@avvarborn.
The textures are rich in variety: course, soft, bumpy, smooth... Melisende runs her hand over the materials. Her other hand rests close to her wallet, as has become her habit after being pick-pocketed twice before. Everyone were quick to tell her how she should have adopted that habit in the first place, out of instinct, but Melisende never considered it. She was always too occupied with the sight of something new and luxurious.
Her facial expression, of course, is covered by the mask, which bears her family’s sigil. Only her brown eyes, dark like the caves she imagines these people have slept in, are available for judgment of her mood. She cranes back her neck to look up at the Avvar closest by. The unnamed woman is more than a foot taller than Melisende and looks about as threatening as Melisende wishes she did. There is a certain beauty in the roughness of her muscles and the serious look on her face. “Hello.” Her tone more than makes up for the lack of a visible smile; it’s warm like the sunrise after a frosty night. “You make excellent furs.”
