PM to join [Seaside Market] A Sunberthian Shopping Spree

[Noven]

His package, huh? Nov opened his mouth to retort with something equally immature and inappropriate, thought better of it, and half-shrugged, half-nodded instead. He poked at one of the flaps of the package to peek under it. There was the leathery brown of the belts, and bold red of the first tunic, and...ah hah! What was this, reddish brown? No, more like a deep shade of crimson.

Hmm. He wasn't usually one to exercise his imagination for anything other than pleasure or pain, but the cook found himself trying to picture the dark red under the faded hues of his wool coat. And, he realized, it would be harder to stain...

Jade's words broke him from his reverie. Blinking, Nov belatedly registered where she was nudging her thumb towards and doubled his steps to catch up.

"If it weighs anything around one or two orphans, I think I can manage," he responded, completely serious. The man had lost count of how many times he'd lugged around multiple children on his back. It seemed the record number occurred on the night he and Seng first met. The same night Sunset Orphanage was swallowed in flames and Old Calyn died saving as many as she could. What had it been, four and five? Six and seven each? Time made it hard to recall.

Thinking about that night sent a pang of worry through his chest. Where was that bloody, towering bastard anyway? It'd been almost an entire season since he'd seen any sign of Senghor. Wasn't exactly like the brawler couldn't handle himself in a tough situation, but he'd never disappeared for this long before. Not in the five years since they've known each other.

Suffice it to say, it made Noven feel a little anxious.

But there was no point in gnawing on a bone that'd already been chewed to the marrow. Either he showed up at some point or he didn't. Such was the way of things in the Berth.

Seeking to get his mind off of dark matters once more, Nov glanced down at Jade and attempted some semblance of light-hearted normalcy. "I like it," he said out of the blue. "The color you picked, that is. Both of them. Though, I may have to save the red one for special occasions."

The cook paused for a tick, thinking. "Huh, I've never had a shirt just for special occasions..."

He held up the package and peered at it for a moment, trying not to imagine how hard Nona would be restraining herself from tearing up at the sight of him in decent clothes. Nov abruptly looked elsewhere and tucked the bundle under one arm. Then he stuffed his hands back into his pockets to avoid any more temptations to fiddle with the wrapping.

All in all, it was a good thing Jade had been there. If he'd been left along with Mack, the old geezer would have kept him there for ages, trying his patience to its very limits with choice after choice. Though Noven still hadn't figured out what the clothmonger had found so funny...

Somewhere over the sea of heads, Nov spotted a stall that looked like it was full of training gear. Weapons, posts, and of course, things shaped in a way that could be nothing else but bags full of straw and other soft materials.

He poked a gloved finger in the stall's direction. "That one it?"

[Mirian Jade]

Noven was unworried at the mention of weight, something that didn’t leave Mirian particularly surprised after she’d glimpsed how sturdy he really was under that shirt. An orphan or two didn’t seem like anything that would trouble him, and if that didn’t trouble him then a punching bag probably wouldn’t, either.

He opened the parcel and peered inside, and in another few moments Mirian could see that the second shirt was indeed the one she’d chosen.

The sight of it got Mirian wondering after the state of her own clothes. It wasn’t as if they were particularly worn or shabby; she took relatively good care of her possessions, and they had at least another few seasons in them yet, but her clothing was very… basic. And she didn’t have many different options. And if she could afford to give a goose to a mass of orphans, she could certainly afford to buy herself new clothes.

The thought of her charity made her uncomfortable; appearance was a large part of how one survived in Sunberth, and it was commonplace and generally expected for one to cultivate an appearance of selfishness and cunning. Kindness was a weakness, a soft spot that could be exploited, and for a very long time Mirian had done her best to avoid it. The unexpected desire to help the children, to help Ronan, was something she didn’t know how to react to; was it something to be ashamed of? Something to hide? Something to celebrate or display?

Perhaps the closest thing she had in way of an answer, or at least something to help her find one, came in the form of Noven himself. He was certainly charitable towards the Orphanage, considering he worked at the place, but he was not someone she would consider weak. She had seen him after the kidnappings, watched the fire of determination in his eyes as he carved a path through everything that stood in the way. And in an odd way… that fire had made him seem stronger.

And if he could care and still remain strong, could she do the same? Was it even worth the risk to try?

“I like it,” Noven said suddenly, jolting Mirian out of her thoughts. She shook her head to clear it and focused on what he had told her, and when he was done speaking she shrugged noncommittally.

“Looks like you do now,” she said. “Wouldn’t know much about it, though. I’ve never really been to any special occasions.”

Special occasions were always bad in Mirian’s mind; a good day was a day of routine, when she stole and ate and nothing went wrong. “Special” meant unusual, and unusual meant dangerous. She’d never dressed up for birthdays or holidays or any other sort of celebration; that took more energy and resources than they were worth. And besides, even if she did dress up, it wasn’t like she had anyone to celebrate with.

Noven pointed at a stall up ahead of them, and after a cursory glance at its contents, Mirian nodded.

“Think so.” The halfbreed picked up the pace to get a closer look, and within moments had confirmed that it did indeed have what she was looking for.

Within moments of approaching, the owner was upon them.

“Well strike me blind, I think I spy a swan in human form,” he said to Mirian, darting over. “And her friend. What are you looking for, friends? Something to take out some aggression, hmm? Perhaps I could interest the man in a weapon to protect his lovely lady?”

[Noven]

If Mack was the picture of roguish health and bear-like constitution, then this new merchant, whom Nov had never seen before in his life, couldn't be more different.

The fellow was short, for one. For another, he was well groomed and had the look of someone who rarely, if ever, went hungry. Which in a city like Sunberth meant at least one of three things. The first, that this merchant was foreign. The second, that he was a successful criminal. Or the third, that he was both.

Which suited the merc just fine. Familiar territory was always a plus.

As soon as the two of them arrived at the front of the stall, a stream of cloying flattery poured forth from the merchant's mouth. Nov bore it with practiced disinterest. Right up until the part about weapons and protecting his lovely lady.

For a moment, the cook considered his options. He could let the charade go on. And why not? It was a common enough assumption people made when they saw a man and woman walking side by side, not to mention shopping together. Hell, it might even dissuade some less savory types from giving Jade any trouble for the rest of the day.

Then he took another look at their surroundings and reconsidered. Noven reminded himself he was more bloodthirsty animal than man, deep on the trail of vengeance with pain on his agenda. Lots of it. And he was a member of The Scars, to boot. If being associated with him wasn't an instant contract with trouble, then the merc wasn't really sure what was. Certainly, Jade made her choices on her own, and she proved herself capable of taking care of herself. But could a lass so young, hardened as she may be, know the kinds of horrors hanging around the likes him too long would inevitably bring?

Nov remembered the dream he'd had before unintentionally breaking one of the doctor's ribs. The image of that faceless, leering ghoul still haunted him in broad daylight. Floated around in his head whenever his thoughts took a turn for the darker. Like they had just now.

"You do my friend an injustice, sir," he retorted, offering a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "She's already got a weapon of her own, and she does quite right by it."

The merchant squinted at them for a tick, as if weighing the pro's and con's of gutting one and keeping the other. But only a tick. No more, no less. Then he was back to his hospitable self, dipping his well-oiled head in apology and offering to show them his most excellent wares within.

Noven let Jade walk in front, ever wary of being ambushed, however slim the chance of that happening was. He was nothing if not paranoid, and for good reason.

As they made their way deeper into the stall, the merchant's harmless chattering flowing back like constant eddies against his eardrums, Nov scoped the place out. Old habits. Hard to break. He counted at least four slaves; three sturdy looking males, presumably for heavy lifting and protection, and one sad looking female, for things the cook would rather not dwell on. Well, that meant the little man fit the bill for at least one of Nov's earlier assumptions.

The other things he noticed were, as usual, escape routes. You know, in case things got...hairy. Which shouldn't become the case, given this was just a harmless, impromptu shopping trip that had everything to do with legitimately buying things and nothing to do with tomfoolery of any kind.

Sort of. Maybe.

While the merchant showed them around, offering various products to his much prettier, much more appealing customer, Nov withdrew his hands from his pockets for better access. To his Tamos, to people's soon to be broken noses, the usual. Ideally, the ending to this day would be for everything to have gone smooth. That would a nice chance of pace, for once. But he knew better than most how wishful thinking tended to turn out.

It never hurt to be prepared.

[Mirian Jade]

For a moment, Mirian wasn’t sure how to respond to the merchant’s assumption. She could correct him, of course, saying that she was certainly not Noven’s lovely lady and that she was instead the one looking for a purchase. She could also barrel forward with the illusion, encouraging the vendor’s train of though, or she could remain silent and leave the decision up to Noven.

This was, after all, the third time someone had made that mistake.

In the end, she decided to leave the reaction up to her companion. There was humor to be had here, certainly, but the effort didn’t seem worth it beyond perhaps some teasing when the occasion called for it. Not right now, anyway; there was still plenty of fodder to be used later.

Noven, however, seemed almost as reluctant to answer as she. He let the silence stretch, apparently considering how to respond, before offering a mirthless smile and a clever deflection.

The ball was returned to her court.

The merchant seemed to understand that he’d made an incorrect assumption, and he inclined his head respectfully.

“Of course,” he said. “My apologies. I thought I spied the muscles of a fighter beneath that cloth. Right this way.”

He turned and angled deeper into the stand, and there was little for Noven and Mirian to do but follow. The cook fell into step behind her, and she tilted her hand to send a quick glance his way. Noven’s own attention was instead on their surroundings, scanning the walls, the displays, the people––presumably slaves––that were moving about within. His face was carefully blank, but the quickness of his eyes betrayed his thoughts; he was looking at their environment as a threat. His movements were almost animalistic at a second glance, cautious and prepared but carefully void of actual aggression.

In a way, it made Mirian feel a bit more confident. She knew that he could hold his own in a conflict, and knowing that he was hyperaware of potential attackers and escape routes made the entire event seem safer. She could rely on him to spot problems before they came problems, and in all honesty, their host’s sheer oiliness was putting her on edge.

And there was also the fact that Noven was walking behind her, which eliminated her biggest blind spot.

“So, my fair lady, what is it you are looking for on this fine afternoon?”

This merchant was awfully wordy. “Something to hit,” she said with as sweet a smile as she could manage. “Something that doesn’t bleed all over the place.”

He smiled right back to her. “I see. Do you want something to hit with a blade, or something of a more unarmed nature?”

Mirian paused, pretending to consider. “Something of an unarmed nature, I think. More stress-relieving.”

He nodded. “Indeed. I think I have just what you need over here.”

He led them to a large… something draped across a back table. It looked like a circular pillow, although it was made of leather and about twice as long as any normal pillow Mirian had come across. Rapping his knuckles across the surface, the merchant turned to face them.

“This should relieve your stress quite well, I think. These here go around a rafter, hook in the ceiling, whatever you desire, and the rest hangs down. The ropes are strong, and if they break you can just string it back up again.”

Turning his attention behind her, the merchant continued his question to Noven.

“What about you, good sir? Perhaps you would like something of this nature for yourself?”

[Noven]

Nov listened to the exchange, half of his attention on the merchant and Jade while the other half roamed about the stall. He had to hand it to the lass. She played the stallkeeper's weakness well, getting him to spend more chimes talking and less chimes scheming. It was a skill, the merc found, that tended to work better for women. Especially the pretty ones. If and when he tried, he just got strange or even warier looks.

Not for the first time, the cook wondered how exactly Jade had kept herself out of trouble all these years. The fatal sort, that is. The fact that she wasn't dead attested to...well, something considerable in significance. And she certainly wasn't punching her way toward preservation.

Or maybe she did juggle her fair share of troubles and Nov was just ignorant of them. That might explain an issue or two. Like why she had come to the markets, alone, intent on buying a punching bag of all things...

His full attention swiveled forward as he felt the beady eyes of the merchant switch targets, oily gaze now laid upon the cook. Taking a moment to consider, Noven looked around the myriad stacks of combat wares and wondered if he ought take the man up on his offer. This season had seen to a new role: teaching. Just about the last thing he could have anticipated. And, given the circumstances, it looked like such arrangements weren't about to end anytime soon. A punching bag might be beneficial. It could keep him warm and in shape during the Winter, and he could name at least two students who could make good use of it.

But the thing didn't exactly look light, and carrying two in one trip just seemed foolhardy. He'd be like a giant, walking target that all but begged to be robbed. Another day, another round. Maybe he could even compare prices at a different stall. Certainly didn't hurt to try.

"Not a bag, at least not today," the merc responded, "but maybe something else. What kind of training posts you got?"

Nov hadn't used one in years. The last time he'd touched one was when he was half his current size and Nona had just begun teaching him the basics of hand to hand combat. But that old thing had ceased to be usable long ago, and they had never acquired enough funds to replace it.

The merchant's eyebrows rose a fraction as he considered this man's request. It wasn't often that people sought out training posts; most preferred weapons, the bigger and shinier the better. Given this new bit of information, it was safe to assume this particular customer knew what he was looking for. Which meant it was time to pull out the good stuff.

"Ahh, wait right here," the seller beamed as he rubbed his hands together, "I've got just the thing. Boris! Bring me the silver chest."

One of the male slaves immediately extracted himself and hustled over to do as he was told. He had to rearrange some of the boxes and goods so he could get to what was, unsurprisingly, not a chest of actual silver, but one of plain wood and metal instead. Its steel frame did look something close in color to silver, though, which was probably where it'd gotten its name.

Strolling over with a confident gait, the merchant unlocked the chest with a fat ring of keys and pulled out a burlap sack. All the while Nov eyed him and the slave with nothing less than utmost suspicion. He was more than ready if either should try anything funny.

"Yes, this is it," the well-groomed seller sighed, carefully emptying the sack of its contents onto a nearby table. "One of my finer wares. Training posts of good quality are rare, though I'm sure you know this already, 'o esteemed patron. Here, have a look for yourself. It can be assembled with ease, and then taken apart again if you need it moved. You can have my word on it's crafstmanship. I only sell the best!"

Noven wasn't sure if half the things this man said were true. But he could tell that the post was in fact of better quality than most one found in the markets, if one could find any at all. It even had what appeared to be cushioning on some of the extremities, while a few others were armored with metal.

Looking back up, the cook feigned disinterest. "And I'm guessing this is would cost me a pretty copper."

The merchant chuckled. "Aye, it might. For someone else. But for you and your lovely lady, I feel a certain, unusual amount of generosity today. A mere thirty gold for both the bag and post is all I ask."

Nov narrowed his gaze. "Fifteen."

"Good sir, I have children to feed. Twenty five and I'll go no lower."

"Eighteen. We don't need any of this."

The merchant shook his head and feigned exasperation, as if he was being hassled near the limits of his patience. "Twenty three take it or leave it. 'Tis a fine deal I'm offering you both, this I can assure you."

Frowning, Noven turned to look at Jade. He was really no good at this shyke and wondered if she could possibly get it any lower.

"Wutcha think?" the cook asked, trying to signal with sheer will alone that they ought to go lower. He would've kept trying, but he just didn't know how to get the seller to budge more. Never had the patience to get this shyke down to an art like the rest of Sunberth's denizens did.

Ovek lend us luck...

It was all up to Jade now.

[Mirian Jade]

Noven’s attention was elsewhere when the merchant posed the question. Perhaps not completely, but enough to give the cook pause to consider his options.

No. It wasn’t a bag that he wanted.

Mirian arched an eyebrow as the merchant turned and barked orders at one of the attending slaves, although more out of simple acknowledgement that something had just happened then any actual surprise. She’d seen Noven when the orphans had been taken. It was no stretch of the imagination that he would want something here, too.

The slave hurried off to fulfill his task. The merchant turned to watch him. No one was looking at her any longer. So it wasn’t her fault that her deep, hidden kleptomaniac chose that exact moment to ride to the surface, was it?

And it certainly wasn’t her fault that she was glancing casually about the place for anything small and not tied down. It was just a bad habit of hers. It wasn’t like anything would come of it.

She kept her gaze close to the punching bag, despite its repeated attempt to wander farther. She didn’t want to get on this owner’s bad side, of that much she would certain.

But that single metallic glitter on the bag’s table was certainly distracting.

Craning her neck, Mirian identified the source as a… knife? Although smaller than any she had ever seen. It was about the length of one of her hands, from wrist to fingertip, sleek and compact with no guard above what she assumed was the grip. It was sharp on both sides of the blade, and the pommel ended in what looked to be a small ring.

Odd as it was, Mirian couldn’t help but move closer for a better look.

A clatter came from her shoulder as the chest was unearthed and presented to the merchant and potential buyer, and Mirian turned to watch the exchange. The slave remained by the chest as the merchant bent to unlock it, waiting for any further instructions that might come, and as attention was pointed at the container Mirian was again aware of how little attention was being paid to her.

And as the post was taken out, her hand began to inch towards the knife. When the slave glanced over, it was a simple affair to flatten her hand and lean appraisingly over the bag by which she was leaning; that, of course, was something she could not steal, a fact that would be obvious even to the most idiotic of observers. When the attention passed, her hand went back to its roaming.

Thirty. Fifteen. Numbers went back and forth between the two men, numbers that didn’t much hold Mirian’s attention. Noven’s money was his business, and she was too busy slipping the small, curiously made knife into the pocket of her skirt.

“Wutcha think?”

Mirian’s attention was yanked violently back to the matters at hand, and her eyes ripped away from where they had rested innocently on the punching bag. She leaned an elbow on the leather sack, only just managing to pull away from her pocket and the new knife inside of it by the time the merchant turned to look at her.

What did she think? About… about what? The training post?

Oh, shyke.

“Uh…” she blinked, trying her best to make her surprise as innocuous as she could while desperately trying to recall what numbers had already been said. A moment of that, and then she was gathering herself, planting the mask of determined nonchalance that Noven himself was wearing. The mask of a haggler.

“I’d say… twenty-two for that.” The merchant frowned, and Mirian shrugged. “And it’d still be half a robbery if you ask me.”

“Twenty-three,” he said back.

Since it wasn’t her making the purchase, Mirian inclined her head to Noven. His post, his money.

[Noven]

Nov thought Jade looked rather startled for such a harmless question. And was it just his imagination, or did it seem like she'd just slipped something other than her hand into her pocket?

The cook blinked that thought away. Even if she had pilfered something from this oily vagik, he'd personally rather not know about it.

"You heard the lady," Nov shrugged. "Still half a robbery. Twenty two and we just might considering doing business again in the future." He was already digging into his pockets for the right amount of coin when the stallkeeper cleared his throat.

"Ahem. A moment ago, I might have considered being so generous as to accept your offer." The merchant slowly closed the lid to his silver chest and moved to rest his hand on the hilt of an ornate dagger. His fingers tapped against it, belying the patient tone of his voice. "But I believe your lovely friend there has just upped the price with her, well, rather selective tastes."

Noven narrowed his eyes. "Just what exactly are you accusing us of?"

"Ahh, nothing a little bit of negotiation can't fix," the merchant grinned, which only made him look oilier than ever, "and I'm not accusing you of anything, other than maybe being a bit of a bargain driver. Just her." He looked Jade up and down, rubbing the hilt of his dagger. "And if you haven't the gold, there are plenty of other forms of payment I accept. Like I said, I'm a generous man. Maybe your friend could even learn to appreciate it."

Scowling in open disdain and disgust, Nov slammed a fistful of coin onto a nearby table. "Twenty-three mizas and not a copper more. Jade, we're done here. Let's get our things and go."

The stallkeeper laughed lightly as he signaled for two of his slaves to step forward. They were big and beefy and probably weighed three times more than their master. Which, all things considered, was rather impressive. Because it meant this stingy little rat was willing to cough up extra coin just to keep his bodyguards well fed. Too bad the same couldn't be said of the female, though.

"Now, now, dearest customers of mine. Let's not make this more difficult than it has to be, shall we? You want something I have, and I want something of yours. It doesn't get simpler than that. Plus, your friend brought this onto herself. Trust me when I say I don't normally treat shoplifters so lightly."

He hooked his thumbs onto his belt as his burly slaves looked upon the two customers with dour expressions. "I'll only be a moment. Then she's all yours again, safe and sound, not a hair on her head harmed."

Nov all but snarled, "She's not mine to give, and she's not yours to have. I've given you more than enough gold." His gaze flicked over the merchant's various goods as he set down his pack and rolled his shoulders. "But if it's a fight you're ithing for, then it's a fight you'll get. And I ain't afraid of breaking every last petching thing in this stall of yours, including all the bones in that shyke stained body of yours."

The merchant's anger was palpable now, but his demeanor remained forcibly in control. "Come, now. No need for this useless bluffing. There are five of us and two of you. You can choose to comply, or leave empty handed and short twenty three gold. It's your choice. And really, when you think about it, it isn't a hard choice to make, is it?"

An unexpected guffaw erupted from Noven's lungs. There wasn't a single drip of amusement in his voice as he said, "Guess a vagik more weasel than man like you would never understand."

And then he socked the first slave to his right square in the jaw.

There wasn't time to pull off his left glove. And even if there had been, Nov preferred not to flash his mark for all of the Seaside Market to see. No, he had to fight fair this time around--or as fair as things got in the Berth. His only hope was that Jade could handle her own; the stall was too cramped and crowded for him to refrain from making things dangerous for her, too.

The merc picked up a random object and threw it at the second slave, who had taken an extra tick to react once he saw his companion reel back from the shock of Noven's punch. His delay cost him at least a whole tooth as the hard end of an armored boot plowed right into his slack jawed face.

"Jade, run!" Nov managed to shout before the first slave recovered and barreled into him, knocking both of them into an entire pile of miscellaneous armor.

[Pulren Marsh]

A Grade is Coming
Your Wave

Who doesn't love a shopping thread? Especially with awkward side glances.

 

Noven

XP

• Socialization 2
• Organization 2
• Acting 1
• Negotiation 1
• Intimidation 1
• Brawling 2

Lores

• Old Mack's: Quality clothing if you can stand the gabbing.
• Unarmed Combat: Fighting Fair is Sometimes Necessary for One of Krysus

Miscellaneous

• Mizas - Twenty Eight GM, - Five SM
• Three Fine Woolen Shirts, Two belts| Five GM, Five SM
• One Elaborate Training Post| Twenty Three GM
  
  Since this ended abruptly before the scenario could be resolved, I awarded you the training post for the money you slammed down. If you would prefer to not have it and keep the money, let me know and I will amend the ledger.

 

Mirian Jade

Should you return, PM me for a grade.

Your Grader,


Pulren Marsh