Tiernan the Washwench

Tiernan Lavander of Shallowbend Male Wench 18+ Minors DNI || RP || Peasant Posting root blog is @pantheon-peasantry

[wench-for-hire]

Name: Tiernan “Tier” Lavander

That’s La-VAN-der, not Lavender.

~Male Wench~

Resident Washwench of Shallowbend on the Lyewater

Age: 28

Best Launder and Starch in the kingdoms, offering custom services for an additional fee.

Professional Care you can Trust.

|| Cottons and Linens two garments a penny || Press and Starch a penny extra ||

|| Delicate Fabrics and Fineries Accepted || Patch and Repair ||

|| Embroidery and Brocades Available for the discerning customer! ||

|| Same day service negotiable || Need it brought to you? I deliver! ||

~Inquire for pricing details~

All services require payment in advance, credit not accepted.

Hours: A’fore the cocks first crow to nigh the witching hour.

~Select ₊˚⊹♡ Premium ₊˚⊹♡ Service options available after dusk.~

Premium services to ALL kinds~ If you have the coin

[[ RP Blog for interacting with Medievalblr/Knightblr/Peasantblr. Kink friendly. NSFW friendly -> Drop an ask to work out deets before engaging ]]

[[Important Note: Tier takes money for nsfw acts, I do not.]]

[[Also note: “Male Wench” in a funny way not a gross about gender way. Trans rights!]]

[wench-for-hire]

A curious series of events has unfolded over the past tenday.

It all began with the blackberry outbreak. Along the shores of the local hamlet, cautious mothers pepper their sons and daughters with disingenuous warnings to beware of fae mischief before setting them out with wicker baskets to fill with the plump fruit. The tangled brambles, a summer staple, seem mysteriously to have doubled and tripled their efforts to overtake the hedgegrowth lining the winding stream known as Lyewater--the phenomenon made all the more puzzling by their quite ordinary progress along the mainstem normally sporting the bulk of the growth. The berry brambles lay in a thick blanket along the edges of the water, the plumpest fruit seated right along the shallows' edge in easy reach of passers by. It takes not long for the locals to catch on and news to spread. Soon every day the water's edge fills with more and more villagers braving thornsticks to take home the season's bounty by the cartload. The sweet fruits gleam in the sun with a beauty to rival obsidian--the lush thickets seeming never to exhaust of their supply. With every foray into the brush they yield their beneficence to the determined seekers. A toll is exacted. Wither fae retribution for the plundering of their wealth, or commonplace luck, sleeves catch afoul of tangles. Skirt are muddied. Linens snagged and torn. A worthy price to pay for the fruit, most would say as they tote their prize home to become jams, pies and tarts. Yet in the following days still further misfortune befalls those who profit from the brambles' bounty. Dark syrups fall from sumptuously laden, still-steaming pastries to mar the skirts and trousers of the witless. Purple stains find their ways onto the paws of children at play, streaked into smallclothes and soiling linens. Strange as the plague of berries, stranger still how the flyers appear just as their troubles arise. They dot every post and wall up and down the stream. In the square where the bakers and merchants peddle their wares. Easily visible. And never far from the lips of the town crier. Special bargains on small tears and snags. Expert stain removal for everything from linens to silks. Act now, as the deals will only last so long. Fancy a dyeing service to spiffy your wardrobe? There's a limited time deal on purples. Only inquire after Tiernan of Shallowbend, so very nearby. Generational launderer. Professional services at a steal. And if the berries seem to grow thickest just at the path down to the stream where the baskets of laundry wait, colorful garments draped about lines like decorous banners...? Well, perhaps the fae have a sense of humor? Who can guess at their machinations?

[pinkprincesscake]

After returning home from the ball, word quickly reached Princess Ambrosia about the miraculous crop of wild blackberries. Ever a fan of picking berries, she took a secret ride with Sir Graham out to the Lyewater Stream to collect a sweet bounty. Despite all the people already harvesting from these bushes, there were still plenty more for her to put in a basket.

She tried to prepare for the harvest by wearing her simplest clothes, but alas, they couldn't stand up to the grasping brambles or the dark stains of the berries. This wouldn't do. She couldn't return to her castle with such evidence of her irresponsibility. How would she keep this hidden?

Sir Graham was quick to spot the flyers, and then Princess Ambrosia soon heard the words of the town crier and chattering townspeople. From there, they just had to follow the people already on their way to have their garments fixed. She walked into the launderer's shop with a hood over her head and without her knight in the hopes of preventing a hootenanny over the princess's presence. When it was her turn in the line of customers, she spoke with a hushed voice.

"Hello there, good sir. I'm hoping to have my dress cleaned and repaired," she said to the shopkeeper.

[wench-for-hire]

In spite of indeed being a sir, the launderer does not initially look it. Dressed in the same dun skirts and aprons as the other washwomen, a loose chemise is pulled over his top, threadbare to hint at the muscled tone of a working man hidden just beneath. His waist is cinched tighter, perhaps, than Ambrosia's own. Tier regards the lady with a certain shrewdness in his eyes that belies the tired circles rimming them. "Let's see it then," he offers a hand to inspect. A swift, disproving click of the tongue, barely a glance, and Ambrosia has it back. "Been berry picking I see? I'll scrub the thorns out for the standard fee, no extra charge. We've a special on stains right now, so you're in luck. Little fray on the sleeve here, I can do a simple stitch for two penny or darn it for a shilling. That should put it right. If you like, there are also additional services, mlady. Posted on the board just up by my cottage. So what will it be?" He asks, voice honeyed in a customer-service way that matches neither the smirk at his lips nor the calculating gleam in his eyes.

[pinkprincesscake]

Had it not been for the time she had in line to watch him work, Princess Ambrosia might have addressed him like a woman--and, in hindsight, perhaps she should have anyway even after studying his face--but when he makes no objection to the "sir", she doesn't think twice on it for long. She's a touch confused why he's dressed this way, especially with his waist pulled tighter than her own, but she keeps her questions to herself.

When he speaks of additional services, her smile falters a bit. She did catch a glance at the board outside, and it made clear implications. Her eyes jumped between the different maidens working behind him. "No thank you, sir. I'll only be needing my garment fixed up today."

[wench-for-hire]

"'Today' you say?" He whistles softly like she's said something strange. "Why the rush? The drying alone will take a couple of hours, and the sun's not getting any higher in the sky. Normal turnover time for a wash and repair is at least a couple days." Tier chews on a suspicion as he looks her and her dress up and down again. Commonfolk rarely ask a service so fast, and she doesn't look young. Well. That young. Making a snap decision "I can do it, of course. But expediting would cost you a small fee for the priority service. As I would need to delay my current orders. I'm sure you understand." He quotes her a crown and three shilling for the full service. Suddenly the other women working at the water's edge around them go very quiet indeed. Although to Ambrosia the cost would hardly register as a ding to the coinpurse. Pocket change for a royal lady.

[pinkprincesscake]

Oh dear. Ambrosia was so used to the workers at the castle serving only her family that she didn’t consider the time it would take to service her on top of all the people that rightly came before her. The whole point of this was that she needed her clothes fixed before she got home so no one would be the wiser. If she arrived home in only her underclothing, that would look even _worse_.

She perks up when the shopkeeper mentions the option to expedite her service, and it seems like a no-brainer. Her privileged life gives her little real idea of the cost of things, so she thinks his asking price is perfectly fair to allow her to cut in line, so to speak, and it is indeed little but pocket change to her.

She nods. “Very well, I’ll pay the additional coin for the expedition.” Like nothing, she produces the crown and three shilling.

[wench-for-hire]

The moment the coins are in Tiernan's outstretched palm, his entire demeanor shifts. The grin loses crooked edge. He straightens up, voice warm as he pouches the money before taking and clasping Ambrosia's hand ever so gently in his own. "My it is sweltering out here, is it not? Let me see you to to some shade, mlady. A cold drink would not go amiss, either. Shall I fetch you some water?" Even as he starts to guide her toward the cottage he turns sharp and snaps to the other wash women nearby who have ceased their work and are staring. One hurriedly hops to the tub he indicates, which Tier himself abandons now in favor of seeing to Ambrosia's needs. He leads Ambrosia with the utmost courtesy, opening the door for her into the sparsely furnished cottage. Generally speaking one should not go following strange men into strange cottages, of course, but as consolation she is at least not alone in there. In a space of the tiny home sit a few stools by an unlit hearth, and one more proper chair, occupied by an aged woman many years their senior. She looks up from her sewing as they come inside. Other than being a bit thin and sallow of complexion, she offers a surprised but warm smile to the arrivals. Tier picks out a few straw cushions to pad out an un-upholstered bench against the wall. They are fine by no means, but not too scratchy. But he does not allow Ambrosia to sit yet. He hurries past her into the back of the house, steps clipped, returning just moments later with a few simple but clean garments. "Here you are. There's a curtain in the back you can draw to change out of your dress. Hand it to me once you are done changing and I will get started immediately so we can get you out of here just as fast as you please, mlady." He curtsies before turning his back to her. Tier pauses a moment over the other woman present and leans over her to press a hurried kiss to her forehead. Ambrosia gets the sense that he whispers something, because the woman seems to bob her head in a nod before he moves past her to the kitchenette.

[pinkprincesscake]

Well, that was quite a shift. Apparently the extra coin pays for far more than just expedited service. Princess Ambrosia knows she ought not to have just followed the man to a separate place, but he really just swept her up, and his manner did seem most pleasant. It was of some comfort to see one other person present in the cottage, but oh, she can just imagine Sir Graham from wherever he is watching her. She’ll be lucky if he doesn’t break down the cottage door.

Watching the brief interaction between the two, Ambrosia guesses the woman must be family, perhaps even the shopkeeper’s own mother. She is once again confused when the man curtsies to her, but she cannot just stand there trying to puzzle things together. She’s just been handed a change of clothes, which she will need if he’s to wash everything that’s been damaged. “Ah, r-right…right away!”

It’s not long before she reappears from behind the curtain. The clothes she wears now are even more humble than what she came in, but she doesn’t seem bothered. Instead, she just hands her garments to the launderer.

[wench-for-hire]

When she returns, Tiernan is just laying down an earthenware platter beside the bench designated for her. On it are laid a smattering of blackberries, several plump, fresh figs—she may recall spying the fig tree outside—and best of all, a couple of hand pies, drizzled with honey. The dark syrup crusted along the seams betrays their contents.

“You’ll have to forgive me m’lady, we’re shy of tea at the moment, but a cool, refreshing water more suits the weather, wouldn’t you say?”

Indeed, the cup he fetched—also kiln fired earthenware—is already gathering condensation. He drew it straight up from the well. VERY quickly. She wasn’t gone THAT long.

After Tier takes her dress he moves to a simple shelf beside her bench, the top serving as table for her food and drink, and plucks the dark spines of several weathered books. He goes right to the ones he wants, presenting her with a selection of fairytales, a well used romance, and a more technical if illustrated manual of herbs and their uses.

“Books if m’lady cares to entertain herself while I work on your order. Are you comfortable? I’ll send someone to see to any more needs you might have shortly.” He says, not awaiting her answer and already on his way out the door with the dress.

[wench-for-hire]

A curious series of events has unfolded over the past tenday.

It all began with the blackberry outbreak. Along the shores of the local hamlet, cautious mothers pepper their sons and daughters with disingenuous warnings to beware of fae mischief before setting them out with wicker baskets to fill with the plump fruit. The tangled brambles, a summer staple, seem mysteriously to have doubled and tripled their efforts to overtake the hedgegrowth lining the winding stream known as Lyewater--the phenomenon made all the more puzzling by their quite ordinary progress along the mainstem normally sporting the bulk of the growth. The berry brambles lay in a thick blanket along the edges of the water, the plumpest fruit seated right along the shallows' edge in easy reach of passers by. It takes not long for the locals to catch on and news to spread. Soon every day the water's edge fills with more and more villagers braving thornsticks to take home the season's bounty by the cartload. The sweet fruits gleam in the sun with a beauty to rival obsidian--the lush thickets seeming never to exhaust of their supply. With every foray into the brush they yield their beneficence to the determined seekers. A toll is exacted. Wither fae retribution for the plundering of their wealth, or commonplace luck, sleeves catch afoul of tangles. Skirt are muddied. Linens snagged and torn. A worthy price to pay for the fruit, most would say as they tote their prize home to become jams, pies and tarts. Yet in the following days still further misfortune befalls those who profit from the brambles' bounty. Dark syrups fall from sumptuously laden, still-steaming pastries to mar the skirts and trousers of the witless. Purple stains find their ways onto the paws of children at play, streaked into smallclothes and soiling linens. Strange as the plague of berries, stranger still how the flyers appear just as their troubles arise. They dot every post and wall up and down the stream. In the square where the bakers and merchants peddle their wares. Easily visible. And never far from the lips of the town crier. Special bargains on small tears and snags. Expert stain removal for everything from linens to silks. Act now, as the deals will only last so long. Fancy a dyeing service to spiffy your wardrobe? There's a limited time deal on purples. Only inquire after Tiernan of Shallowbend, so very nearby. Generational launderer. Professional services at a steal. And if the berries seem to grow thickest just at the path down to the stream where the baskets of laundry wait, colorful garments draped about lines like decorous banners...? Well, perhaps the fae have a sense of humor? Who can guess at their machinations?

[pinkprincesscake]

After returning home from the ball, word quickly reached Princess Ambrosia about the miraculous crop of wild blackberries. Ever a fan of picking berries, she took a secret ride with Sir Graham out to the Lyewater Stream to collect a sweet bounty. Despite all the people already harvesting from these bushes, there were still plenty more for her to put in a basket.

She tried to prepare for the harvest by wearing her simplest clothes, but alas, they couldn't stand up to the grasping brambles or the dark stains of the berries. This wouldn't do. She couldn't return to her castle with such evidence of her irresponsibility. How would she keep this hidden?

Sir Graham was quick to spot the flyers, and then Princess Ambrosia soon heard the words of the town crier and chattering townspeople. From there, they just had to follow the people already on their way to have their garments fixed. She walked into the launderer's shop with a hood over her head and without her knight in the hopes of preventing a hootenanny over the princess's presence. When it was her turn in the line of customers, she spoke with a hushed voice.

"Hello there, good sir. I'm hoping to have my dress cleaned and repaired," she said to the shopkeeper.

[wench-for-hire]

In spite of indeed being a sir, the launderer does not initially look it. Dressed in the same dun skirts and aprons as the other washwomen, a loose chemise is pulled over his top, threadbare to hint at the muscled tone of a working man hidden just beneath. His waist is cinched tighter, perhaps, than Ambrosia's own. Tier regards the lady with a certain shrewdness in his eyes that belies the tired circles rimming them. "Let's see it then," he offers a hand to inspect. A swift, disproving click of the tongue, barely a glance, and Ambrosia has it back. "Been berry picking I see? I'll scrub the thorns out for the standard fee, no extra charge. We've a special on stains right now, so you're in luck. Little fray on the sleeve here, I can do a simple stitch for two penny or darn it for a shilling. That should put it right. If you like, there are also additional services, mlady. Posted on the board just up by my cottage. So what will it be?" He asks, voice honeyed in a customer-service way that matches neither the smirk at his lips nor the calculating gleam in his eyes.

[pinkprincesscake]

Had it not been for the time she had in line to watch him work, Princess Ambrosia might have addressed him like a woman--and, in hindsight, perhaps she should have anyway even after studying his face--but when he makes no objection to the "sir", she doesn't think twice on it for long. She's a touch confused why he's dressed this way, especially with his waist pulled tighter than her own, but she keeps her questions to herself.

When he speaks of additional services, her smile falters a bit. She did catch a glance at the board outside, and it made clear implications. Her eyes jumped between the different maidens working behind him. "No thank you, sir. I'll only be needing my garment fixed up today."

[wench-for-hire]

"'Today' you say?" He whistles softly like she's said something strange. "Why the rush? The drying alone will take a couple of hours, and the sun's not getting any higher in the sky. Normal turnover time for a wash and repair is at least a couple days." Tier chews on a suspicion as he looks her and her dress up and down again. Commonfolk rarely ask a service so fast, and she doesn't look young. Well. That young. Making a snap decision "I can do it, of course. But expediting would cost you a small fee for the priority service. As I would need to delay my current orders. I'm sure you understand." He quotes her a crown and three shilling for the full service. Suddenly the other women working at the water's edge around them go very quiet indeed. Although to Ambrosia the cost would hardly register as a ding to the coinpurse. Pocket change for a royal lady.

[pinkprincesscake]

Oh dear. Ambrosia was so used to the workers at the castle serving only her family that she didn’t consider the time it would take to service her on top of all the people that rightly came before her. The whole point of this was that she needed her clothes fixed before she got home so no one would be the wiser. If she arrived home in only her underclothing, that would look even _worse_.

She perks up when the shopkeeper mentions the option to expedite her service, and it seems like a no-brainer. Her privileged life gives her little real idea of the cost of things, so she thinks his asking price is perfectly fair to allow her to cut in line, so to speak, and it is indeed little but pocket change to her.

She nods. “Very well, I’ll pay the additional coin for the expedition.” Like nothing, she produces the crown and three shilling.

[wench-for-hire]

The moment the coins are in Tiernan's outstretched palm, his entire demeanor shifts. The grin loses crooked edge. He straightens up, voice warm as he pouches the money before taking and clasping Ambrosia's hand ever so gently in his own. "My it is sweltering out here, is it not? Let me see you to to some shade, mlady. A cold drink would not go amiss, either. Shall I fetch you some water?" Even as he starts to guide her toward the cottage he turns sharp and snaps to the other wash women nearby who have ceased their work and are staring. One hurriedly hops to the tub he indicates, which Tier himself abandons now in favor of seeing to Ambrosia's needs. He leads Ambrosia with the utmost courtesy, opening the door for her into the sparsely furnished cottage. Generally speaking one should not go following strange men into strange cottages, of course, but as consolation she is at least not alone in there. In a space of the tiny home sit a few stools by an unlit hearth, and one more proper chair, occupied by an aged woman many years their senior. She looks up from her sewing as they come inside. Other than being a bit thin and sallow of complexion, she offers a surprised but warm smile to the arrivals. Tier picks out a few straw cushions to pad out an un-upholstered bench against the wall. They are fine by no means, but not too scratchy. But he does not allow Ambrosia to sit yet. He hurries past her into the back of the house, steps clipped, returning just moments later with a few simple but clean garments. "Here you are. There's a curtain in the back you can draw to change out of your dress. Hand it to me once you are done changing and I will get started immediately so we can get you out of here just as fast as you please, mlady." He curtsies before turning his back to her. Tier pauses a moment over the other woman present and leans over her to press a hurried kiss to her forehead. Ambrosia gets the sense that he whispers something, because the woman seems to bob her head in a nod before he moves past her to the kitchenette.

[wench-for-hire]

A curious series of events has unfolded over the past tenday.

It all began with the blackberry outbreak. Along the shores of the local hamlet, cautious mothers pepper their sons and daughters with disingenuous warnings to beware of fae mischief before setting them out with wicker baskets to fill with the plump fruit. The tangled brambles, a summer staple, seem mysteriously to have doubled and tripled their efforts to overtake the hedgegrowth lining the winding stream known as Lyewater--the phenomenon made all the more puzzling by their quite ordinary progress along the mainstem normally sporting the bulk of the growth. The berry brambles lay in a thick blanket along the edges of the water, the plumpest fruit seated right along the shallows' edge in easy reach of passers by. It takes not long for the locals to catch on and news to spread. Soon every day the water's edge fills with more and more villagers braving thornsticks to take home the season's bounty by the cartload. The sweet fruits gleam in the sun with a beauty to rival obsidian--the lush thickets seeming never to exhaust of their supply. With every foray into the brush they yield their beneficence to the determined seekers. A toll is exacted. Wither fae retribution for the plundering of their wealth, or commonplace luck, sleeves catch afoul of tangles. Skirt are muddied. Linens snagged and torn. A worthy price to pay for the fruit, most would say as they tote their prize home to become jams, pies and tarts. Yet in the following days still further misfortune befalls those who profit from the brambles' bounty. Dark syrups fall from sumptuously laden, still-steaming pastries to mar the skirts and trousers of the witless. Purple stains find their ways onto the paws of children at play, streaked into smallclothes and soiling linens. Strange as the plague of berries, stranger still how the flyers appear just as their troubles arise. They dot every post and wall up and down the stream. In the square where the bakers and merchants peddle their wares. Easily visible. And never far from the lips of the town crier. Special bargains on small tears and snags. Expert stain removal for everything from linens to silks. Act now, as the deals will only last so long. Fancy a dyeing service to spiffy your wardrobe? There's a limited time deal on purples. Only inquire after Tiernan of Shallowbend, so very nearby. Generational launderer. Professional services at a steal. And if the berries seem to grow thickest just at the path down to the stream where the baskets of laundry wait, colorful garments draped about lines like decorous banners...? Well, perhaps the fae have a sense of humor? Who can guess at their machinations?

[pinkprincesscake]

After returning home from the ball, word quickly reached Princess Ambrosia about the miraculous crop of wild blackberries. Ever a fan of picking berries, she took a secret ride with Sir Graham out to the Lyewater Stream to collect a sweet bounty. Despite all the people already harvesting from these bushes, there were still plenty more for her to put in a basket.

She tried to prepare for the harvest by wearing her simplest clothes, but alas, they couldn't stand up to the grasping brambles or the dark stains of the berries. This wouldn't do. She couldn't return to her castle with such evidence of her irresponsibility. How would she keep this hidden?

Sir Graham was quick to spot the flyers, and then Princess Ambrosia soon heard the words of the town crier and chattering townspeople. From there, they just had to follow the people already on their way to have their garments fixed. She walked into the launderer's shop with a hood over her head and without her knight in the hopes of preventing a hootenanny over the princess's presence. When it was her turn in the line of customers, she spoke with a hushed voice.

"Hello there, good sir. I'm hoping to have my dress cleaned and repaired," she said to the shopkeeper.

[wench-for-hire]

In spite of indeed being a sir, the launderer does not initially look it. Dressed in the same dun skirts and aprons as the other washwomen, a loose chemise is pulled over his top, threadbare to hint at the muscled tone of a working man hidden just beneath. His waist is cinched tighter, perhaps, than Ambrosia's own. Tier regards the lady with a certain shrewdness in his eyes that belies the tired circles rimming them. "Let's see it then," he offers a hand to inspect. A swift, disproving click of the tongue, barely a glance, and Ambrosia has it back. "Been berry picking I see? I'll scrub the thorns out for the standard fee, no extra charge. We've a special on stains right now, so you're in luck. Little fray on the sleeve here, I can do a simple stitch for two penny or darn it for a shilling. That should put it right. If you like, there are also additional services, mlady. Posted on the board just up by my cottage. So what will it be?" He asks, voice honeyed in a customer-service way that matches neither the smirk at his lips nor the calculating gleam in his eyes.

[pinkprincesscake]

Had it not been for the time she had in line to watch him work, Princess Ambrosia might have addressed him like a woman--and, in hindsight, perhaps she should have anyway even after studying his face--but when he makes no objection to the "sir", she doesn't think twice on it for long. She's a touch confused why he's dressed this way, especially with his waist pulled tighter than her own, but she keeps her questions to herself.

When he speaks of additional services, her smile falters a bit. She did catch a glance at the board outside, and it made clear implications. Her eyes jumped between the different maidens working behind him. "No thank you, sir. I'll only be needing my garment fixed up today."

[wench-for-hire]

"'Today' you say?" He whistles softly like she's said something strange. "Why the rush? The drying alone will take a couple of hours, and the sun's not getting any higher in the sky. Normal turnover time for a wash and repair is at least a couple days." Tier chews on a suspicion as he looks her and her dress up and down again. Commonfolk rarely ask a service so fast, and she doesn't look young. Well. That young. Making a snap decision "I can do it, of course. But expediting would cost you a small fee for the priority service. As I would need to delay my current orders. I'm sure you understand." He quotes her a crown and three shilling for the full service. Suddenly the other women working at the water's edge around them go very quiet indeed. Although to Ambrosia the cost would hardly register as a ding to the coinpurse. Pocket change for a royal lady.

[wench-for-hire]

A curious series of events has unfolded over the past tenday.

It all began with the blackberry outbreak. Along the shores of the local hamlet, cautious mothers pepper their sons and daughters with disingenuous warnings to beware of fae mischief before setting them out with wicker baskets to fill with the plump fruit. The tangled brambles, a summer staple, seem mysteriously to have doubled and tripled their efforts to overtake the hedgegrowth lining the winding stream known as Lyewater--the phenomenon made all the more puzzling by their quite ordinary progress along the mainstem normally sporting the bulk of the growth. The berry brambles lay in a thick blanket along the edges of the water, the plumpest fruit seated right along the shallows' edge in easy reach of passers by. It takes not long for the locals to catch on and news to spread. Soon every day the water's edge fills with more and more villagers braving thornsticks to take home the season's bounty by the cartload. The sweet fruits gleam in the sun with a beauty to rival obsidian--the lush thickets seeming never to exhaust of their supply. With every foray into the brush they yield their beneficence to the determined seekers. A toll is exacted. Wither fae retribution for the plundering of their wealth, or commonplace luck, sleeves catch afoul of tangles. Skirt are muddied. Linens snagged and torn. A worthy price to pay for the fruit, most would say as they tote their prize home to become jams, pies and tarts. Yet in the following days still further misfortune befalls those who profit from the brambles' bounty. Dark syrups fall from sumptuously laden, still-steaming pastries to mar the skirts and trousers of the witless. Purple stains find their ways onto the paws of children at play, streaked into smallclothes and soiling linens. Strange as the plague of berries, stranger still how the flyers appear just as their troubles arise. They dot every post and wall up and down the stream. In the square where the bakers and merchants peddle their wares. Easily visible. And never far from the lips of the town crier. Special bargains on small tears and snags. Expert stain removal for everything from linens to silks. Act now, as the deals will only last so long. Fancy a dyeing service to spiffy your wardrobe? There's a limited time deal on purples. Only inquire after Tiernan of Shallowbend, so very nearby. Generational launderer. Professional services at a steal. And if the berries seem to grow thickest just at the path down to the stream where the baskets of laundry wait, colorful garments draped about lines like decorous banners...? Well, perhaps the fae have a sense of humor? Who can guess at their machinations?

[pinkprincesscake]

After returning home from the ball, word quickly reached Princess Ambrosia about the miraculous crop of wild blackberries. Ever a fan of picking berries, she took a secret ride with Sir Graham out to the Lyewater Stream to collect a sweet bounty. Despite all the people already harvesting from these bushes, there were still plenty more for her to put in a basket.

She tried to prepare for the harvest by wearing her simplest clothes, but alas, they couldn't stand up to the grasping brambles or the dark stains of the berries. This wouldn't do. She couldn't return to her castle with such evidence of her irresponsibility. How would she keep this hidden?

Sir Graham was quick to spot the flyers, and then Princess Ambrosia soon heard the words of the town crier and chattering townspeople. From there, they just had to follow the people already on their way to have their garments fixed. She walked into the launderer's shop with a hood over her head and without her knight in the hopes of preventing a hootenanny over the princess's presence. When it was her turn in the line of customers, she spoke with a hushed voice.

"Hello there, good sir. I'm hoping to have my dress cleaned and repaired," she said to the shopkeeper.

[wench-for-hire]

In spite of indeed being a sir, the launderer does not initially look it. Dressed in the same dun skirts and aprons as the other washwomen, a loose chemise is pulled over his top, threadbare to hint at the muscled tone of a working man hidden just beneath. His waist is cinched tighter, perhaps, than Ambrosia's own. Tier regards the lady with a certain shrewdness in his eyes that belies the tired circles rimming them. "Let's see it then," he offers a hand to inspect. A swift, disproving click of the tongue, barely a glance, and Ambrosia has it back. "Been berry picking I see? I'll scrub the thorns out for the standard fee, no extra charge. We've a special on stains right now, so you're in luck. Little fray on the sleeve here, I can do a simple stitch for two penny or darn it for a shilling. That should put it right. If you like, there are also additional services, mlady. Posted on the board just up by my cottage. So what will it be?" He asks, voice honeyed in a customer-service way that matches neither the smirk at his lips nor the calculating gleam in his eyes.

[wench-for-hire]

A curious series of events has unfolded over the past tenday.

It all began with the blackberry outbreak. Along the shores of the local hamlet, cautious mothers pepper their sons and daughters with disingenuous warnings to beware of fae mischief before setting them out with wicker baskets to fill with the plump fruit. The tangled brambles, a summer staple, seem mysteriously to have doubled and tripled their efforts to overtake the hedgegrowth lining the winding stream known as Lyewater--the phenomenon made all the more puzzling by their quite ordinary progress along the mainstem normally sporting the bulk of the growth. The berry brambles lay in a thick blanket along the edges of the water, the plumpest fruit seated right along the shallows' edge in easy reach of passers by. It takes not long for the locals to catch on and news to spread. Soon every day the water's edge fills with more and more villagers braving thornsticks to take home the season's bounty by the cartload. The sweet fruits gleam in the sun with a beauty to rival obsidian--the lush thickets seeming never to exhaust of their supply. With every foray into the brush they yield their beneficence to the determined seekers. A toll is exacted. Wither fae retribution for the plundering of their wealth, or commonplace luck, sleeves catch afoul of tangles. Skirt are muddied. Linens snagged and torn. A worthy price to pay for the fruit, most would say as they tote their prize home to become jams, pies and tarts. Yet in the following days still further misfortune befalls those who profit from the brambles' bounty. Dark syrups fall from sumptuously laden, still-steaming pastries to mar the skirts and trousers of the witless. Purple stains find their ways onto the paws of children at play, streaked into smallclothes and soiling linens. Strange as the plague of berries, stranger still how the flyers appear just as their troubles arise. They dot every post and wall up and down the stream. In the square where the bakers and merchants peddle their wares. Easily visible. And never far from the lips of the town crier. Special bargains on small tears and snags. Expert stain removal for everything from linens to silks. Act now, as the deals will only last so long. Fancy a dyeing service to spiffy your wardrobe? There's a limited time deal on purples. Only inquire after Tiernan of Shallowbend, so very nearby. Generational launderer. Professional services at a steal. And if the berries seem to grow thickest just at the path down to the stream where the baskets of laundry wait, colorful garments draped about lines like decorous banners...? Well, perhaps the fae have a sense of humor? Who can guess at their machinations?

[beauty-funny-trippy]

[wench-for-hire]