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Wheiskaet’s utter unwillingness to comply without sending them on some series of errands had eroded Y’shtola’s patience. The man had suggested they meet the owner of Costa del Sol before they departed on their stints of various chores. Gegeruju; the man who had bought up the land after it's failure to convert to farms, lounged openly between the scantily clad women in his employ. Deidre, who had traded her robes in for a red sleeveless tunic and knee length leggings in the early summer humidity, caught his eye immediately when he noticed their approach. He set his wineglass aside, throwing open his arms with delight.
"Rebecca, dearest! How wonderful of you to return to me!" Y'shtola looked over, a question on the tip of her tongue, halting it when she saw the color drain from her companions face. "The years have treated you well I see."
"'m not Rebecca."
"No?" He asked, eyebrows skyrocketing before he sat up to study her closer. "But of course, the resemblance is unmistakable," he remarked, prompting the women beside him to agree. Whether or not they were being honest, Y'shtola could not tell. "You must be her daughter, then! Denise, wasn't it, after her own?"
"Deidre."
"Ah, father's first then, my apologies. Have you come to offer…?" He trailed off, taking note of the staff she carried. "Not following your lovely mother's path of employment, I presume?" She shook her head. "A shame," he sighed wistfully, "tis been some time since I last beheld her; if you could be… persuaded otherwise, I assure I would pay quite handsomely." His grin made Y'shtola's tail lash.
"No thank you." Deidre enunciated, unnaturally tense.
"I do believe we have elsewhere to be, if you would excuse us." Y'shtola did not wait to be excused, Deidre nearly tripping in her haste to follow her away from that man. "I do not know who he mistook you for-"
"My mother."
Y'shtola paused in surprise.
"Truly? I had thought him completely mistaken!" She looked her over again, concern for her pallor. "You seem rather shaken. Perhaps you should sit for a moment." Deidre waved her gloved hand, continuing toward where her Chocobo was stabled. "May I ask what… line of work, your mother is in? Is she a dancer?" Deidre did not answer for a moment, instead busying herself with checking the straps on Baby's saddle.
"Prostitute."
"Seven hells!" She exclaimed, fur standing on end as the truth of the situation became clear. "I-" she cut herself off, taking a moment to let the outrage pass so she could speak calmly. "If we are to have any more interactions with that man, I will handle him myself. Tis poor enough we must dally here so without you suffering such… propositions."
"Y'would?"
"Of course."
Her shoulders relaxed, if only slightly.
"Thank you."