She'd always enjoyed the Meeting Place, both for the opportunity and the peace it offered. It was as easy to sell her wares as it was to find an audience for her stories as it was to just sit and watch and wait for something to happen. It was the latter that Ifithn'ka was indulging in today; she'd had precious little time to just laze about as of late. Popping another fresh strawberry into her mouth, Ifithn'ka leaned back on her elbows and kicked one leg up over the other, letting her head thunk against the edge of the bench behind her.
The people were the most fascinating part of the Meeting Place. She'd seen folk of all shape, size, color, and intent today, and should she bother to keep looking, she knew she'd see more. Leather armor frayed at the edges, a skulking skitter with twitchy fingers – thief, she noted lazily as the miscreant oozed by her peripheral vision. She wasn't particularly worried. Her wagon might not have been within reach, but Asba was a better guard horse than he appeared.
"Owe him apples," the shaman muttered, and twisted to get another berry. "Brat. Betting me like that."
Three strawberries snagged between her fingers, Ifithn'ka pulled herself upright again and propped her chin on her hand as she chewed. Lazing might be what she was indulging in, but waiting was the real reason she was here, and she'd be damned is she was particularly happy about it. "Sar'ith'na oracles," she muttered, twisting the crown from a strawberry neatly and depositing it in the steadily growing pile next to her thigh. "Putting their nose in everyone's business, convinced they know what's best, arash ye sa'maki ka'veth..."
At least this one had sent her to a pleasant place, even if it was far too close to a cow-seller for her comfort. The aroma of cow manure was hardly pleasant, even if it the nose did deaden the scent in time. It didn't matter. She'd still stink for hours, unless she could find a decent bath.
Ifithn'ka's grumbles trailed off as she resumed people-watching. A bard here, a merchant there. A group of little ones running about in an intense game of tag. A fine pair of desert horses and their turbaned owner. Dark, smoky eyes in a painted face. Velvet black skin dressed in earth, short of stature.
This last halted at her bench and eased himself next to the halved strawberry she'd left behind her head, giving it a respectable amount of space. Ifithn'ka chuckled and leaned back against the bench. "Sal'mash yevinth," she said. Well met, stranger. "Want to go talk somewhere else? You'll stink for hours elsewise."
She wrinkled her nose pointedly.