PFM Extra: Elazar, first arrival 2/2 Jewel - First Meeting

The interior of the tiny shop is stuffed with the strong blend of freshly cut flowers and incense. You can almost see the fumes clinging to your skin, slithering between the fibers of your drenched from the downpour clothes.

Behind the glass counter filled to the brim with various bottles of perfume, there’s a black door left ajar, a stark contrast against the pale floral tapestry.

There’s just enough space between the wall and the door frame for you to notice a movement inside - a flash of red that only after a moment of continuous observation can be distinguished as hair.

It seems that your entrance wasn’t registered by the receptionist, still bustling around. The sound of the bell must have been lost under the roar of the storm raging outside.

You open your lips to alert the clerk, and the heavy fragrance rams itself into your mouth, choking you with its intensity. You have no other choice than to clear your throat a couple of times to get rid of the persistent chemical taste.

You’re aware that your coughing fit might sound like a rather rude call for attention, and yet before you can do anything about it you hear a soft click, then a muffled thud and a greeting coming from what appears to be a staff room.

“Hello! How may I- Oh.”

It’s hard to say who is more surprised by the other’s state of disarray. Though the attendant’s attire, unlike yours, is mostly dry, her hair is just as wet, plastered to her forehead and cheeks, framing the smudged kohl around her eyes and damping the collar of her shirt, right above the name tag with a handwritten ‘Jewel’ on it.

“I’m sorry, we’re not open yet. But if you want to browse-“

“I’m here about the advertisement, actually?” You interrupt before she can throw you out, pointing your chin at the front window, or more precisely at the sheet of paper stuck to its surface.

The attendant - Jewel -  follows your gaze and a look of understanding crosses her face. “Right,” she says as she beckons you closer, offering you a roll of paper she was already holding in her hand when she emerged from the other room. “My employer just left. You probably saw her on your way here.”

Great. It seems like you had just missed your chance. “I see.” With your arm lifting a piece of the paper towel to wipe your face, the anxious spasm of your fingers is clearly noticeable.

Jewel’s expression softens. “She should be back in a quarter of an hour, though.” There’s a pause, just in time for a flash of lightning to cut through the sky, followed closely by a bolt of thunder. “You might want to wait for her here,” the attendant continues, pointing at a step chair unfolded by the display case.

“Ah, yes, I think I will. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Though Jewel’s tone is polite to a fault, her countenance gives little away. With her scent obscured by the layers upon layers of artificial fragrances, you are as unsure of her intentions as she is of yours.

It’s strange, having to rely only on the sense of sight to judge a person when before all that was needed to uncover their feelings was a cautionary sniff.

‘Is that how giftless people feel?’ You wonder, absentmindedly drying yourself as much as you can, dabbing at your numb face with frozen fingertips. The temperature inside the shop is pleasantly warm, but the dampness of your clothes chills your skin, making you shiver.

You must look truly pitiful because Jewel sighs, “Would you like some tea? We’re out of coffee.”

“Yes, please.” You can’t agree fast enough. At this moment you would have accepted a cup of tap water as long as it was hot.

Jewel leaves you with a backward glance, most likely to make sure you’re not going to snatch the goods and run. Which, if you’re being brutally honest, is a fair enough assumption based on your current bedraggled appearance. Half of the assortment is worth more money than you’ve ever had on your person; some of the bottles are glazed with gold. Real gold. Fancy that.

With your muddied shoes and clothes dripping down on the shiny, waxed floor, you’ve never felt more out of place than you do right now. ‘What am I doing?’ You think to yourself, balling the used up paper towel and pushing it inside your pocket to throw away later. ‘What the hell am I doing.’

You don’t have an answer, nor a plan. And so, tired of hovering awkwardly, you sit on the step chair, only now noticing the trail of dirt and rainwater you left in your wake.

“Sorry about the mess,” you can’t help but mutter when Jewel reappears a couple of minutes later, hair now more or less dried.

“Don’t worry about it,” she replies gently as she passes you a steaming cup of fragrant tea and a packet of sugar to use at your leisure.  “Half of it is mine.”

The beverage is scalding hot against your palms, but you hold on tightly, seeping its warmth. Your shoulders start to relax, only to contort again when the attendant speaks.

“Are you afflicted?”

The question takes you off guard, and you react too slowly to conceal your surprise. Your eyes widen, your heart drums and you repeat to yourself, ‘it’s impossible. She can’t know, she-’

“It’s fine if you’re not, it’s just that there’s more chance of you getting the position if you are.”

“Oh.” Paranoid, Alcide called you before. Though you always preferred the term ‘cautious,’ he might have been onto something. “I am,” you force yourself to loosen up your curled around the cup fingers before revealing, “I’m an Allurer.”

Jewel’s slight, courteous smile freezes. It’s still one of the nicest reactions you received after the divulge of your afflictions. You can hardly blame people for being cautious; not that it doesn’t sting.

“An Allurer,” Jewel echoes, staring at you with her lips quickly thinning in a barely concealed scowl. “Then I can tell you now,” she squints, then briskly turns away, but not before you catch the rigidness of her posture, the hint of something in her eyes. Contempt? Mistrust? “Congratulations, you’ll get the job.”

Your cheeks heat up; half out of embarrassment, half out of shame. “I’m not going to use my gift to-”

“I didn’t mean it like that. Allurers are rare here, those willing to work in a small shop like ours are rarer still.”

You can’t detect her emotions; when you breathe in, there’s only the perfume, thick and overwhelming. You can count on the fingers of one hand the times your affliction was suppressed like that, rendering your abilities completely worthless. “Why do you-”

With a chime of the bell the door opens, and with it the rest of your words die on the tip of your tongue.

A tall woman enters the shop like one would their own home, with her head held high, brushing an invisible lint off her fancy jacket. With a light hand, she throws her poppy red umbrella on the counter, sweeping her eyes over the room, sparing you only the briefest of glances before quirking a brow at the redhead behind the counter.

“Jewel?”

“A new employee,” Jewel shrugs, nodding at you.

The woman blinks, dumbfounded. “Ah?”

“An Allurer.”

“Ah!” At that, her grin turns wide and contagious. Jewel’s expression on the other hand spells, ‘I told you so.’ “Lucky us! When can you start?”

“I- Now?”

“Excellent!”

The woman moves, or dare you say, leaps to you, uncaring of the mud stains on the floor, giving you scant time to shift the cup before gripping your free hand in a tight - much too tight - handshake.

“Well, honey,” she murmurs, and her eyes gleam. “Welcome to the team. You can call me Dia.”