Arabian Silk {|} Lesbian!Daminette

(Chapter One: Encounter)

Marinette bent over the counter of her family's bakery, fanning herself with a handkerchief of silk. Even inside, the heat from the sandy desert village had gotten in, leaving the foreign woman sweating bullets. The only good thing about the sufferable heat was the amount of villagers and travellers stopping in to purchase a pastry or cake.

Even if that was a benefit, it didn't help Marinette's case of trying to stay somewhat clean. Her sleeves always stuck to her sweaty armpits. And without sleeves, she would just be exposing everyone to her body odor, despite the numerous perfumes and floral soaps she cleanses with.

"Marinette! Stop slacking and start helping me load up these loaves of bread into the cart," Sabine, a Chinese-French woman, snapped her fingers right next to Marinette's ear, startling the poor girl. Letting out a small squeak, Marinette drooped back, standing up straight.

"Yes, maman," Marinette slid the 'ring bell for service' card into her vacant clerk spot, walking through a doorway leading to the ovens. Her towering father, also a foreigner, was hard at work pushing baked goods into every oven available.

Cakes, cupcakes, loaves of bread, buns, rolls, biscuits. Baklava, a pastry made of layers upon layers of filo and assorted nuts drizzled in either chocolate or honey, were in the midst of being prepared atop of one table. It was one of the newest additions to their usual selection; a dessert from this country.

"Marinette. Stop daydreaming and start working! I do hope the heat hasn't gotten to you. The store's been much more busy lately and I need you to start focusing! Chop, chop!" Sabine smacked both of her flour-covered hands against Marinette's cheeks.

"GYAH! O-of course," Marinette derpily smiled, rubbing her cheeks as she followed her mother out the backdoor. Outside in the private pavilion was the wooden cart used to deliver their products to customers. Sitting on a wheeled rack beside it, were the many loaves of bread her maman mentioned.

"I'm guessing I'm going to have to make a delivery today?"

Sabine nodded, hauling two stacks of bread onto it.

"Where to?" Marinette asked. She also grabbed some bread, loading it. "The spice merchants' quarters? That one family with seven kids?"

"It should be...." Sabine dug through the pocket of her apron, pulling out the order. "The usual order to the spice quarters. Travelling merchants. They ought to get hungry, walking around and doing... who knows what to sell their products."

Marinette snorted, placing the last of the loaves on, dusting off her hands.

"I can take this load today," she stretched her arms up to the cloudless blue sky. "Just give me some time to prepare." Sabine responded with a smile and pat to the back as she headed back into the kitchen to prepare the baklava.

Once the bluenette was out of sight, Marinette let out an exhausted huff. She was not in any mood to work, nor deliver anything today. To be honest, she was just exhausted of the 'same old, same old,' schedule her parents followed each and every. single. day. Nothing interesting, nothing worth... 'seeking.'

Marinette loved her parents and all, but all this 'bake, no break' stuff was definitely getting to her. What fun was watching dough rise in a clay oven? It was like watching paint dry, but with less paint and more flour in your eyes.

"Ugh..." Marinette groaned. She knew she couldn't chicken out of the job without her mother wanting a long and valid answer for why her daughter was so lazy. Nonetheless, Marinette did as she was told, quickly running upstairs to change out of her smelly blouse and skirt combo.

To freshen up, Marinette quickly rubbed her Arabian rose oil onto her arms to mask whatever unpleasant scent was coming from her. Next, she pulled on a different linen blouse and a tight pair of pants. Quickly pulling on her sandals (Arabic: madas sharqi), she wrapped her indigo tresses with a cloth buncap before tying the strings to her conical hat (Asian rice hat) around her chin.