2025.03.27 Echo and Rayya, Echo Gets A Job

Shortly after sunset, March 27th, 2025.

The door to the teahouse opens, and for the second time in a week, in steps the short Roma boy with the riot of curls. In a desire to impress, he's wearing the bohemian garb Liya bought for him, since it suits him, and is honestly the most expensive thing he owns without having boosted it. His make up is on point, with perfect, subtle eyeliner, and just a touch of gloss, most of the swelling and bruising faded enough at this point that he doesn't need much color correction. Shoulders back, head high, he's doing his best to project confidence, but inside he's trying not to freak out.

A lot is resting on how this goes, after all, and it's not like Echo's ever held down a job with a boss before. But Soren mentioned that his friend had been pulling strings, so... time to see if the shop owner is willing to dance, or if he's cut his strings like one of those creepy puppets in that late night movie he watched before bed.

"No wonder I had weird dreams." he murmurs.

Aerryn is nowhere to be found. Rayya, however, in her normal colorful hijab, is bussing tables. She turns and looks up, slowly, as if the door opening is an incredible inconvenience, regardless of who walks through it.

"Oh," she says. "Welcome back." For all that she sounds welcoming.

Right. People. Echo's good with people. Echo's good at manipulating people. In fact, there's nothing Echo does better, which makes him grimace a little internally, but outside, he smiles as warmly as he can.

"Hi, thanks. So... a friend of mine mentioned that the shop's owner might be hiring, maybe?" He tilts his head, doing his best to look small, non-threatening and slightly vulnerable without looking like he's trying to be vulnerable. The first two are easy, since he's all of 5'5.

Rayya returns to her bussing, placing cups and saucers gently into a buss-tub. "Yeah?" she says. "And what are your qualifications? Can you recommend literature?" She points towards the bookshelves in the other room. "Can you recommend tea?" She points towards the tea wall. "Can you recommend occult baubles, crystal magic, tarot decks?" Point. Point. Point.

Tough audience.

"I've got a little over two years experience in a prior... customer service position, and while I can't recommend literature or the tea, yet, I'm intelligent, a fast learner and most importantly, I'm great with people." Echo shifts his hips slightly, tilting his head the other way.

"As for the baubles, crystals and tarot? I'd recommend the Rider deck if it's your first, it's the kindest to new users, and the instruction booklet is in like three languages, but more experienced readers should go with whatever deck calls to them strongest. My grandmother was drabarni, used to make her living helping folks with whatever they needed. Removing curses, fortune telling, offering sage wisdom. Dad thought she was nuts."

He moves toward the baubles, curiosity overtaking him, before he looks back, "I suppose it depends what you're trying to do and actually believe. You want me to scam the gazhikanes, I'm not above it. I can upsell better than a used car salesman. You actually believe these things help people, I'll do my best to learn and help them the right way."

Rayya pauses in her attendance of the dirty dishware, looks distinctly displeased at Echo's answer, and then dries her hands with sharp, forced movements.

"Finish bussing this table," she says, "Then do the rest of them. The dishwasher is in the kitchen behind the staff door." She points to the "Employees Only." sign and adjacent door.

For a second, there's a hint of uncertainty in Echo's expression, but then he nods and moves to take over bussing the table.

The scarf comes down from around his hair, and is tied to protect his new pants from potential damage, since the scarf cleans a bit easier.

He's a little awkward, but it's not much worse than pitching in after hours at the bar, or stacking things so the waitress has an easier time of it after a huge meal dining out.

Within a few moments, he's smiling to himself, an expression some might think of as self satisfied, but for Echo, merely pleased. If he's actually got the job and isn't just finishing up while she goes for a break randomly, it means a new chance at life... and that he can accept Soren's offer of an apartment, maybe.

Rayya emphatically does not break. She watches over Echo like a vulture circles a cadaver, circling around him in what seems like an entirely unnecessary display of judgment, ready to pick clean his very bones.

The dish is all china, as is often the case as fine tea houses, so the stacking of dirty dishes must have a method lest said dishes get scratched. The slavedriver seems to be keeping an eye on the fact, among other things.

There are no words of encouragement here.

One thing Echo knows, even if it's usually outside his price range, is luxury. He's had enough clients that have been well off to know not to just casually chuck them into the bin, though he's also not treating things like they'll break if he breathes wrong.

Noticing he's being watched, Echo tilts his head and raises an eyebrow, smile only widening. "You're not the first audience I've had while I work, you know. I don't rattle that easily, even if you're at least as terrifying as my Bibi Màra."

Once the tub is as full as Echo dares manage carefully, or the tables are clean whichever first occurs, Echo moves to go load the dishwasher. There will be no comments of 'this Gucci' from him, not while he's trying to land a job.

"I am terrible for none of the reasons you'd expect," Rayya says, darkly and ominously, folding her arms against her chest. There are no customers present, so she's free to be as much a Looming Shade of Despair as she likes. Like a machine gun as they walk into the kitchen, "There's the detergent. There's the quick drying agent. There are the hand towels. There's the china cabinet. There's the silver cabinet." And so on. "Get all of that? Great. There's clean dishes ready to be put away. Go on."

"Didn't say terrible, said terrifying. Important distinction. Example: I know at least one person who's terrified of hot girls and admitting their feelings for them. Does that mean said hot girl is terrible? Probably. But not for that reason." Echo moves to wash his hands.

"These are dishwasher safe, or is the pattern going to chip if I look at them funny?" Echo asks, using the opportunity to begin putting the clean dishes away first, since it just makes more sense to him to get the clean stuff out of the way before possibly mingling in dirty.

"I'm Echo, by the way."

Rayya looms over the smaller Echo as she leans against the counter, her voice steady and uncompromising. "I've been known to wither the souls of lesser men," she says. "There are artifacts here that could snuff out the life in your eyes like fingers on a wick, and then pluck those same eyes from your skull and prepare them to be worn like gems on a necklace." Then, not skipping a beat, "The china is safe, the silver is not. Use the treated dishsoap so they don't tarnish."

And then in response to Echo's name. "I am your judge or executioner, I've yet to decide."

"I could tell that about you." Echo responds, finishing the clean dishes and moving to the silverware, casually inspecting each piece before putting it in its proper home.

"At least that necklace would sparkle. Unless my life is what gives my eyes their luster, in which case, I suppose it would depend on the artifact's flavor." Either he doesn't take her seriously, or he's just very irreverent and copes with humor. Maybe both.

The silver put away, Echo begins making short work of the dirty dishes, making sure any large bits of stuck on things are removed before stacking the dishes neatly, getting things properly set up in the dishwasher before moving on to washing the silverware by hand, with the indicated dish soap. Nimble fingers move deftly, and he looks positively pleased to be making himself useful in a new way.

"If you're going to be my executioner, that'll cost extra."

"This isn't that kind of a store," Rayya shoots back.

It does seem that the better Echo does, the less pleased the woman happens to be. So after the dishes are done, she pulls Echo into the kitchen, where scones are completed in a number of different stages. "I want you to take those scones out of the oven, put those in the oven, put those on the serving tray, mix that bowl, start up the next batch following that recipe..." Point, point, point. Also, there's an ipad with words, presumably the recipe.

And then while Echo is processing all of that, Rayya hands him an apron and a net for his hair without any further words are prompting.

She folds her arms again. "Stressed?"

"I wouldn't expect you to be in that sort of store. You'd be wasted on it." Echo flashes her another smile as he finishes up the dishes, drying his hands on a dish towel. There's a glance at his nails, then a shrug. Not like he had a manicure to protect at the moment anyway.

As Echo's lead into the kitchen, his brows go up just a touch.

He'd honestly assumed they bought the goodies, from some bakery, not made them, themselves. Hands are washed again, and out the scones come, using oven mitt or dishtowel as offered. The hairnet gets a look of only mild irritation, as if he's expecting it not to manage... all that hair, and then it's on and the apron is next, and ands are washed again. He touched his hair, after all, and while it's clean, that's not food safe. He follows her directions, keeping light on his feet.

"It's nothing I can't handle, so far." The recipe is looked over, twice, before Echo starts in on the scones, gathering needed ingredients. He doesn't look familiar with this particular process, but he's definitely baked goodies before. "Mama was very insistent that all the little ones learn to help. I mean, we had nine mouths to feed, someone had to help cook and it's not like Dad ever stepped into the kitchen. That was woman's work." He rolls his eyes as he begins to mix the ingredients as the recipe states.

"For being a useless vagabond with no resume, you are not entirely useless," Rayya admits, her look still one of inconvenienced disdain. "It's almost as if you think rather poorly of yourself, beneath all of the sass." She walks away for a moment, checking the finished scones with a toothpick. "Or no one has ever given you the opportunity to prove otherwise."

"If I were to give you this oppotunity," and she holds up a finger. "If not when, how would I know I'd be able to depend on you to make your shifts? Stay late? Not mishandle the artifacts? Treat the customers well? How do I know I can trust you?"

There's an instant of raw pain that's quickly hidden behind a ducked head, and then the smile is back, though it's strained now. He doesn't try to disguise that she's hit somewhere near the mark.

"I've already admitted I'm good at conning people, and we both know how I made my living until a few weeks ago." he dries his hands, looking up at Rayya. The artfully constructed bon vivant has slipped away, and now it's the damaged soul that hides behind that.

"According to my people, my word doesn't mean a thing, because I'm marime. Unclean. Because of what I am, and what I've had to do to stay alive. But you have my word, for whatever it's worth, that if you put your faith in me, I will never intentionally betray it, and I'll always do my best. Bari Devlaika, on the Earth Mother. "

He meets her gaze, expression somber, his large dark eyes almost mirror bright with tears he's actively fighting to hold back. "I just need to prove I can be more than marime, even if it's just for a little while. So if I'm not good enough for you, I get it. No hard feelings. I'll try somewhere else."

Rayya's mouth twitches, and she reaches up to touch her own forehead, gently.

"I have some understanding of what that's like," she says, without going into any further detail. "Aerryn doesn't have me up front because he thinks I'm a particularly good saleswoman. He knows I have a skill for seeing into the truth of people." She tosses the toothpick she'd been using, and then delicately places one of the scones on a plate, and then hands the plate over to Echo. "If you're going to work here, you're going to need to try every flavor of scone and tea that we have until you can tell the difference between all of them and you're comfortable making recommendations."

She folds her arms again. "Start now."

As quickly as the mask slipped, it's back up. Echo blinks once, twice, casually wipes a finger precisely along the edges of his liner.

"I'm going to have to run a few extra miles every day just to work here, I can tell." He accepts the plate with a smile, stepping a bit away from the food prep area so that any crumbs won't contaminate it, before raising the scone in a little salute.

There is a noise of pleasure that is not feigned and possibly not appropriate.

The second scone is already being prepped for Echo to try, along with some well-paired tea Rayya is preparing while setting a kettle on the stove. She casually ignores the noises.

"There are a few ground rules," she says.

"Don't play with the artifacts." Her hands move between tea tins like she's playing an instrument, sifting the leaves into a teapot.

"If you want something, ask. Stealing may result in loss of fingers." The tea leaves are gently bruised with a muddler.

"Sass Aerryn as much as possible until his face goes all serious. You'll know it." She begins to pour hot water into the pot. "Leave him alone after that."

"Do not sass me." She eyes Echo seriously.

"The back room at the end of the hallway is off-limits." She replaces the kettle on the stove and gently plucks the pot's lid from the counter. "Repeat that back to me."

"Most important one first: no stealing because I like my fingers. Don't sass you. Don't play with the artifacts. Sass Aerryn until he goes all serious, and the back room isn't for my eyes no matter how curious I get, and I'm sure I will get quite curious, but I shall avert mine eyes, lest they be plucked out."

Echo is actually pretty certain Rayya would legit chop off fingers if he stole something, at the moment.

"Now. When you say to sass him, does that mean just general brattiness, or do I get to flirt, too? Because if you really want me to make him squirm..." Echo's grinning, now, a cheshire cat's smile. But he's also watching what Rayya is doing, for his own future preparation of such things.

"No matter how curious." Rayya reiterates, leaning in a little, her expression unreadable. Without looking away, she places on the lid on the pot.

Yup, she probably has a special finger-cutting knife.

"Aerryn works best when kept on his toes. Brattiness, flirting, and general mischief. Just don't let it turn off the customers or otherwise interfere with sales or he'll get genuinely irritated." Apparently, there's a whole game and set of rules to this.

"Sales are, after all, one of the main reasons one runs a shop. Financial stability isn't something to be scoffed at, and one wouldn't want the reputation of being the shop where the new boy is too brazen." Echo quirks an eyebrow. She definitely has a special finger-cutting knife. And probably a special melon baller.

"Light and playful, rather than heavy handed and actively trying to get into his pants, of course. That beard, though..." Echo makes a contented little noise in the back of his throat, then goes back to nibbling on his scone, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Rayya is his daughter.

"I'm glad we understand each other," Rayya says, checking the stove timer, and then letting the pot sit for a little longer. "You'll need to learn proper brew technique as well." That's mostly to herself, as she's making a List of things for Echo's education.

"He is very proud of that beard. Don't compliment it too much or you'll give him a big head." Another minute, and she then pours a cup of said tea, setting said cup on a saucer and handing both it and the previously-prepared scone to Echo for course two.

"Any other questions?"

There's a joke there. There's obviously a joke there. Echo wants to make it. But he just accepts the tea and the scone, taking a second to observe each, take in the scents, and the aesthetic of the presentation.

"Is there a particular dress code? I'm pretty sure my... previous work uniforms... won't work for this environment, for example. Also I guess we should discuss salary at some point." He inhales the scent of the tea deeply, as if committing it to memory.

"If you need work-appropriate clothes, I'll provide you some," Rayya says, squinting her eyes as if she can read Echo's mind. "Your compensation will be fair and is not up for discussion," she adds, turning back to the kettle and turning off the burner. "You can begin tomorrow."

Echo blushes at the look Rayya gives him. "I have few things that should work, but if you've got suggestions..."

"Thank you. Really. What time should I be here?"

"We open at nine," Rayya says. "Though we're technically open twenty-four hours for select clientele. But you needn't worry about that for now." She turns to give Echo an up-and-down. "Perhaps you can ask whoever gave you that outfit."

"That obvious?" he asks, quirking his brows up in amusement. It's definitely suits him, but way beyond his usual price range, and he still seems a little insecure about wearing it. "She's quite the striking figure. So tall." He shrugs. "I can't ask her for fashion advice, though, or she'll drag me out to a boutique at two AM and force me to try on a dozen outfits when I should be sleeping before work."

"Only because I saw you before," Rayya says, it's perhaps being the nicest thing she's said all evening. "If not your friend, then, I have extra clothes here. But you're looking for something that suggests 'comfortable and unthreatening, eclectic, but enough hint of luxury to suggest wares worth buying.'"

A hand goes to Echo's heart, and his mouth hangs open for just a second, "Ouch, the library is open." He tilts his head, looking thoughtful. "I wouldn't mind borrowing something, in that case. Because if Liya sees those shorts again, she's going to burn them, and me in them. And with all this hair, I am highly flammable."

Rayya points to the storage room, which also has a few cabinets, likely where the extra clothes are kept. "Do endeavor to not get set on fire. I'm going to be irritated if you die immediately after I process your paperwork."

"Aww, I knew you cared." Echo's voice is almost a purr, now. "Also, I'm going to need the names of these, if I'm going to recommend them... which I'm definitely going to do." He gestures to the scones and the tea, grinning. "Delicious." And then he's wandering toward the storage room, clearly curious.