Welcome to Gaia! ::

Given the choice, Satika would have been early. It was appropriate for her to arrive first, and arrange things to be suitably comfortable before the man arrived. Unfortunately events conspired against her. It was not only that Mother had arrived later than expected to care for Taima, it was also that the young scorpion had managed to tear a hole through the first skirt that Satika had put on, forcing her to return to the house to change.

And so, when she stepped out of one of Cupid's Chokehold's complimentary taxis, she did so merely on time, and knowing that she had already failed in her attempt to present herself as a worthy wife. Was she sabotaging herself, perhaps? Was she so afraid of submitting again to the role she was so well trained for?

She would not dwell on it. Perhaps he had not yet arrived.

Taking a moment to prepare herself before pushing open the door, she brushed her hands lightly over her dark russet skirt. She had chosen a more showy outfit than she'd worn to meet Madeline, who, as another woman, did not require such exhaustive preparation. Her skirt was layers of raw silk, in black and russet. Her shirt, black, had long flowing sleeves that almost hid her hands, which she'd decorated with golden rings and bracelets. The neckline was low and wide, showing off her dark shoulders, but other than that and her face, she showed very little skin. She'd braided her hair with gold threads, which caught at the light when it hit them correctly.

Enough. She entered the coffee shop. It was not hard, then, to spot the man she was to meet. She had been furnished with a picture. So he had arrived. Wishing to pray but unsure of what to pray for, she approached the table.

"Excuse me, sir. If you would forgive my tardiness, I believe you may have been forced to wait upon my ill attendance to the time."

There were perhaps a thousand or more rules of etiquette that Satika knew and struggled, for the most part, to obey. And yet despite their number and scope, they often fell short of properly outlining behavior for situations on Gaia. And so, Satika knew that she should, traditionally, fall to a curtsy at Daub's feet. She also knew that this might not be considered acceptable.

Luckily, there was one rule, which trumped all others in most situations, and it was to that rule that Satika clung. Simply, unless the action was shameful, the appropriate thing to do was the thing that the ranking man expected you to do.

And so, she took the chair that he had pulled out in a simple, graceful motion, because it was, quite clearly, what he expected her to do. "I thank you." When she looked at him, her gaze fell somewhere around his shoulders. It was not polite to meet his eyes. "But should I not see to our drinks?"

He did not yet seem displeased. Satika was not unskilled at reading people, it was a skill she'd learned at her mother's knee. But Gaians were different, and so, she was not so sure of herself as she might have been at home. He did seem kind, and he wasn't unpleasing to look upon. Had she had her sisters among her, behind closed doors, she would have spoken kindly of him.

Those scenes were a long time ago.

"You are unduly generous, sir." She murmured, taking the flower with a flash of golden jewelry. She seemed to smile, almost, as she tucked it into her hair.

Unsure of what to do with herself without the table to prepare, she settled her hands on the table in front of her, and watched the waiter out of the corner of her eye.

What Satika wanted to do was stare at the man in open mouthed shock. He had... ordered for himself? Luckily, training is not so easily discarded as that, and the only clear indication of her shock was the quiet chime of jewelry as she tensed, then relaxed her hands.

Surely, it had not been intended as an insult. Gaians were different. Men... ordered there own drinks. And why not? No, it was fine. It was not meant as a comment at her abilities as a hostess.

"I would have the coffee, please. Strong. And, yes, scones with... do you have clotted cream? No? Lemon curd? I see. An array of what you deem appropriate, then."

Her manner with the waiter was firm but not unfriendly, interesting considering the open deference she displayed to Daub.

Satika, of course, would not dream of openly correcting a gentleman, even if his pronunciation was slightly off. Of course, at the same time, she would not mislead him in any way that might lead to him losing face. A delicate thing, conversation.

Still keeping half a watchful eye on their server (because if one didn't watch the help, nothing was likely to get done), Satika smiled, a mild expression, and spoke in her low, gently accented voice.

"It has been pronounced as such. My mother would generally say it 'Mertuldan' literally, daughter of Mertul." The last name was, perhaps, debatable. Her mother would, in fact, call her Hasarenware. Wife of Hasaren. But Hasaren was gone, dead or otherwise. And without any children of his to raise, she need not carry the title.