Open [West Street] Catching Sticky Fingers

[Fallon]

35th Winter 516 AV
Mid-Morning

Damp. Near murky. That was apparent in Fallon's mind as she lurked within the shadow of the building. It was a problem, something she would rather hoped would not become a new bane in Zeltiva. She missed the snap of winter. Refreshing and a closing of such. But this was far from the case however, instead it was murky and clinging to autumn. Winter was supposed to be a colder, crisper season, but this was a petty nuisance. The gloved fingertip tugged at her collar, the eyes flickering as the overcast sky. It was a pain in every shape of the word, and one that would continue to be so even as she gave a reminding tap to the kukri hilt.

The task at hand had dipped into being little more than a waiting game. It would be a matter of time before her client's described perpetrator would appear on the scene, bringing with him a level of trouble and mayhem worthy of a thief. Sticky fingers often left after marks, but this one had a tendency to bring part of the market down with him by all accounts. Sighing, Fallon gave a tilt of the head, orbs flickering among the store fronts and the narrow stalls of the less well off merchants attempting to sell their wares. The bodies of the crowd swelled and drifted, and while it was busy in number it was not a complete torrent. There was gaps and groups, some gathering while others pushed through solo. Her gaze continued to move, turning to what looked to be a spice merchant calling out to the bodies and attempting to lure them into purchases.

Fallon's eyes moved again, this time down the left of the street towards the sound of some bard playing a lute - rather poorly she mentally added. Still the locals seemed pleased with the attempt at entertainment, and so she moved her gaze onwards towards the other stalls and the various others with their wares. She could vaguely smell food of some description on the air, the faint burning of coals and wood smoke - perhaps someone was doing some cooking on the street, she reasoned. She remembered something similar going on at the fish market, perhaps this was the same case. Yet then the lingering reminder of the season came forth, she doubted that was the case and reasoned it was no doubt the burning of ruined stock. With another push aside of the thought she let the orbs rest upon the various individuals; men in fine cloths, women with their young children, there was a pair of dock workers carting some import up towards the general store, a couple of others had fallen into simply admiring the goods on display.

There was a mighty crash coming from her right, her entire body flinching as the inspector's head turned towards the source and up the street. One of the stall fronts had collapsed, a collection of broken clay and food goods spilling out onto the street. She could almost feel the entire city hold its breath in judgement, all eyes turning to hawk upon the cause of this with what could be described as a seething hatred. And the source? He was running, entire form animated and full of fear, the rough and worn clothes clinging to his frame and the target he had aimed form tightly tucked close to his body - food. The shouting there after begin, the roaring cry of the keeper making his shouting demand of, "Stop that thief!"

All eyes were upon him now, one of the more steadily built merchants looked to step in his way, but in response there was merely the barge as the chaos continued. Fallon gave a step out then, watching the gait and body language as the man twisted to make his an escape. Another local was barged into the dockhands with their crate, another crash as the goods they carried crashed to the ground and the sound of glass smashed within. But he did not stop, the rest of the body pounding the ground. It was with a step out of the alleyway that Fallon looked down the street after him, her mind mentally mapping out the direction he had fled in - off towards the Sailor's Quarter she reasoned, before back up towards the chaos of the scene. Her tone was sharp and directed it to the crowd, "Did any of you get a good look of his face?"

[Terek Vey]

The book merchant, like most stall owners, had a preternatural sense for people trying to sneak a freebie.

At the subtle sound of a page clumsily being turned, she griped loudly. "This ain't the university, pal, you wanna read, you have to pa--"

She turned to confront her freeloading non-customer only to see the misty, tattered form of a ghost struggling, with a paltry amount of soulmist, to get the page of a thick, boring-looking book all the way over the spine. Her eyes widened and she grabbed a nearby broom, brandishing it threateningly at the translucent, dark-haired young man. "By the gods! Get yerself away, spirit!!"

Terek was uncertain as to what the shopkeeper intended to do to him with her straw broom; maybe it was enchanted against the dead? In any case the rejection was more painful than her swing ever could have been, and he raised his hands and backed away, into the street. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to read--"

"Get back!" She shrieked, taking a wide warning swing with her improvised weapon.

Terek sighed dejectedly and stepped backwards again. He was about to make another attempt to explain himself, to express that he wasn't dangerous, to try and make a friend out of this unfortunate misunderstanding, when the cry of "Stop that thief!" came to his ear.

He turned to look in the cry's direction just in time to come face-to-face with fleeing a lad carrying a bundle of ill-gotten goods. The thief ran right through Terek without slowing, and shivered slightly as he passed.

"How rude! I'm a person too, ya know!" Terek said, shaking his fist at the thief's retreating form. "Or, well, mostly, anyway.."

Depressed, rejected, and hopeless, he let his form fade to near invisibility, determined to return to his dusty cottage and mope about the unfairness of the universe, but as he turned to make his way back to his cobwebbed abode, he heard another voice.

"Did any of you get a good look at his face?"

Terek looked up, consumed instantly with curiosity. Maybe someone could use his help after all! He drifted soundlessly over to the capable-looking woman who had asked the question. In a hesitant voice from over her shoulder, he said "Uh.. I did, ma'am. How can I help?"

[Fallon]

There was no answer, at least not straight away. A collection of blank faces that simply stared back at her. Awkward shuffles, the averting of gazes, some even obviously attempting to ignore her- was it fear perhaps that drove them so? What did they have to fear when all she had done was simply ask a question?

No, her thoughts paused as she considered it all truly. They were fearful of association. Be it of her, the crime or the seeming criminal.

The inspector chewed angrily upon her lip, head turning in the direction the thief had headed. Her brow creased deeper, a puff of cheeks as she began the process of moving herself forwards. She paused mid step however when a voice sliced through. An incline of the head, ears straining to it as she attempted to find the source. No one? Was it her imagination?

It was then her gaze passed over, catching the almost ripple of mist. There but not there, the pedestrians trying even harder to avoid the spectre. Eyes narrowed, a creeping chill lacing its way up her spine. Unease came next, that sensation resting in the pit of her stomach.

Ghost.

She struggled to remember the last time she had run into such an entity, her experiences with them being largely difficult. Briefly there was the flicker to Sahova,and then to the dark child that hovered around Syliras. Such interactions in return had simply made her wary, so when this ghost inevitably spoke up she immediately went onto the defensive. Her expression fell into a neutral mask, shifting to protect whatever dwelled within. Still, his closeness did little for her conscious and she instinctively stepped away.

"You did?" Fallon asked. Her head turned and she took up a quick pace in the general direction the thief went in, "Come, I need to keep pace. Can you describe the thief for me? Or at least be able to pick him out in the crowd?" The thief had travelled in the direction of the sailors quarter, and from there the only direction to go would have been East Street - on the presumption he did not double back first, "Anything you can remember... uh..." The inspector gave him a look up and down then, her brow furrowed with thought, "What do I refer to you as? Spirit? Ghost? Or perhaps a name?"

Had he been a being of flesh she would have extended her hand at this point to shake it, but instead she simply hesitated on such a physical gesture, "I am Inspector Skylar of the S.W.I. Your cooperation is very valuable to this situation." She gave a brief scowl past him and to the other locals. She muttered, "Unlike theirs."