12th of Ashan, 717
Ismene stood in front of the stonewalled shop, looking in disgust at the bright pink and gold paint that covered the door and windowsills and the pink and gold scalloped banner fluttering in the breeze along the roof line. From the little she was able to glimpse beyond the pyramids of cakes piled high in the windows, the interior was gold as well, although thankfully they seemed to have used up all their pink paint on the outside. There were people streaming in and out of the door, those going in with eyes like pies, those coming out already burying eager teeth into steaming buns, or proudly swinging little muslin bags neatly tied with yet more gold ribbon.
Pushing through the colourful door, Ismene entered the bakery. Before she had even taken her first step she was surrounded by familiar and unfamiliar smells. She recognised the base notes - the warm maltiness of freshly baked bread, the smooth butteriness of flaking pastry, the strong, clean scent of flour - but she was not used to the overwhelming assault of floral sweetness. The village bakery where she had worked at home had tended to stick to good, solid farmhouse fare: crusty loaves, hearty pies, wedges of seed-studded brown bread. The fanciest they ever got was a roll worked into the shape of an ear of corn for a harvest festival. This was a different world. There were delicate mouthfuls of coloured sugar wound into intricate patterns, and little mounds of icing coiled neatly on tiny cupcakes dusted with grated nut; there were light and fluffy pastries oozing with cream, and fresh strawberries balanced precariously on dark, moist cakes. The air was so sweet it felt almost sticky.
After staring for a few bits, Ismene pulled herself together. It wasn't what she was expecting, but she was a baker in need of a job, and this was a bakery, so it would have to do. She approached an innocent-looking woman with wavy blonde hair who was standing behind the counter. 'What can I do for you today, sweetheart?' the woman said. 'An iced bun, perhaps? No, that's not right for you. Something more delicate, I think. Can I tempt you with one of these? A new recipe, this is our first batch. Try one!' She held out a tray of little biscuits of the palest purple, each topped with a juicy slice of strawberry. Ismene popped one into her mouth. The biscuit was light and buttery, crumbling deliciously in her mouth. The taste was floral, but also somehow bitter, and the tang of strawberry juice added freshness. 'It's delicious,' Ismene mumbled through her mouthful. 'Shall I make you a bag?' the woman asked.
'Actually,' Ismene cut in, 'I'm not here to buy anything. I was wondering if you needed an apprentice, or just a helper. I worked in the village bakery in Treth for a few years, and I'm a quick learner.' The woman put the tray down, and considered Ismene more carefully. 'A baker, huh?' she said. 'You don't look like one, if you don't mind me saying.' Ismene smiled her sweetest smile. She herself was well aware that she did not fit the typical image of a jolly, round-cheeked, flour-dusted baker. 'Maybe not, but I promise I can bake,' she said.
The woman hesitated for a second before sighing. 'You're in luck. Eryn - my apprentice - is... out of sorts at the moment. You can fill in for him for a while, and if I like your work there might be a permanent position at the end of it.' Ismene smiled again. 'Great. When do I start?'
'Right now, if you want. As you can see, we've got more customers than we know what to do with today. I assume you know how to make a bread roll?' 'Of course,' Ismene replied. 'Excellent. Head through to the back and grab an apron. Tell Dalis I've found her a helper. Oh, I'm Isabelle, by the way,' the blonde woman added. 'Thank you. And I'm Ismene.'
Ismene did as the woman had told her, and found a beaming Sev'ryn woman bustling about in the kitchen at the back of the shop. 'Are you Dalis?' she asked. The woman nodded, not stopping what she was doing. 'Isabelle sent me. I'm filling in for Eryn. She said you could use some help?' Dalis did stop then, for just long enough to look Ismene up and down before shrugging and gesturing to an apron hanging on a hook in the corner. Ismene guessed she had been thinking the same as Isabelle. Tying the apron round her waist, she walked over to the counter where Dalis was working, and waited for instructions.
Word count: 786
Ismene stood in front of the stonewalled shop, looking in disgust at the bright pink and gold paint that covered the door and windowsills and the pink and gold scalloped banner fluttering in the breeze along the roof line. From the little she was able to glimpse beyond the pyramids of cakes piled high in the windows, the interior was gold as well, although thankfully they seemed to have used up all their pink paint on the outside. There were people streaming in and out of the door, those going in with eyes like pies, those coming out already burying eager teeth into steaming buns, or proudly swinging little muslin bags neatly tied with yet more gold ribbon.
Pushing through the colourful door, Ismene entered the bakery. Before she had even taken her first step she was surrounded by familiar and unfamiliar smells. She recognised the base notes - the warm maltiness of freshly baked bread, the smooth butteriness of flaking pastry, the strong, clean scent of flour - but she was not used to the overwhelming assault of floral sweetness. The village bakery where she had worked at home had tended to stick to good, solid farmhouse fare: crusty loaves, hearty pies, wedges of seed-studded brown bread. The fanciest they ever got was a roll worked into the shape of an ear of corn for a harvest festival. This was a different world. There were delicate mouthfuls of coloured sugar wound into intricate patterns, and little mounds of icing coiled neatly on tiny cupcakes dusted with grated nut; there were light and fluffy pastries oozing with cream, and fresh strawberries balanced precariously on dark, moist cakes. The air was so sweet it felt almost sticky.
After staring for a few bits, Ismene pulled herself together. It wasn't what she was expecting, but she was a baker in need of a job, and this was a bakery, so it would have to do. She approached an innocent-looking woman with wavy blonde hair who was standing behind the counter. 'What can I do for you today, sweetheart?' the woman said. 'An iced bun, perhaps? No, that's not right for you. Something more delicate, I think. Can I tempt you with one of these? A new recipe, this is our first batch. Try one!' She held out a tray of little biscuits of the palest purple, each topped with a juicy slice of strawberry. Ismene popped one into her mouth. The biscuit was light and buttery, crumbling deliciously in her mouth. The taste was floral, but also somehow bitter, and the tang of strawberry juice added freshness. 'It's delicious,' Ismene mumbled through her mouthful. 'Shall I make you a bag?' the woman asked.
'Actually,' Ismene cut in, 'I'm not here to buy anything. I was wondering if you needed an apprentice, or just a helper. I worked in the village bakery in Treth for a few years, and I'm a quick learner.' The woman put the tray down, and considered Ismene more carefully. 'A baker, huh?' she said. 'You don't look like one, if you don't mind me saying.' Ismene smiled her sweetest smile. She herself was well aware that she did not fit the typical image of a jolly, round-cheeked, flour-dusted baker. 'Maybe not, but I promise I can bake,' she said.
The woman hesitated for a second before sighing. 'You're in luck. Eryn - my apprentice - is... out of sorts at the moment. You can fill in for him for a while, and if I like your work there might be a permanent position at the end of it.' Ismene smiled again. 'Great. When do I start?'
'Right now, if you want. As you can see, we've got more customers than we know what to do with today. I assume you know how to make a bread roll?' 'Of course,' Ismene replied. 'Excellent. Head through to the back and grab an apron. Tell Dalis I've found her a helper. Oh, I'm Isabelle, by the way,' the blonde woman added. 'Thank you. And I'm Ismene.'
Ismene did as the woman had told her, and found a beaming Sev'ryn woman bustling about in the kitchen at the back of the shop. 'Are you Dalis?' she asked. The woman nodded, not stopping what she was doing. 'Isabelle sent me. I'm filling in for Eryn. She said you could use some help?' Dalis did stop then, for just long enough to look Ismene up and down before shrugging and gesturing to an apron hanging on a hook in the corner. Ismene guessed she had been thinking the same as Isabelle. Tying the apron round her waist, she walked over to the counter where Dalis was working, and waited for instructions.
Word count: 786
