| Coquirie | |
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Appearance:
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Thin Strong features; not particularly pretty Small scars on left cheekbone and temple: one runs up into her hair, making a thin white streak. Hair black except for the white streak, worn in a waist-length braid A few faded, almost invisible pockmarks scattered along her right jaw and throat (anybody else could get something classy and distinctive, a burn scar, an old knife-fighting wound -- Coquirie gets smallpox scars). |
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Age:
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Mid- to late thirties (two or three years younger than Clopin)
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Gender:
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Female
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Clothing:
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Plain and, for the Court of Miracles, extremely conservative Whitish chemise of hemp linen (she has a woolen shift for winter) Dark woolen skirt (she has one blue and one black) and high-laced bodice with a pair of lace-on sleeves Wide red sash Large knitted shawl over all ("I don't care if it's out of period, that's what she wears") Coiflike white headdress when tending a patient Often carries a large leather bag of herbs and remedies Small eating- and work-knife tucked into her sash She doesn't own a thread of silk, much less velvet. |
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Personality:
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Thoughtful, intense Outspoken ('by no one,' she likes to say) Gentle, calm, firmly reassuring with patients; with anyone else she can range from politely sardonic to harsh, blunt and even profane. Obsessive about her work, often neglecting food and sleep (but only for herself, not for anyone else) Acute case of wandering feet: Coquirie lives in Paris about one year out of four. She travels on foot or with a small pack-donkey, alone or in company with any group of travelers that will have her. |
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Skills:
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Healer, sometime midwife Herbalist; sorceress in the 'village herb-woman' mode Magical charms, incantations, potions Herbal remedies which may work better -- and often do much less harm -- than the conventional medicine of the day. (Think of Belizaire the Cajun.) Reads a deck of hand-painted Tarot cards Plays several instruments and sings in a resonant alto voice, but doesn't (usually) earn her living by music. |
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Faults:
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If she'd been born five hundred years later, Coquirie would probably be diagnosed with retinitis pigmentosa. Her vision has never been good (nearsightedness of the 'get me within six inches of it' sort) and in recent years her peripheral vision and night vision have begun to fail badly. Only very lately has she admitted to herself that she can't make her way down a darkened street without a long staff or a sighted guide. She presents a convincing appearance of being calm and reconciled to this.
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