Apothecary and Midwifery Shop

Osma had a vision for the place, but she needed help to get it there. That's what Asthor was for, who was now riding BEHIND her and had been once they got into the marketplace. She pulled her horse up outside a stone shop, married on both sides by other shops with new owners likewise trying to rebuild and settle in.

There was busted wooden balcony from the squatty second floor window/door. The front door it self needed replacement. Inside, the floor to the second floor had fallen in the middle and was not littered about the first floor. No cabinets or counters or shelves or drawers or center island was to be seen.

Sunlight was let in from a hole in the second story roof. The rain had also been let in and the smell of rot was strong. "Here it is." She stated as they walked inside.

She supposed that he could know her name. She would have to tell a lot of people her name, new realm and all. Not like back at home where EVERYONE who was ANYONE knew it. Even some noones knew it. "Osma Gaiman. You may call me Midwife Gaiman." It was her official title and one she was proud of. Of all the doctors in the matriarchal society of Gaiman, midwives were seen as the most valued.

She moved her sleeve over her nose and remained near the doorway. She wanted to be able to bail out should the roof start to fall farther in. " Did you? What kind of shop is it?" It might be good to know her neighbors. Wouldn't want the complaints of people screaming in pain when they were brought into the back to get her a citation.

"Well, I want the roof and ceiling repaired. That's a given. I would like for it to be pretty. Naturally. Replace the windows. I need drawers and shelves and something there, in the middle. A place to weight and mix. Racks from drying herbs. A wall, back there with a proper door. Beyond that shall be a small hosptail, though I will mostly do house calls. This part is for me to work and people to by their own medicines. Oh and I must have..."

For twenty minutes she talked about what she needed to have and what there must be. "Oh, huh, don't you need to write this down?"

He said he could remember it all. Osma's eyebrow, perched nearly to her hairline, suggested her disbelief. It suddenly fell when she realized that perhaps the man did not know how to write. The poor must have powerful memories to get by without the written word. "Very well".

Did she want to talk about the business of his horse? She turned her body to look out the door at the beautiful creature. Did she have enough money for it. Most likely not. It was really a bad idea to try for something she really didn't need, but Osma saw want as the same as need. Rarely had she ever been denied a whim.

"Yes. My horse and...." what amount to give in exchange? She knew that her horse was not as pretty has his and therefore, not has valuable. She did not know the actually value of anything. With a shrug she spouted off, "$$$" amount.