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Vasiliy is by me!
She was pretty, and the most striking feature, the one to draw Vasi's own gaze, were her eyes. The granite-furred man found he could not meet these eyes for very long, however; abashedly, the Commesso's muzzle dipped, and he grinned a little more broadly. He saw the show for what it was, however thick-headed he was, but he did not mind it in the least. It was, to Vasiliy, worthwhile to trade cheaply with a pretty girl. Fortunately, the dark-furred Russian did have at least the experience with Runa to teach him a little temperance: he did not mistake the woman's jut of hip and curvature for anything more than a show. A younger version of Vasiliy might have taken that small bit as an advance and certain knowledge he was well-liked.
The dark man nodded and smiled happily at the laden horse; he could smell something sweet wafting from the animal, enough to overpower the earthy scent of equine. Her voice, too, was tinged with something sweet the man could not place. Oh, aye, he said, nodding toward the camp. Livestocks, livestock animal things, plant things, pretty things, the man said, rattling off a list. Let me show you, he said, waving a hand toward the camp. He stepped closer to her, within the range of her personal space, and offered his arm with a more gentlemanly smile.
Most of their goods had been offloaded and spread out in various ways. He indicated the closest, a ratty blanket spread with an assortment of jewelry, and stopped suddenly, frowning down at the small figure huddled amongst the jewelry. That does not go here, he said, reaching down to pluck the kitten from amongst the metal. Little one, he chided, tucking the little cat against his chest. You go with sisters and brothers, not here.
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