecting a second child." He thought a moment, and branched out to gossip about their foreign trading partners instead, but that the Rwandi might find interesting. "Abisai seemed to be haggling a bit more intensely than usual, though I think he might just have been in a bad mood."
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Oct 28, 2019 17:05:35 GMT
Posted In Border Trade on Oct 28, 2019 17:05:35 GMT
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Mwenye paid no heed to the flirting between his friend and his wives - it was common enough, everyone knew the leier loved them both, and it was none of his business. He accepted the piece of bread offered to him, careful to hold it so that the oil wouldn't drip too much as he ate it, since it would be impossible to hold a polite conversation if he simply stuffed the whole thing in his mouth at once.
"Thank you, Tanishe."
He offered Jawahir a crooked smile. "Little news of importance, I think. My brother Kayin is has made it a goal to embarrass himself around every unmarried woman in the tribe, Nsia is expecting a second child." He thought a moment, and branched out to gossip about their foreign trading partners instead, but that the Rwandi might find interesting. "Abisai seemed to be haggling a bit more intensely than usual, though I think he might just have been in a bad mood."
Mwenye paid no heed to the flirting between his friend and his wives - it was common enough, everyone knew the leier loved them both, and it was none of his business. He accepted the piece of bread offered to him, careful to hold it so that the oil wouldn't drip too much as he ate it, since it would be impossible to hold a polite conversation if he simply stuffed the whole thing in his mouth at once.
"Thank you, Tanishe."
He offered Jawahir a crooked smile. "Little news of importance, I think. My brother Kayin is has made it a goal to embarrass himself around every unmarried woman in the tribe, Nsia is expecting a second child." He thought a moment, and branched out to gossip about their foreign trading partners instead, but that the Rwandi might find interesting. "Abisai seemed to be haggling a bit more intensely than usual, though I think he might just have been in a bad mood."
There were few times in Hasani's life that he had found himself prickly. But the inpropriety of his second wife, in public, no less, was settling his mood on the edge between snappy and amused. He honestly couldn't tell what he was actually feeling, and Neena stuffing food in his face didn't help him figure anything out. He loved this woman, how exotic and sweet she was, but by the ancestors she liked to press her luck.
Deciding that here was not the correct time or place to shut his wild, free-spirited wife down, and far too embarrassed by her to argue about the offer of food, he took it silently. His dark gaze slid to her face and he made a more proper noise from his throat to show his like of the bread, but shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other and tore his gaze away from Neena. There were moments where he couldn't place his feelings on things that either of his wives did.
So often things went ignored. While he did notice that Tanishe had disappeared, he didn't see the need to follow after her, his arms crossed against his chest. Hasani was honestly content to listen to the conversation more than add to it, his gaze continuously drifting back to his second wife as he determined how best to handle the situation she had started. If she wanted a sexual experience with oil and bread, he was sure that something could be arranged. But that was strange, right? Playing with food while-- he shut that thought down, shifting again to try and drag his mind away from his tent and his wives.
They would both be the utter death of him. Hasani was absolutely and completely sure of it.
Maybe he should have been ashamed, but suddenly he wasn't and his mood had drifted back into a more jovial territory, all thoughts of punishing Neena flitting away on the desert breeze.
Tanishe's return brought his gaze back to her and he reached for his own piece of bread and oil, saying his thanks, and then taking another bite. Now that he wasn't torn between propriety and wanting to put Neena on her knees for all the vulgar sounds she made, he could see her point about how good the bread was. "You're right. I suppose it could be considered a sexual experience," he said brightly, giving Tanishe a wolfish smirk while he chewed and enjoyed the snack. Honestly, the taste of any food at this moment was akin to a sexual experience. He hadn't realized how hungry he actually was.
Part of him thought to ask Neena what other sexual experiences she had had relating to food, but their present company was not a wonderful place to ask such things. Sometimes he really needed to remind himself to hold his tongue. Neena had long started to rub off on him, and sheer, brutal honesty was often marred by his own tendency to drift into vulgarity whenever Neena decided it was a good time to rile him up. Like right now.
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There were few times in Hasani's life that he had found himself prickly. But the inpropriety of his second wife, in public, no less, was settling his mood on the edge between snappy and amused. He honestly couldn't tell what he was actually feeling, and Neena stuffing food in his face didn't help him figure anything out. He loved this woman, how exotic and sweet she was, but by the ancestors she liked to press her luck.
Deciding that here was not the correct time or place to shut his wild, free-spirited wife down, and far too embarrassed by her to argue about the offer of food, he took it silently. His dark gaze slid to her face and he made a more proper noise from his throat to show his like of the bread, but shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other and tore his gaze away from Neena. There were moments where he couldn't place his feelings on things that either of his wives did.
So often things went ignored. While he did notice that Tanishe had disappeared, he didn't see the need to follow after her, his arms crossed against his chest. Hasani was honestly content to listen to the conversation more than add to it, his gaze continuously drifting back to his second wife as he determined how best to handle the situation she had started. If she wanted a sexual experience with oil and bread, he was sure that something could be arranged. But that was strange, right? Playing with food while-- he shut that thought down, shifting again to try and drag his mind away from his tent and his wives.
They would both be the utter death of him. Hasani was absolutely and completely sure of it.
Maybe he should have been ashamed, but suddenly he wasn't and his mood had drifted back into a more jovial territory, all thoughts of punishing Neena flitting away on the desert breeze.
Tanishe's return brought his gaze back to her and he reached for his own piece of bread and oil, saying his thanks, and then taking another bite. Now that he wasn't torn between propriety and wanting to put Neena on her knees for all the vulgar sounds she made, he could see her point about how good the bread was. "You're right. I suppose it could be considered a sexual experience," he said brightly, giving Tanishe a wolfish smirk while he chewed and enjoyed the snack. Honestly, the taste of any food at this moment was akin to a sexual experience. He hadn't realized how hungry he actually was.
Part of him thought to ask Neena what other sexual experiences she had had relating to food, but their present company was not a wonderful place to ask such things. Sometimes he really needed to remind himself to hold his tongue. Neena had long started to rub off on him, and sheer, brutal honesty was often marred by his own tendency to drift into vulgarity whenever Neena decided it was a good time to rile him up. Like right now.
There were few times in Hasani's life that he had found himself prickly. But the inpropriety of his second wife, in public, no less, was settling his mood on the edge between snappy and amused. He honestly couldn't tell what he was actually feeling, and Neena stuffing food in his face didn't help him figure anything out. He loved this woman, how exotic and sweet she was, but by the ancestors she liked to press her luck.
Deciding that here was not the correct time or place to shut his wild, free-spirited wife down, and far too embarrassed by her to argue about the offer of food, he took it silently. His dark gaze slid to her face and he made a more proper noise from his throat to show his like of the bread, but shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other and tore his gaze away from Neena. There were moments where he couldn't place his feelings on things that either of his wives did.
So often things went ignored. While he did notice that Tanishe had disappeared, he didn't see the need to follow after her, his arms crossed against his chest. Hasani was honestly content to listen to the conversation more than add to it, his gaze continuously drifting back to his second wife as he determined how best to handle the situation she had started. If she wanted a sexual experience with oil and bread, he was sure that something could be arranged. But that was strange, right? Playing with food while-- he shut that thought down, shifting again to try and drag his mind away from his tent and his wives.
They would both be the utter death of him. Hasani was absolutely and completely sure of it.
Maybe he should have been ashamed, but suddenly he wasn't and his mood had drifted back into a more jovial territory, all thoughts of punishing Neena flitting away on the desert breeze.
Tanishe's return brought his gaze back to her and he reached for his own piece of bread and oil, saying his thanks, and then taking another bite. Now that he wasn't torn between propriety and wanting to put Neena on her knees for all the vulgar sounds she made, he could see her point about how good the bread was. "You're right. I suppose it could be considered a sexual experience," he said brightly, giving Tanishe a wolfish smirk while he chewed and enjoyed the snack. Honestly, the taste of any food at this moment was akin to a sexual experience. He hadn't realized how hungry he actually was.
Part of him thought to ask Neena what other sexual experiences she had had relating to food, but their present company was not a wonderful place to ask such things. Sometimes he really needed to remind himself to hold his tongue. Neena had long started to rub off on him, and sheer, brutal honesty was often marred by his own tendency to drift into vulgarity whenever Neena decided it was a good time to rile him up. Like right now.
Curveball Border Trade
As the tribes of the Zaire and Rwandi mingle, dealing in limited currency and equal trade, the sands of the desert drift over the dunes in a peaceful breeze, disturbed only by a distant noise of discontent. Several traders from Egypt; those who deal in animals over living with them, have handled their merchandise into a state of unease. The camels in which they buy and sell have become uncomfortable, angered and distracted, attempting to escape their handlers with jerks of their head and stamps of their feet. One breaks free and, as pack animals are likely to do, leads a group of his kind that follow, towards the main body of the trading stalls. Dust is thrown into the air, feet clawing at the surface of the hot waves of dry ocean. The camels stampede towards the recently made market, uncaring of the shouts of their possessors behind them.
Whilst normally serene creatures and lazy to boot, the leader of the charging animals may have calmed and lost its momentum in but a few moments if it hadn't been for the swinging reins of his headpiece. The long leather strap catches upon one of the key beams that hold up the structure of the first of the stalls he comes to. With an almighty crash and an agonising yank upon the camel and his neck, the stall's shade comes tumbling down, an angle of its wooden build catching in the leather and being dragged along in the sand. The loud bouncing of the pole upon sand and the smacks to the ankles of the racing creature - not to mention the pull upon his headpiece - stop any natural calming that might have taken holding, frightening and paining the camel to continue racing through the aisles of men and women, his family behind him. Blind with pain, quick with fear, the creatures pound down the row of stalls, headed straight for the group of speakers, centred around the young princess of the Rwandi tribe...
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As the tribes of the Zaire and Rwandi mingle, dealing in limited currency and equal trade, the sands of the desert drift over the dunes in a peaceful breeze, disturbed only by a distant noise of discontent. Several traders from Egypt; those who deal in animals over living with them, have handled their merchandise into a state of unease. The camels in which they buy and sell have become uncomfortable, angered and distracted, attempting to escape their handlers with jerks of their head and stamps of their feet. One breaks free and, as pack animals are likely to do, leads a group of his kind that follow, towards the main body of the trading stalls. Dust is thrown into the air, feet clawing at the surface of the hot waves of dry ocean. The camels stampede towards the recently made market, uncaring of the shouts of their possessors behind them.
Whilst normally serene creatures and lazy to boot, the leader of the charging animals may have calmed and lost its momentum in but a few moments if it hadn't been for the swinging reins of his headpiece. The long leather strap catches upon one of the key beams that hold up the structure of the first of the stalls he comes to. With an almighty crash and an agonising yank upon the camel and his neck, the stall's shade comes tumbling down, an angle of its wooden build catching in the leather and being dragged along in the sand. The loud bouncing of the pole upon sand and the smacks to the ankles of the racing creature - not to mention the pull upon his headpiece - stop any natural calming that might have taken holding, frightening and paining the camel to continue racing through the aisles of men and women, his family behind him. Blind with pain, quick with fear, the creatures pound down the row of stalls, headed straight for the group of speakers, centred around the young princess of the Rwandi tribe...
Curveball Border Trade
As the tribes of the Zaire and Rwandi mingle, dealing in limited currency and equal trade, the sands of the desert drift over the dunes in a peaceful breeze, disturbed only by a distant noise of discontent. Several traders from Egypt; those who deal in animals over living with them, have handled their merchandise into a state of unease. The camels in which they buy and sell have become uncomfortable, angered and distracted, attempting to escape their handlers with jerks of their head and stamps of their feet. One breaks free and, as pack animals are likely to do, leads a group of his kind that follow, towards the main body of the trading stalls. Dust is thrown into the air, feet clawing at the surface of the hot waves of dry ocean. The camels stampede towards the recently made market, uncaring of the shouts of their possessors behind them.
Whilst normally serene creatures and lazy to boot, the leader of the charging animals may have calmed and lost its momentum in but a few moments if it hadn't been for the swinging reins of his headpiece. The long leather strap catches upon one of the key beams that hold up the structure of the first of the stalls he comes to. With an almighty crash and an agonising yank upon the camel and his neck, the stall's shade comes tumbling down, an angle of its wooden build catching in the leather and being dragged along in the sand. The loud bouncing of the pole upon sand and the smacks to the ankles of the racing creature - not to mention the pull upon his headpiece - stop any natural calming that might have taken holding, frightening and paining the camel to continue racing through the aisles of men and women, his family behind him. Blind with pain, quick with fear, the creatures pound down the row of stalls, headed straight for the group of speakers, centred around the young princess of the Rwandi tribe...