Irael

Ira, extravagent seamstress

The only thing louder than Ira's outfits - each of them brightly dyed silken affairs that clutch to her figure - is her voice. Or, perhaps, the assorted necklaces and bangles which jingle with every frequent movement: always to-ing and fro-ing, is Ira. If she were rock, she would be opal. If she isn't selling anything, she's chatting; if she isn't chatting, she's dancing; if she isn't dancing, she's tapping her fingers or her toes and if she isn't doing that, then you best check her pulse. The only thing bigger than her heart is her smile.

Her favourite colours are orange and blue and she wears long, flowing dresses in every colour every day of the week - when she turns around, her clothing fans out beautifully. She has fair skin, dark hair, and rouges her cheeks and lips. She has always said her mother was a dancer.

She has lived in The Port for most of her life, having moved here because of access to fine linens and silks, and her dreams of opening a clothing shop some day. She always jokes that the folks around here could do with a few good outfits in their life.

Her life was not always a happy story but it's one she assures you is firmly in her past. What started out as selling flowers in the street became mending and hemming, became sewing and stitching and embroidery. She has the most delicate touch of all the port, and her work is second to none. A shame, then, that more often than not she is repairing holes in shirts than embroidering fineries. But this, she assures, just makes those special jobs all the more special.

[*] She smells like honeysuckle.
[*] She always has loose thread, and thimbles in her pockets. If you have a ripped seam she will mend it.
[*] Mess with Iuna at your own risk. Yes, that means you Eotua.
[*] "Having said that, Eotua, where do you get that rouge?"
[*] If you're lost, she's probably the one to go to.
[*] She always likes to greet the sailors when they arrive.
[*] She often visits Ramsey to mend his shirts and bring him some food.