==== September 10, 2013
==== Ceapan, Cullen, Ellen, Gritta, Ixtli, Maryam, Mayte, Sara, Segam
==== A bazaar meeting, turns into a raid. Wait, Igen has guards?

Who Ceapan, Cullen, Ellen, Gritta, Ixtli, Maryam, Mayte, Sara, Segam
What A bazaar meeting, turns into a raid. Wait, Igen has guards?
When There is 1 turn 3 months and 6 days until the 12th pass.
Where Igen Weyr

GrittaDispleased.jpg Ceapan1.jpg


Stitches Bitches (NPC store - In the Central Bazaar)
All roads in the weyr ultimately lead here, to this center of commerce. Canvas awnings jut out over time worn, sandy cobblestone, sheltering customers and wares alike from the majority of Igen's elements, and funnel scents both mouthwatering and vomit inducing through the thin streets. Almost all store fronts are open air, delineated by sandstone arches with intricately carved facades. The insides of these stone-shingled buildings act as an amplifier for the salesmens' bawled enticements, and are held up by the chipped swirls of marble pillars.

Kachru, the proprietor of The Stitches Bitches, has cleared must of his merchandise to the sides of the store, chairs are set up in neat little rows, and a small raised leveled stage - no doubt borrowed from an entertainment act, has been set up in the front. A small podium and a few chairs behind for those who hold positions of unofficial authority in the bazaar. Authority that until recently was unquestioned. As well as a spot of honor for Ceapan, the bazaarmaster, of course. Not on the stage, but off to the side so that he may monitor the proceedings. A small table of refreshments has been set up and a few merchants already mill around speaking in small groups in hushed voices.

One of those chairs? It was intended for Mama Steen of The Pit, but the matriarch had deemed it inappropriate and had one of her sons replace it with a padded chair from their home, complete with footstool for her bandage wrapped feet. Another song, only slightly larger than the old woman herself, has gently deposited her within her throne and pressed a glass of healer-forbidden wine into her hand. In the other hand, her cane, which is tightly gripped as she eyes some of those mingling merchants. They'd best not be talking about her.

And don't think she won't find out, either: the matriarch has clearly sent her veil-bedecked daughter out to mingle. Maryam stands near the table of refreshments, cradling a goblet of simple water between her hennaed hands. Outwardly, the young woman appears to be looking into the cup, as if water ripple could tell her the secrets of the future.

The entrance of the matron of The Night Flight is announced by the soft tapping of her cane, Gritta appears in the doorway her soft red dress crisp and folded, a shiny fabric which catches the light as she moves through the crowd. A soft nod to those her greet her without feeling the need to engage in conversation, a choice which no one seems to decry as she slips into a chair near The Pit matriarch. The woman receives a familiar, though business-like smile, as she tucks her feet together at the ankle and her hands fold in her lap. From this prim and poised position she studies those her have come to speak or listen.

Mayte makes her way in from the sidestreet, tugging uncomfortably at the sheer skirtiness of her dress. Pausing a moment to glare at the surroundings, Mayte nevertheless straightens her back and strides forward, owning her Senior Apprentice knot with all the imperiousness that being designated representative of Corks and Works can bring. In a bad dress, and a slightly less unpleasant mood. Of course, there's one habit that marks any apprentice anywhere: she starts towards the refreshment tables.

Tizoc, leader of the Tlatoani, is not one who is likely to be at any point questioned — he does far too much good for everyone who has anything at all to gain from who and what he knows. Nor does he seem to have any concern; he has always been good at going with the flow as needed (if it is needed; often he has some hand in directing said flow) and he is sitting in his chair looking quite dapper and quite unconcerned. Also quite unaffected in general — while things are tense, Tizoc looks as calm and blank-faced as ever. Amongst the minglers, though, is his second daughter Ixtli; she's the one in the family who is best at the whole 'mixing' thing, after all. She appears to be the opposite of Mayte: excellent dress (it has Night Flight all over it), elegant scarves, and an excellent mood.

Cullen lurks nearer near the outskirts as warm bodies begin to amass in the cooling desert air, a shoulder fetched up against a wall and arms and ankles crossed. He's gotten his haircut, the silver-shot temples military-short with only a slight shag at the top, with beaten hide poncho slung loose off his neck. With his head tipped down, he runs a catalogue over seating placement, who greets who, who serves who. A sprig of desert grass is gripped in his teeth, idly swiveling back and forth.

Standing at Cullen's SIDE is a young girl… thing. Girlish, anyway, Ellen's husky workman's build makes a stretch of her twelve turns, and with one eye squinted up against a sand-laden tuft of wind, she's in the midst of rolling a cigarette into paper. A lap of tongue seals it off, and without looking to him, she just HANDS IT OFF to Cullen.

With a crowd of people gathering, Kachru has a growing pool of dripping sweat beneath his sleeves, a tangible show of his less than high level of comfort-ability with hosting this particular meeting, especially at this time in the bazaar. The brightly clad, in tights and a flowing tunic, leader of Igen's oldest caravan dances into the room, glides up the stairs with a flourish of arms and slides into a seat on the other side of Lady Steen. "Steen when will you grant me the desire of my heart, it has been many turns that I have asked, at every meeting I have tried to hand you my heart, will you still rebuff me?" His eyes twinkle in playful jest, far too easy beside the woman, though perhaps that is half the fun. Kachru takes the collar of his shirt and tries to fan himself as he approaches the podium. Is it time to start the meeting? The indecisive fidgits as he tries to get a read on those gathered. It is a wonder his store has been open as many turns as it has.

Having managed to leave her less than favorite partner behind, the bazaar's newest merchant steps through the door. Quiet and unobtrusive Sara nods to those that she knows, few enough here, and makes her way to a place where she can see and hear easily. For that is her place today, to hear and see, having little knowledge of the bazaar's inner workings. Already her eyes scan the room keeping the wisdom of Gritta in mind that those to be avoided would not show up tonight.

Having procured all of a meatroll, Mayte starts to look about for like people. So much fanciness happening, the apprentice is fidgeting slightly as she moves about, passing between crowds of the assembled people. If anyone's reading her, the Book of Mayte is titled "I Hate Dresses: a Lifestyle", but the podium is being filled… and filled, and perhaps it's time to get this on the road so she can get out of this dress and BURN IT. Next job: finding a seat, and Mayte deliberately searches for the most unobtrusive one.

Mama Steen exchanges companionable nods with Gritta. Aye, she and the other business owner are likely on the same page, that much can be seen in a simple gesture. Kachru…does not receive so civil a greeting- but perhaps that's all part of the game. "When you stop strutting around like a green in heat, I might consider it," the matriarch rumbles before thumping the butt end of her cane against wood beneath it. "Are you going to call this to order or will I have to?"

Well away from her mother's well-known bear-mother prickliness, Maryam observes the growing crowd through lowered lashes. When Cullen is spied, and the girl at his side, some of that near statue stillness is broken when she takes the steps needed to approach. "Sir. Miss." Both receive their due, a formal half-bow over her goblet of water. "May I stand with you? It is likely to grow crowded." And they seem to have staked out a good spot.

That dry single chortle from over by Steen and Kachru? Yes, that was Tizoc. No, he doesn't look like his expression has changed at all. No one should be surprised by this, least of all the other two merchants.

Gritta watches the overly forward trader with a look of familiar tolerance. That which would be scandal in one who had not been up to the same games for man turns, though the woman's response to him draws a soft chuckle from the old woman's wrinkled face. Other than that she remains mostly silent, allowing her louder and more forceful counterpart to play the bad cop. The final chair next to her is filled, a portly man who owns a gourmet foodery, and who is a rather greasy looking man himself. The power four. Who also sit in various stages of either bred elegance or monied sloppiness. "Yes, let’s do Kachru. Before something unpleasant happens in the galleries." Because not all of the merchants of the bazaar have the same refined taste for etiquette as those seated near him.

Eyes slide over the crowd, as Sara takes her skirts to where she can keep a good view of the bazaar leaders upon the dais. Thoughts are kept hidden behind green eyes, and she finds herself near the apprentice girl from next door. Mayte gets a small smile, but no other greeting.

Kachru shivers visibly as Mama Steen scolds him. A coward of a man, when it really comes down to it, and most know more than likely to throw another merchant under the proverbial trader wagon if the guards came a' knockin'. Still he has respect for those who have been in the bazaar for generations, at least when there isn't anything around that makes him want to wet his pants. And so he picks up his small wooden hammer and rapts heavily on the podium. "Um. Order? Order?" His questioning tone makes it several minutes before the room is quiet enough to speak. "Matron Steen, I believe you had the minutes from last week? If you'd run through them please and we'll take a vote of confidence?" The man's grip on the wooden structure is complete with shaking hands and white knuckles.

"Do ya," Cullen undertone-invites Maryam's company, spoken through the teeth now gripping his cigarette. Ellen is built no gentler, but her body language is considerably more welcoming in it weight, shifting to her back hip to imply welcome into her nearer personal space with a thumb hooked off the front of her belt, "You're the Daughter Steen, ayuh? 'm Ellen." Cullen is grinning slowly, but his gaze is directed elsewhere. If Maryam is looking for reprieve from a crowd's jostling, this is a good bet - rather than discouraging, Cullen rather looks all to eager for someone to set their foot astray in his direction, electric canine gaze jumping rapidly yet from person to person, murmuring, "Lotta faces I dunno yet. See craftknots."

Mayte finally finds a spot, and occupies it. A slightly mischevious grin is shot back at Sara, and Mayte is settling herself in, nibbling on her meatroll. Since it seems like someone's calling this to order, the apprentice straightens and faces front, a quiet cough emerging as she notes Kachru's hands. A quick, curious eye at Cullen and then at Ellen. Huh.

"A pleasure, Ellen. Welcome to Igen Weyr, may it do you well." Slightly more formal than Cullen's greeting, that. Maryam's eyes have narrowed with a smile as she angles herself into the space "cleared" by the younger female's shifting. "Many and more craftknots. That might be half the problem," she murmurs. Attention is drifting over the crowd as if she were unaware of the interactions occurring on stage.

Most will not be so lackadaisical about snapping to order, however, when Mama Steen has her say. She slams the cane down again with far more force- lending credence to rumors of her having waded into the melee on her own sands, twenty Turns ago- and barks, "Fuck the minutes! Everyone knows why and how we've come to be here tonight, and I'd have it out straight to sooner settle it. What's this I hear 'bout newcomer upstarts not paying their way?" Straight to the heart of things she'll go, with a formidable scowl and a Look for any who dare meet her eyes.

Tizoc is certainly bold enough to at least attempt to look Mama Steen in the eye; the look he's giving her is, however, one of approval. Out in the mingling zone, Ixtli migrates closer to the Ellen-Cullen-Mayte-Sara area, but doesn't actually say anything just yet. She isn't actually watching the Authority Figures at all. Her eyes are entirely on the crowd, taking in others' reactions to what is going on rather than keeping the closest track ever of the goings on themselves.

Gritta is non-too-amused with Kachru's antics, though the need for the appearance of balanced power in the bazaar forces these meetings to rotate stores, and so she resigns herself to a quick look through the crowd. Mayte receives a smile, especially as she notes the sr. app. knot, a soft nod of 'good-girl' is given silently, Sara is spotted, and her fingers twitch up barely in a wave. No need to show partiality to any but the one it is given. The gently aged woman is not so brass as her Pit running counter part, and while the close family friendship is well known to others in the bazaar, it confuses those who are new, often. "Madame Steen, I quite agree, perhaps with some since of order though." She doesn't wait for the cowering store owner to take back over the meeting, instead directing him however she guises it with requests, "Perhaps if you'd explain the apparent problem to those who aren't aware, and then we can have people voice complaints one at a time?"

The violence directed at the floor gets Sara's attention, and she turns her harper gaze onto the elderly matron. Her eyes may meet for just a moment, but that is all, and no particular emotion other then patient waiting is expressed. She has done nothing wrong… yet. Gritta's small wave gets an equally brief smile of acknowledgement. Her gaze finally settles on the man who would be the leader of the meeting.

Mama is gracious enough to incline her head to Tizoc, accepting that approval as is her due. It warms her to the cockles of her dear old heart, it does, to know her peers are with her. Even if Gritta is going to insist on doing things The Proper way. She sighs a sighs worthy of a bull and folds her hands over her cane. Only that woman could bring her to order so efficiently- and grudgingly. "I've a complaint," she mutters. But look! See how she isn't voicing it yet?

Kachru seems to gain some semblance of control, though he dabs hastily at his forehead in a vain attempt to drive back the drops of perspiration. "Yes. Well. Alright then. As most of you are aware." A solid gulp as he glances around the room, no weyr people seem to be present. A nervous glance back at Gritta, who no doubt knows her grandson is considered one of them but many merchants now. Though his lack of presence is noted by others as a sad but smart business move on the part of the runner of The Flight. "We have an unspoken arrangement with the weyr proper. In exchange for a…" He coughs, "Certain amount of autonomy in the running of our businesses, we offer tithes even for those…" A pause as he glances back to the four who sit behind him. Is he doing this right? "Transactions that might not otherwise be in the books. Those arrangements that are on record are padded a little to make up for it. Though it seems there are those who believe this to be unfair. That if the business is an unknown to the weyr the tithe should not be paid." This illicts a roaring reaction from the crowd of merchants, those on both sides yelling their boos or cheers. The man has no idea how to handle such a sight. "Madame Steen!" Who speaks from behind him is looked at greatfully. "Yes, please. Do speak."

So many people to meet and know, and Mayte is busy watching all of them. A brief grin at Gritta, and then Mayte focuses briefly on Madame Steen and the big Kachru curiously, huhing quietly. A little look is shot to Ixtli, eyeing her clothes, and Mayte winces, fingering that dress a bit more. Shoulda stuck with what she knew: pants, kick-butt boots, and lots of buckles. Oh well. Kachru's words make the apprentice snort: she's seen the books often enough. But now Madame Steen is being asked to speak, and Mayte clears her throat gently.

"Hn. Crafters got a lot less t'lose with Hall backing 'em." Cullen utters back to Maryam, slow-shaking his head, "An' a lot to offer, 'f you can get a hand in their pocket." His eyes are finding Sara in the crowd, other crafters. He doesn't look terribly angry - well, no more than usual, his grin crooked but unfaded, "Seems that's not changed from our once-ago." Contradictorily, it's Ellen that's frowning, eyes directed towards Kachru, a silent furrow between her brows. She dips her head briskly to Maryam's formal greeting, performing some foreign silent gesture off the front of her brow to the veiled woman - its execution is respectful, if off-and-on distracted. Cullen tips up his chin and barks towards the center, arms still lazily crossed but features all business, "What happens, should the Weyr go unpaid." The structure is a question, but the tone fails to raise to interrogation. All flat-hard projection.

Gritta raises her hand at the uproar of the crowd. Though its affect is hard to tell, finally she pushes to her feet and with far more agility than one would expect and old woman with a can to have she makes her way to the front of the stage. "Ladies, gentlemen. Can we not have this conversation with some form of decorum? All will have their moment to speak. And which of us has not engaged in some business venture that neither party wanted receipts written for." Do her eyes follow Cullen and sweep over Sara? Well it's hard to say as it seems she's looking at everyone in the room. "Who is after Lady Steen then? Step up, and form a line." A longer finger directed at those standing in the back of the room, "Traders too, then. If you have something to say. We all tithe them, and in some unfortunate way rely on them."

Slightly behind her, Sara cannot see the surly faced man muttering to the veiled woman, but she has ears to hear. As the representative of one of those new craft backed shops, she cannot help but listen. For many, perhaps it was true enough that failure is an option, but never for the harper. She'll make the shop succeed just to shove it in someone's face the "role" of women. Despite inner monologue, she continues to stand relaxed, impassively watching those who will begin to complain.

The Tlatoani, for what it is worth, are not saying anything at all; there is nothing but observation and silent nodding from all corners (except Ixtli, who is also sipping a glass of wine; Mayte gets a little smile. There's no judgement over her dress here). She seems curious enough about the answer to Cullen's question, even if her father would be chiding her on not already knowing it — her attention has begun to wander toward the front of the room, thoughtful.

With others approaching, Maryam takes a moment to study these newcomers. Ixtli, who is at least recognized and therefore gathers a small smile (though her veil hides much of it). Mayte and Sara? Not as recognized, which means both young women are analyzed before her focus wanders back to the pair she stands beside. ""A lot to offer, if the Bazaar remains," she murmurs. Unfortunately, she isn't given to raising her voice. Her next remark is similarly low in pitch, more a thought voiced for her own benefit than meant to address the crowd: "Should the Weyr go unpaid, they come for us all, mayhap. This is sweet ground to grow in." For those of a market-minded position.

It's a thought shared by the young woman's mother. Mama Steen, declared as first to speak, sits up straighter. Hopefully no one expects her to stand, with her feet as warped and swollen as they are. "No one else has seen fit to name you but I shall! The Whistling Wher, Palm Heart, Rosie's Daughters…not one of you have paid the Weyr their due and for that you bring their attention to all of us."

Almu, of The Whistling Wher, shoots up out of his seat and hisses at the older woman on stage. "I have no such dealings that I have no paid for and I'll be damned if you could prove oth-" But he is abruptly smacked in the back of the head by Rosie herself, the owner and runner of what is supposed to be a massage parlor, but if they rarely bother to cling to that cliche facade. "If 'n the boys come round to see the 'girls, why do I have to still hide it like they 'aint getting the happy end'n they payin' for. Them boys in the weyr wanna own up and make decent folk out my girls' then we'll be pay'n 'em."

Mayte notices the little look from Ixtli, and smiles back slightly more boldly. She quietly lets a breath out that her own shop isn't mentioned among the offenders, but the Vintner doesn't glower at the reticient shops; she doesn't even look their way. If someone doesn't want to pay the it'd-be-a-shame tax, then it will indeed be a shame, but Mayte is slightly surprised by the Whistling Wher owner's outburst, staring at him, and giggling so slightly when Rosie takes the matter, ahem, in hand.

Does the older harper, Sara, elbow the smaller apprentice? Well, maybe just a little. Clearly crafters are in the minority here, and it really doesn't do to start to giggle at them.

"Turns!" Gritta's mezzo voice barks over the complaining, "We have proprieties, we aren't riders." It isn't maddness that will rule this bazaar, there are rules, formalities. "And you'd all do well to remember it -"

Only the end of the elegant and forceful woman's speech is drowned out by the sudden and LOUD splintering of the wooden frame surrounding the door. A door which bursts forward a few feet and smashes against the floor of The Stitches Bitches. Segam bursts into the meeting first, followed by a regiment of ranking guards.

"However we'd have it," Cullen projects across the bazaar grounds once more, slouched and with his head dropped lazily back. His eyes are locked only on Mama Steen - SORRY, Gritta, he's saying right OVER you, with a sort of impatient bluntless, "Our time is short. The Weyr draws in. It'll not be long a'fore they see it, mayhap they need us less than we need them. If we wanna dig in," there's no persuasion in his voice - nor leaning for or against, "we'd needs must do it quick and push it hard."

Silence fills the room for a brief moment that feels like eternity.

"Get Kachru first!" Segam's voice suddenly echoes into the stunned crowd. "Then round up the rest for questioning. They could all be involved. Everyone is a suspect until then."

The host of the meeting though he gives up immediately, is slammed to the ground a pool of blood gathering around his broken nose still forced into the ground, only a whimper coming from the direction of the man. Chaos breaks free, as the crowd explodes in different directions, attempts to shove through exits, or maybe hide. The guard seems to have no less joy in smashing others around than they did Kachru.

Mayte grunts as an elbow meets her ribs, and Mayte isn't going to let it show that that hurt, shard it. And… then there's guards. Lots of guards. Eollyn's going to OWE her for this one!

Guess who looks smug? That's right, Mama Steen looks incredibly smug because she has a retort to Almu's interrupted protest already. "I know down to the last eighth of a mark how much you've made," she says in dire tones, fixing the man with a piercing look. Notably, when this is said, Maryam quietly returns her gaze to the goblet still cradled between her hands. "And as for you, girl…" Whatever else Mama might have said to Rosie is cut off sharply by the arrival of the guards. For once in her life, the old woman is caught speechless. She stares. And then? Then she ROARS. "Segam I'll HAVE YOUR KNOT for this!"

There's guards, and then there's MORE guards, and Mayte is ducking as far down as she can, and being shorter than most, Mayte is quickly trying to make her way to the Sidestreet, turning to shout at Sara, "C'mon!" Neighbours gotta stick together, right? Still, Mayte is cursing as she has to pull up her skirts, meatroll lost to the tramplings, as she tries to evade things, people, and most of all, cops.

Ellen exchanges only a single brief sideways glance with Cullen - down low is a rapid movement, as she hands her father her belt knife, and he hands her two satchels off his own belt. They vanish into a fold beneath her colorful serape poncho. And then… Ellen's pounchy pitbull face twists up and she starts crying, hunching over at the waist with huge tears welling up in her eyes, her fists clenched up around her face in a cringing flinch away from the guards.

Skirts were truly a bad idea for Mayte, so was running, "YOU!" Is bellowed from in front of her, Igen's guards are awful but they are also lazy, which means there is one rather close to the door, eating a piece of meatroll he snagged off the snack table. Those were there for him right? But crafter knots are rather noticeable in a place like this, and he's charging at her with his elbow out, cause that's how that works right? Of course, he's a large man, a hard to dodge man, and his elbow is swinging rather wildly.

As might be expected, Maryam is far more quiet in her surprise than the elder Steen. She startles, her robes rippling around her as she turns to look at the source of the disturbance. And then the source comes to them. A trio of guards carrying truncheons close on the trio who've chosen to linger near that wall. Ellen, with her bawling, provokes a scowl from the leader of the little squad. "G'wan out of here, brat," he grunts, reaching out to prod at the girl with the tip of her club. The other two? Both of them close on Cullen, leaving Maryam to curl an arm around Ellen's shoulder to try to usher her away from this violent scene- only for a handful of her sleeve to be gathered up by the leader to prevent it. "Not you!"

"You," the one in the lead rumbles at the lone male, "you coming peacefully?"

Gritta falls back to the side of The Pit's matron. "Nice and easy." The vast majority of the impending doom is being flung about off the dias. Several merchants are in the same position as Kachru, who is mumbling something about knowing this was a bad idea between his weeping, other cuffed, some of managed to escape. Her voice an easy whisper, "Do you know if he has a door that leads out the back?" Her arm wraps round the other old woman's as she speaks barely at a whisper.

Mayte is never wearing a skirt AGAIN! Outrage! The guard who is NOT where he should be, aka, out of Mayte's way, gets a glower, and then there's not enough time for even a spunky little Apprentice to get into any semblance of a prepared stance, and that elbow is swinging… straight into her jaw. And Mayte goes down with the surprise of it and it's a second before the ringing in her head clears, and Mayte is trying to get back to her feet. Damnit, other apprentices are smaller and hit more wimpily than some be-meatrolled weyr guard.

The sudden change in tone from tense accusation to the arrival of the guard catches Journeyman Sara more than a little off guard. She dodges an elbow that goes straight for her stomach, as her eyes are drawn to the apprentice. "Stop!" Fury in her voice is clear to hear as she forces herself towards the apprentice and her attacker.

Luckily for Mayte the guard truly does SUCK, and her small size and her falling give him enough reassurance his job here is done. For duty of the weyr, and what not, he shoves the rest of the roll in his mouth, a new flood of confidence and he's about to plod on after his friends to get more baddies, but then Sara is there. Another crafter. Delicious. "Journeyman. We've been ordered to hold all here for questioning, either you may have a seat and wait, or I will have you arrested." Respect my authoriti!

Cullen stands with his hands in loose fists at his sides - grinning slowly, at the guard addressing him. "There some reason I should?" The very fact that he doesn't seem to even care that it's three one one is possibly why all three might want to focus their attention here.

"That he does," Mama Steen growls at her compatriot, "and I'm not like to make it there on these fucking feet. Go on. I'll be giving the Weyrleader a piece of my mind over this, just you see. That boy's head will be ringing a sevenday after this." The guards will have to carry her in her chair, if they want anything to do with the Steen matriarch- but that's assuming they can get near enough, because she can and is whaling on anyone who comes near with her cane, in order to give Gritta time to glide on out.

Sara offers the small apprentice a hand, glaring at the guard. "I'll do no such thing. There is no cause for me to be held here, nor for your attack on this apprentice." Sara's voice is ice cold, and she stares at the guard with all of the arrogance her knot can give.

Ellen recoils from the guard's prodding with a squeak, her hair falling forward and feral over her face, "Y'sir, thenkya, sir." She gasps out - for a single moment, one entirely lucid faded-green eye jumps to Maryam's face, and she opens low hand in case the young woman should want to unload any of her pockets unto the girl. And then, quick as a wink, she's scuttling low for the door like a kicked canine.

It takes Maryam only a split-second to realize what the girl intends- and at the end of that split-second, a tiny collection of bound hides, a miniature book, ends in Ellen's grubby little paw. Then the veiled young woman is being shoved roughly towards another guard, leaving the leader to round on Cullen with his fellows. The man's ugly grin prompts the same in return, and the three advance as one on him- none of this attack one at a time, nonsense, oh no. All three, truncheons raised…and then lowering in a flurry of blows the moment they're near enough to try to connect.

Alright. Alright. She's okay. Mayte takes Sara's hand and is soon on her feet, checking her jaw. That's gonna purple real nice by tomorrow. No loose teeth, either. That guard's a sucker puncher. Mayte stands next to the Harper, grunting as she checks her jaw. Very gently.

"Journeyman, I have orders to hold everyone for questioning, you're word does not exag-ne-r-ate.-" The man is trying, "You. This meeting has been tracked for a long time, and it is well known several of the stores are doing illegal dealings. You have no cause to disobey an order from a guard. Sit or be arrested." This is clearly a final warning as he pulls cuffs from the back of his belt. Does the chaos with the ugly guy in the corner and the crying girl get his attention, for more than a brief moment. Meanwhile in the rest of the room, there are those who gave up quietly, sitting with regretful looks of having betrayed the others, and those who tried to run, looking a little worse for the wear.

The journeyman is not about to back down. "Exonerate." She snaps the word that he has butchered. "Nor does my presence here signal any wrong doing. You will do what you will, but I will not sit and wait patiently after this display of wanton needless force." Her gaze doesn't waver a microsecond from that of the guard, challenging him to use those cuffs if he dares.

Only a brief, meaningless flick of eyes towards the exit during Ellen's flight comes from Cullen - and then he's throwing up an arm to shield his head, ducking down behind it with his cigarette still gripped in in the oddly casual grit of his teeth as he… drops down to a protective crouch, crossing arms in an X over his head and roaring, "I yield! 'Snakes take your eyes, I YIELD!" Not that it's easy to hear over the other noise, and likely as not he'll end up yelling half these words with his face against the ground and grinning fiercely like this is FUN.

Eyes narrow at the guard, and Mayte fumes quietly, but she's then looking around trying to count heads. "We'd better sit, Journeywoman." Eyeing those cuffs, the apprentice shakes her head, "It's not worth it." Mayte? Been in trouble before? Never… She sighs and turns her back to the guard, possibly trying to offer a complete insult, but who knows because there's Cullen shouting and roaring, and Mayte huhs, half-admiring. She leans over at Sara, "Besides, at least there's a bit of a show." Brat.

It may seem cowardice to some, others, those from the bazaar will understand those unwritten laws - much like pirates any man who falls behind, stays behind. Though Mama Steen would be well assured Gritta will be round to bail her out and help her wreak havoc on those responsible, if in subtle and terrible ways, the old woman backs slowly off the dais and slips quietly out the back of the building. Good thing the guards didn't think to watch that door. "Morons." Can be heard, ringing in the night air of the deathly silent bazaar outside.

Maryam doesn't struggle or cry out as she's manhandled into a chair. Her mother, on the other hand, continues her bellowing. "You lay one more finger on that girl and W'rin will be having your children for breakfast! Don't touch me!" A loud crack follows as some unfortunate guard gets himself brained by going to close. Morons, indeed.

The guards around Cullen are equally club-happy and he earns himself a few solid hits before they're satisfied he's going to stay down. What follows is routine: kneeling on his back, binding his hands, giving him a boot in the ribs for good measure.

The guard squares up to the smaller journeyman with a shrug, "Suit yourself. Orders are orders, every one here's a person of interest." The man reaches for the woman's wrist with his cuffs, clearly he expects no sort of fight. "Didn't want to have to a resta ya, just sit ya down."

Sara has no intention of fighting, and allows the man to cuff her. She remains on her feet, exactly where she would be, staring down the man coolly.

A bloody peace rests upon The Stitches Bitches, its owner has finally stopped wailing and is simply sniveling in the corner where the guards left him. Segam finally makes his way back through the shop. Marching through those who remain for questioning with his hands clasped behind his back. Perhaps not as many are left as he would have liked. But really this is the first time the guards have done much of anything besides play dice and eat in the last several turns, so he's looking rather impressed. "Remember what we are looking for, boys. Ask them individually; don't give them a chance to talk to one another" All the standard things he's supposed to say. And so each person will be questioned, with varying degrees of incompetence, and released. Except for Kachru, who's store will be boarded up by morning and who will locked away in the rarely used brig for an undetermined amount of time.

Now that he's down, Cullen is bizarrely amiable! He's straining out a chuckle, "Oy oy, eager lads - uff!" Kicked. There's no way not to kind of curl up like a pillbug for that He seems extremely familiar with this drill, sending up a puff of dust around his mouth as he's knelt upon, overlapping his wrists helpfully over the small of his back. Gritted in such a way that he is able to keep his cigarette in his mouth even now. He's grinning BIGGER when he's finally dragged back up awkwardly to his feet, head rolled back on his shoulders to bare his teeth at the ceiling. Is he - enjoying this? Koff. He'll be feeling that kick later. Maybe he'll treasure it. Running eyes around the pandemonium, the guards will find him, after this moment, entirely cooperation and carefully not resistant. All smiles and cheer! Where next, guys?

Mayte is scowling as Sara's fair skin is marred with the fearsome cuffs, "She shouldn't be cuffed. She didn't try to resist or anything." That's right, Mayte, let's remind them /who did/. After that, Mayte is practicing the fine art of shutting up, standing beside Sara, awaiting her turn. The expression on her face can't be mistaken as resigned, but she knows what should happen next.

Those that did put up a 'fight'- hi we're looking at you Cullen- are bound and shuffled out, each with their own special friends. Two guards for most, four for Cullen because all of that grinning? Yeah, that's a little creepy and it's making the lawful ones nervous. The others are granted the courtesy of being questioned right here in The Stitches Bitches- and since it's been a large raid, that means everyone from lowest rank to high gets to wait their turn before being interrogated.

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