[studio of Yae Varone]All deliveries around back (Coltyn)

[Josiah Bent]

Summer 77, 513 AV A fine drizzle had dampened Joe’s clothes and hair, but not his spirit – not yet at least. Ten days in Ravok, and still he was as curious as a cat and poking his nose into all the many interesting (and some not-so-interesting) places about the floating city. He was still in search, too, for a unique gift for his mother, and everywhere he went he kept his eyes open for that certain something that would spark his interest. As he tramped about, peeking into windows and stepping into shops, the misting rain was far from enough to cause him more than just some passing inconvenience. His shortly cropped hair wasn’t too badly affected – it wasn’t like he had a mane down to his waist to catch and hold the water. His boots were damp, though, and his simple, plain, somewhat rumpled traveler’s garb was looking even more ill used for the water it had absorbed. Joe had made it to the merchant’s part of town and was well able to spend the afternoon engrossed in looking at everything from spice from Eyktol to coral jewelry from Mura to gemstones from Riverfall (far inferior, he thought, to that to be found in his hometown of Nyka). Having picked up and examined a thousand and one trinkets and knick knacks and bits of clothing and random kitsch, he still had yet to settle on something that was both appealing and cheap, and portable. If he loved it, it was either too big to travel back to Nyka in his pack, or too expensive for his budget. If it was affordable, it was too garish, or just didn’t capture his fancy. It seemed this search for a souvenir to take back to his mom had turned into his own personal grail quest, and onwards he looked, and looked, and looked. As the afternoon wore on, the rain began to fall more in earnest, and Joe regretted not having brought along his coat for an added layer of dry. The water was beginning to soak through his shirt and trousers, and his feet were squelching in his wet boots. All around him, people were hurrying through their late afternoon business with more of an air of getting done and home. The surface of the lake dimpled with the fat drops that fell from the grey clouds above, and Joe looked about, now anxious to find a place to get in from what looked to become a steady downpour in about the next chime. To his right, there was a two story building, at the front of which perched a covered porch - or perhaps a veranda, as it ran the length of the building. There were people seated at small tables, apparently eating, and at this sight, the Nykan caravan guard’s stomach grumbled. He’d had lunch, yes. But he was still a growing lad and supper was a good two hours off. One of the things that most surprised and amused Josiah about the lake city was the ease with which one could obtain food, and ale, if one had the right coin. It was so very different from his town where all food was regulated, distributed and accounted for so very carefully. Not seeing any reason why he shouldn’t – and more than a few why he should – Joe sauntered over to the entrance to said porch, which was accessible on one side of the building, though much of it was surrounded by the lake. Stepping under the cover of the overhang, almost simultaneously with the sound above of the increase in the rainfall, he looked first with satisfaction out over the water, where the drops now bounced hard against its gently undulating surface. With a smirk, that he had found cover before getting completely drenched, the damp tourist next made a quick survey of the patrons of this establishment. Gathered about small, round tables, well dressed men and women, and a handful of children, sat and conversed quietly whilst sipping hot beverages from dainty porcelain cups. On the pristinely white table cloths were small plates of pastries and tiny cakes, the likes of which Joe had never seen. But as to real food, there was none apparent, and Joe frowned a bit. Servers in black with spotless white aprons moved amongst the tables, and he had to step back to avoid being trodden on by one, who returned his frown with a most severe look, and a haughty, “Pardon me…sir.” As there didn’t seem to be any empty tables – and as Joe had at least the sense to feel slightly out of place just plopping himself down with any of the assembled groupings – he moved on, through a wide set of mostly glass doors, and into the interior of the building. Here things were not so very different. With the overcast skies and rain, the light coming in through the open doors and windows was diffuse, casting much of the large room into a dim gloom. But servers were scurrying about, lighting delicate glass flutes that served as lanterns, one set on each table. Inside was almost as crowded as the porch, and Joe’s stomach complained loudly, as he looked about with some reservations. He had no qualms about the way he was dressed. Nor did he think such a place as this was too far above his price range for a good, hearty snack (he hadn’t seen any price list yet). But the real problem was just that – looking about he still saw nothing of any substance being served. It all looked like cookies and tarts and tea and coffee. Not food fit for a man! As he looked still, his eyes lit on a staircase. His gaze moving upwards, Joe wondered…Perhaps the real suppers were served up there, and the downstairs was just for the women and kids and those posh looking types who drank their tea so daintily, just like a girl! With squared shoulders and squishing sounds coming from his worn boots, Joe crossed to the steps and began his ascent. He did note that there was a luxurious looking bit of rope or cord – something like velvet or some such, which could be draped across the lower stair. But it was looped back and Joe didn’t pay it any mind. Up the stairs he went, oblivious to the fact that said second floor was definitely off limits and there would be nothing but trouble to be found above.