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Just around the next corner, a familiarly low voice sounded from behind. "I'm just walking around, makin' sure my legs don't wither away from paperwork overload, and whom do I hear but my own lil' sister?" A lie, of course. He'd seen the salient parts of her lesson, and come to wait at her most likely route. Viltre was in the habit of weighting the odds when he had to gamble. Merle had been particularly harsh today, and as she too often neglected the necessary aftercare of such exertion and discipline, someone had to take up the slack. Sometimes he despaired of his stepmother ever growing up.

Today being a warm one, he'd eschewed his grass cloak, and wore the loose trews, sash, and torso shirt that he so favored. It was no wonder she hadn't heard him without that thing on. Niiemh's unusually tall brother left the wall he'd been holding up, stepping into her section of the corridor with a smile. One that faltered as he took in her appearance and winces at certain motions. "Sand and stars, sis, what happened? No, not here, nevermind. C'mon, let's get you something from the apothecary to help the bruises you're hiding." Though slenderer and probably weaker than his little sister, Viltre could at least offer stability, and offered an arm to do so.

"Do I look drunk to you? Nah, fallin's too easy. Add some spicy details to it next time." The fear didn't escape notice. What sort of threats had their father's wife made now? The usual was promising to marry them off to unsuitable matches, but it seemed a bit different this time. Niiemh needed a hand, perhaps a shoulder, and those, even he could provide. Humor helped, he found, which was a large part of why he'd worked it into his public face. "Don't try swindlin' a swindler, kid; your tongue'll turn green an' fall out.

There's an ointment the guy uses that'll help the marks stop growin'. He'll tell ya to give it a couple hours before you wash it off. Personally, I'd say take a hot bath to do it." The family apothecary, luckily, wasn't too far off from her room. The illegitimate children were situated closer to the tradesmen's workshops, on Merle's quiet insistence. She had her reasons, and the second son often agreed with them, if not necessarily her methods. He was himself a frequent visitor to this office, for similar causes to today's. There was no answer at his knock, so Viltre opened the door and let himself in, pulling his sister along if she allowed. "I know what it looks like, so we'll just leave something to pay for it."

"Better. Maybe you'll get the hang of it someday." He sniffed disdainfully, pretending snootiness for all of thirty seconds before it cracked into an easy smile again. Rooting through the cabinetry didn't take long. As he'd said, the scribe knew what he was looking for. It wasn't the first time he'd had to help himself, and the chymist always kept his things strictly organized. *Probably a necessary thing, in this profession.* Soon enough, he produced a fat brown jar of a pungent salve. Closing the lower cabinet gently behind, Viltre sat it on the table and fetched down a smaller jar and a spoon.

Carefully ladling the compound from one jar to another, he soon had the smaller filled. "Why Niiemh! What a shocking thing to say! For shame, sis, for shame." Reddish hair shaking, the tall boy bent to replace the main jar, pausing a moment to weigh it in hand first. A silver coin would cover the cost of material and time spent in the making of a new batch, and this he produced from his red sash. Viltre set the smaller vessel beside his sister, that she might apply it herself. "I wouldn't lie about anything to anyone! My dedication to truth and fair business deals is proverbial! ...If some of our business partners don't read all of my fine handwriting and only ask a brief summary before signing, that's not deceitful on my part..."

"Not an issue. We got some few hours before the dinner bell. Give this a couple hours to work, then hop in a hot bath beforehand. Do a body wonders after a thrashing." With this much, there would be enough for later bruises, should they become a chronic issue. There were other solutions to her immediate issue... "Crushed mint blends pretty well with this, actually. Never had complaints about it then. Peppermint's best, but just a little or you'll be overwhelmingly minty. You'll bowl Papa over with how fresh you smell. An' that'd be terrible."

"No no, I always make sure there's someone to read to 'em if they can't read themselves. But if they don't wanna know all the ins and outs of a contract, how's it my fault they get bored an' sign before I've said everything?" Viltre had the audacity to look faintly injured and noble, as though his was a valuable service to the mercantile community. Again, this didn't last half a minute before he stifled a snort. Nobody ever heard of the second son managing to take himself seriously for any significant span of time. "If I wasn't playing hardball, who'd gull the lazy an' stupid outta the trading business?"

For modesty's sake her brother faced away, leaning up against the countertop to look at some of the diagrams on the wall. "Yeah, she's gotten a little worse since Kuloma proved herself really nice. Or maybe it's just perspective." Their father's current mistress, mother to one of their third-youngest siblings, Aelyn, was a brash and kindly woman. Totally unsuited to the politics of the House, specifically those that tended to spring up around Merle, the legitimate wife. ...But perhaps that was why their sire had fallen for her. Glad Mother hasn't tried arranging anything serious, like an 'accident'. Would need to sabotage that.

Speaking a little more loudly, so that he didn't need to turn his head and compromise her modesty, Viltre answered. "Me? You wanna come along and see what tendaji-shaking work I do?" His arms spread out in a sudden dramatic gesture, playing it up in counterpoint to his suddenly-resonant voice. "Hear, and be amazed, little sister! Observe and be astounded, left dumbstruck! I, your elder brother, am tasked with the all-important position of... Scribe." Just as suddenly as it came, the drama fell away and left an amused deadpan. "I scribbled numbers in a book until they stop being stupid. Sometimes I read 'em to people. That's about it. It's boring as anything; why'd'ya think I pull so many practical jokes?"

"...Reminds me of Mama, sometimes. She'll be fine, tho'. If Father didn't have someone to moon over, I don't know how Merle would get anything done. Can you imagine her being consistently happy?" A little pensive at first, as he remembered the woman better. Better times, even to his ice-and-clockwork mind. But Viltre's accustomed good humor bounced back in short order. His sister was too close to right, and jokes were distracting. An obviously false shudder shook his torso. "Brr. That's just an unnatural thought."

Turning 'round smoothly at her signal, Niiemh was again faced with that cheeky grin. "Morality? In a merchant family, little sister? ...Now that just seems unethical somehow. Don't you know no honest trader ever passes up the chance to steal when the opportunity presents itself?" Mirroring her stance, he put both slender hands to his red sash. Arranging some quiet scripting and a day of honest work wouldn't be too hard, he mused. He did that about half the time anyway, or the discrepancies of timing might be noticed. Quite a lot of information passed through his hands, and often he was more organizing than gathering. Scheduling around that should help. "You sure you can sit still, doin' nothin' for more than two hours? If ya fall over and drool on the books, you're helping rewrite the blurred portions."

His own left waved airily towards Niiemh's objection. Had he worn a long moustache, Viltre would have twirled the end in the fingertips of his right. "Details, who needs 'em? Not suckers, that's who!" All the while, he added up facts in neat columns, approaching logic like maths. His sister needed a rest day, and this would certainly qualify as rest. It would reassure another alibi of his work, and having siblings that believed in you was a useful thing. In chief place of that list, however, was that Merle couldn't punish the girl for missing a day of dance lessons if she were helping with vital paperwork.

"Oh alright, fiiiine. I suppose I can do my work even with you climbing the shelves an' gnawing the books." The tall boy took the two steps that lay between them, swiveling so he faced the same direction as his sibling. One arm wrapped around her shoulder and the other waved out in front of them. "What a team! Doing sums until we get an average talley, double-checking spelling and phrasing, rewriting ruined pages in the time between! You'll have an idea just how much it costs to run our businesses, what more can ya ask?"