Loki X Reader || Girl With The Gold Earring

17 | The Wisdom Of A Baker

It was much easier talking to Arne now that she knows he doesn't expect anything from her, Y/N thought absently as she leaned against the counter of Frode's stall. The little old man was still darting about, collecting up the pigments on Loki's list, so Arne and Y/N had time to chat while he tended to the other customers.

His new girlfriend---or, she will be, if she accepts his invitation to the local tavern tomorrow evening---is called Sigrid. Arne strung together a poetic description, weaving a mental tapestry of a fair woman with hair the colour of embers. She sounds much more suited to Arne's humble, domestic ways and Y/N wishes their relationship all the best.

Y/N took the bag of pigments from Frode, feeling positively chipper. She had watched him with interest as he took colours she hadn't seen before from heavy glass jars and narrow, delicate vials, and wondered what the prince could possibly have in mind for them all. His chambers do feature a vast array of greens---for that is what many of these pigments appeared to be---but few are as rich, as dark and full as those that the cheerful little apothecary had dished out into those familiar little boxes.

Perhaps he intends to use them not in the foreground, but as a base layer; to set the tone and mood of the painting, Y/N had pondered as she watched another lump of mossy powder fall into its allocated container. If so, the painting will turn out to be quite dark, Y/N realised, trying to form some kind of mental picture of it in her mind. She placed down a foundation of that deep forest-floor green and imagined painting over it with regular colours---skin tones and the grey of her uniform---

But, no matter how many coats her imagination applied to this make-believe picture, the green just made everything...green. It didn't set an atmosphere or a tone, it just stained everything with a sickly tinge, as if mould was nibbling through the paint.

Surely the prince knows this? Y/N mused. So what are all those greens for?

-- ❈ --

Midday broke around Y/N as she drifted through the stalls, the sky ripening to a pleasant forget-me-not blue. She let the natural ebb-and-flow of the crowd nudge her along like she's afloat a lazy river, admiring the products for sale either side of her as she passes them.

The market is a treat for the senses, the general chaos complemented and heightened by the fact that there seems to be no order to anything at all. People from all walks of life are gathered in this tightly-knit jumble of sheds, marquees, and even, sometimes, just kitchen tables clearly taken from home. No matter the quality of someone's stall, however, the playing field is levelled by geographical location. No spot is better or worse, no one area hogs all the business. Rich and poor sell their goods right next to each other, so one minute you may be browsing a heap of home-grown vegetables flecked with soil and caterpillars, and then you'll be face to face with a glass case containing rings made from solid gold, little grains of diamond pressed into their spotless surfaces.

These stalls, the ones shrouded in decadent jewellery, have a tendency to cast a greyness over Y/N's mood. Not because she wants the jewellery (although, honestly, who doesn't want nice things?), but because of what the jewellery represents. Y/N does not crave those delicate necklaces and long, elegant earrings, she doesn't want to buy them. She'd just like to have the choice to buy them; to be financially secure enough to treat herself if the whim should strike.

To stare at those pretty little trinkets and know they are beyond her reach no matter how hard she works scratches a deep wound onto her sense of freedom.

Eventually, the natural current of the meandering crowd deposited Y/N at Aasta's stall. Y/N's mood had perked back up again by that time, the qualms over her social status (well, lack of) forgotten, and replaced with the sweet promise of delectable treats---as well as the genial aura of the woman selling them. Aasta is like that. She's just one of those people you're always happy to see. She has the power to bring a smile to almost anyone's face, Y/N is fairly sure. Everything about her radiates warmth and a pleasant sense of familiarity. Like the smell of dinner on the stove, or a jumper that fits just right.