26 Summer, 511
Days of wandering had inevitably lead Victor’s exploring feet to the underground market. Though not usually a man to shop without a purpose, he browsed the isles tirelessly, unable to sate his eyes’ thirst for new sights. Colors and smells and conversations moved around him like breezes in the still air; occasionally, he even forgot his distaste for shadows and ceilings. The sun had only just begun its descent into afternoon, but he could not know the time down there, only the consistent flicker of torchlight and the incessant peddling of wares.
It was not often that he stopped for very long. The constant stimulus of passing faces and merchandise had become addicting, and he swept through the place with eyes on everything. When he finally did plant his feet in front of a stall, it was to glance at his own reflection in a display of mirrors. He moved his hair out of his eyes, pouting, then glanced at the delicate stacks of reflective glass on the table. Most included shining metal embellishments winding around their edges, but Victor found himself fond of a simpler one with a sleek silver finish. He picked it up, glanced at his reflection again, considered it like a potential buyer.
And when the merchant behind the table looked away for one second to long, he ducked back into the crowd.
It was not abnormal for a man to keep his hands locked to his sides as he wove consciously through the peopled chaos. To the best of his ability, Victor adopted an unassuming look, which would have seemed abnormal to anyone who had glanced at his shining, fascinated countenance chimes earlier. He could not hear whether the thing’s true owner noticed or called after him. It would ruin the charade to look back. He was just another face in the crowd, an unremarkable human with no criminal motives, and he was headed towards the sunlight that signaled the Bazaar’s exit.