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Usually, Jakkoa applied ‘upkeep’ to his face in the privacy of his parents’ traveling wagon—settled on the back of it, perhaps, with one foot tucked beneath him and the other dangling free, a folding wooden box of cosmetics tucked in the cup of his lap, mirror in one hand, and brush of choice in the other. Several ‘usuallys’ of old had required modification come his travels on his own. Or rather, without his father and stepmother. He was not alone, specifically.

Hargitt counted as company, in some circles.

Even if the man did make a habit of avoiding him and civilization like the plague—but no matter. Point being, there was no longer a private wagon. No longer four walls or any walls which he could specifically call his own, and Jakkoa still felt that his rituals had importance. So, he found ways to go about them. In this case perhaps more publicly than most.

He was waiting.

And he was bored.

So there he sat, outside of a locked shop within which he had been assured a healer worth his while worked—if the person in question would ever rise and open shop—but no matter, again. Jakkoa busied himself, seated on the wooden bench outside the temporarily closed pharmacy, one leg crossed neatly over the other, hand mirror and head both tilted as he inspected his handiwork. He raised his spare hand, dusting two fingers under his left cheek to adjust and even out the applied dust there.

Better.

He ran the pad of a finger along the bottom edge of his lower lip, inspecting the line there with scrutiny before puckering his lips to pout—and relaxing them. Satisfactory.

Jakkoa was busy.

Beyond that, Excuse me, Ma’am… was not something he answered to. Or certainly had not ever been accustomed to answering to. Admittedly, as a younger boy, there had been more frequent confusion. From childhood up to his sixteenth or seventeenth year, before his body had filled out, before he was anything more than a lithe set of smooth limbs, pale skin and long blonde hair—before then, perhaps yes. ‘Girl,’ ‘miss,’ ‘pretty thing’ — those were all terms he’d once become accustomed to.

But by the time his shoulders had broaded and his voice had deepened, by the time he reached his nineteenth year and his face — while not chiseled or square — did at least show some definition of a stronger jawline than most women had, by now, his ears had grown less prepared for any confusion in that regard.

And ma’am had never been something he’d had to deal with.

And yet. There was no one else about.

And the speaker was not moving.

And he was blocking Jakkoa’s light and filling up the back corners of his mirror and—Jakkoa snapped the reflective glass shut with tightly pursed lips and shot a Look at the intruding interloper. A boy. Young, but not ridiculously so. Perhaps sixteen himself, thin with pointed features and a head of deep red hair.

“Are you quite serious?” he drawled. “There are no women in the vicinity and I am certainly not lost, no. I am waiting. What are you doing…?” Jakkoa left a hanging pause, waving a hand idly to emphasize it and indicate space for a name, if his unasked for company would give one.

Jakkoa regarded the boy, his expression sharp and combative for several moments more. But then, it relaxed. The stiffness in his posture and the sting to his stare slackened, his eyebrows arching and the hard purse of his lips easing up to a softer line. Almost amused.

“Shea,” he repeated. He clicked his tongue as though tasting the name while committing it to temporary memory, and then dropped his hand, tucking away the various cosmetics he had been working with before extending his newly empty fingers in greeting. “Jakkoa. A pleasure to meet you, I’m sure. Are you a local?”

Jak, for his own part, had not been in the town for but a day yet, and contacts both with travelers and natives alike were welcome in his book. The more connections, the better—and the sooner he would get to information he actually wanted.

“You’re up early, for a young slip of a thing.”

Jakkoa listened, patient at first with nothing better to do—

But immediately narrowed his eyes a fraction at the jab. Beauty sleep indeed. Though, admittedly, that was something he still heard. Frequently, even. He propped his chin in his fingers, lips thinning back out and one eyebrow arching above the other as he waited the other out.

“I often rise early, and as I said, I am waiting for someone. Fortunately, my beauty is a reliable constant.” His smile was thin and baiting, but otherwise genuine—to whatever extent such a look could be—and the words weren’t entirely true. He, at least, put a significant amount of time into his appearance and thus the final product was far from effortless or a ‘constant’. But for now, the explanation would do. “I suppose I used to enjoy the boon of my bed for longer, but I find I haven’t the time as of late. I am also looking for something. But not a specific someone. I have been traveling a good deal as of late, however, and over the course of it met with a number of people…”

He tipped his head, eyeing the boy and weighing his options. Was he likely to be of any value? What could he possibly learn from a rude little leafling?

It never hurt to fish, he supposed.

“Does the man you’re ‘hunting’ for have a name?”

“No harm or shame in taking a good thing and improving upon it to highlight the finest qualities,” Jak answered without a moment’s pause.

He was quite used to commentary of all varieties with regard to his choice to apply cosmetics, and wasn’t the least bit abashed about it. Despite all the naysayers, why ought he be? He had been making use of it in small amounts for many years, and found both the process and product to his liking. Besides that, the results got him what he wanted, and in the end, that was what mattered.

His gold eyes flicked upward, however, instantly honing in on Shea at the name. He hadn’t expected to recognize it. What were the chances, after all? And yet—he folded his hands in his lap, humming.

“You wouldn’t happen to personally know any healers yourself in the area would you? Particularly any who might have traveled as far as Oba…”

“It’s relevant because that is what I am looking for,” Jak said. “I’ve been hoping to find some answers for quite some time now…but no matter, I suppose. If you have not, you have not.”

Jakkoa did not make a habit of giving up anything—time, information, coin, goods, food or services—unless there was at least a decent chance, but preferably a near certainty, of receiving something of comparable or greater value for himself in return. Speech and information, however, was always a gamble, since one never knew exactly what would turn up from who or when. Thus, he saw no reason to immediately withhold what he knew. There was no harm, however, in fishing while he did.

“I have met your…” Jakkoa tipped his head with mild amusement, the corner of his mouth curving up, “…prey, as fate would apparently have it. Useless as his hide may or may not be to you, I found him helpful…if gruff and short with his words. What use is he to you?”

Worthless sack.

Jakkoa tipped his head, gold eyes skimming over his company with intent: facial expression, body language, and voice tone all backed up the words. Whoever this boy was — nephew, as it seemed — he clearly held a distinct and genuine distaste for the blind-eyed healer. Humming to himself and tucking away the thought for reference, Jak leaned forward.

“Last I saw him was some time ago,” he said, “so the information may not be helpful, and he was a rather stiff old sort. But I found him in Sauti, traveling with his beast. From the locals there I got the impression that he moves about often enough and was only going to be where he was for a limited period. I would recommend, though, mentioning his name when you ask about. It seems he’s tended to quite a few and built up a reputation of sorts. I hope you aren’t out to kill him?”

The last question was, for the most part, said in jest. But given the boy’s attitude Jak felt the need to ask just the same before giving a town name.

“He was in Tind,” Jakkoa said.

Though he didn’t completely trust the boy, of course — he clearly had issues to pick with the older healer — he didn’t strike him as immediately dangerous. Just a frustrated child, bound and determined to make some kind of justice of whatever situation he faced with the older man. What exactly it all boiled down to was not Jak’s business in his own mind and thus, satisfied that the boy didn’t intend to hurt Uquin, there seemed to be no issue in helping him along. If anything, he was sure the older man could handle himself, and Shea did not look especially imposing.

“I was asking about for healers at the time and the locals knew of him even there, so I would assume he makes his way over a good bit of land and does decent business. I imagine you’ll have luck finding someone who has seen him.”