Who

Divale, H'rik

What

H'rik goes looking for counterfeit blueglow but it finds him instead!

When

It is midmorning of the seventh day of the twelfth month of the twelfth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Central Bazaar, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 10 Jan 2018 05:00

 

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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.


With rumours of various new and rather blue, medicines having popped up all over the bazaar, a certain Igen Weyrleader has taken it upon himself to mosey on down and have a look at what's on offer. It's a fine enough morning, warm enough now the sun's out and last night's winds have died down. Most of the bazaar folk have shaken off the worst of the usual morning sand, and businesses are open as usual. H'rik ambles a casual path down the main road in normal rider's gear, the only flourish to his outfit his knot. He's listening to the shouts of people selling their wares, seemingly at ease with his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes are watchful though, as he looks about at the bright stalls displaying their goods. Where to start…?

See, most of the shadier merchants will spy that Weyrleader’s knot and quickly go to ground! Even if he had thought to hide his knot, H’rik is probably at least decently known by sight alone. Downside to the Big Rank; everyone knows your name! Mostly. Fortune favours the Weyrleader today, however, as he won’t have to venture far! One of those very ‘samples’ he’s looking for is going to come TO him! In the form of a fleeing man, who comes rushing out of one of the side alleys and right into H’rik’s path! He had been cradling what looks to be various container, which may end up shattering all over the ground from collision or, if fortune turns to bad luck — all over the bronzerider himself.

A real shame for H'rik that he's peering at a stall in the other direction when the man emerges at speed from that side alley, and he barely has time to turn his head back when he gets slammed into, and showered with something. What was probably originally an expletive slurs into a wordless noise of alarm, before sliding into a noise of dismay when he realises his clothes have been dirtied. After a glance down to examine the damage to himself, H'rik's gaze shifts to see who or what hit him.

He might not want to know what was just spilled all over him! The man who is the source of it certainly looks horrified when he recovers from landing hard on his ass. One look at that knot and he’s set to a feverish, breathless stammering thick with swearing of his own. “… sorry, Sir! I — I, it was a mistake! …please, forgiveness…” But his words may as well fall on deaf ears. The nearby merchants and stall owners are staring but quickly return to “work” when heavy footsteps come rushing up. Two Guards, both young men, move in to swiftly gather the stunned, winded man. Morrs will see that his wrists are bound, while Dorr grimaces apologetically. “Apologies, Weyrleader. He gave us the slip… We’ll see him to the Brig — for illegal sales.” Obviously. On the heels of the Guards hauling the man aside, Divale ghosts her way towards the source of the commotion. “Solitary cell, for him.” she remarks cooly, before outright dismissing them. They’re more than capable of taking it from here! Instead, she’ll study H’rik and his ruined clothing. “… please tell me you didn’t inhale any of that?” Dry, dry tone as always, followed by a belated, almost sighed. “Sir.”

H'rik is pretty stunned himself, though less stammering than the man on the floor. As the internal debate rages (help him up? Yell at him?) the guards come over and take away the need for H'rik to do anything. Anything but a grateful nod to them both, anyway. "Thank you, both." Without the man to worry about, H'rik could take a better look at what, exactly, has spilled all over him - were it not for Divale appearing seemingly out of nowhere to join the fun. There's a flash of alarm in his eyes when she talks about inhaling it. "You're joking, right?" Is that a hint of panic in his voice as he stares at her.

“Not entirely. We’ve no idea what’s in that,” Divale flicks a finger to the spilled blue liquid that is now rapidly loosing its “glow”. She’s dismissive of H’rik’s alarm too, mainly because it serves no purpose to placate it and because it secretly amuses her to see someone ruffled over a potentially harmless scenario. After a quick darted look to track the Guard’s leading their prisoner away, Divale will step forwards and wordlessly touch her fingers to some of the Weyrleader’s dirtied clothing. Don’t mind a brash invasion of personal space! As quick as it happens, she’s stepping back and rubbing the mysterious substance under her thumb and finger tips. “They’ve been popping up faster than we can control and find them,” she reports, almost dully. “Some are harmless. Others not so much. As I’m sure you’ve heard?” Poor Shruber and his glowing bits~

Greeeeat. That's reassuring. With a sigh, H'rik cranes his neck to stare down at the blue mess on his upper half. Oh, and there's a bit that's splattered over one leg, so that's nice. He looks up when Divale moves, but doesn't dodge her examining fingers. If anything, the fact she's willing to touch the stuff offers him a tiny bit of reassurance that maybe he isn't going to die horribly. Either that or Divale's going down with him. "Yes, I did. Figured I'd come have a look and see if anyone was ballsy enough to try and sell me some. Didn't think I'd be getting a demonstration like this." He starts to slip off his jacket, since this has taken the brunt of the liquid. "Any dangerous ones been found, yet?"

Divale is fearless in this matter, so it’s probably the second option: they’ll both go down if this proves to be in anyway poisonous. Only she’ll have an idea of how to fix it and H’rik will be left to the Healers. “Only the lowest of idiots would even entertain the idea of selling to the Weyrleader,” she reminds him. “Not to mention even if one did, isn’t that a bit reckless?” For someone of his rank! The smirk she gives is almost mocking, but not so much as to be entirely disrespectful. “Not yet.” Is that a relief too? “Unless you ask the man foolish enough to put it on his most… sensitive of parts. He didn’t have a fun time of it.” Chuckling under her breath, she’ll take a delicate sniff of the liquid on her fingers and her reaction is immediate. Ugh. And since his jacket is already soiled… he won’t mind her wiping her hand on it either, right? “… not dangerous, that one. Disgusting, but not deadly.”

H'rik has to admit - Divale's got a point. Though he does have one, admittedly rather feeble, argument in his defence. "Perhaps they're selling it for someone else, not realising it's not the real thing?" He delivers it plainly, trying not to sound too defensive. "Anyway," he can't help a cheeky grin, "it would've been kinda funny if they had tried to sell something dodgy to me." A nice, serious Weyrleader. But - this talk of putting blue glowy stuff on sensitive areas? That does make him more serious. "Hopefully nobody else will be trying that then, or I pity the healers." He does notice Divale wiping her hand on his jacket, watching her do it, but the thing's not going back on him, so meh. He'll fold it inside out once she's done, and bundle it under his arm. "That one, you say. But have there been any that are actually deadly?" He's looking directly at Divale, wanting an answer to that one.

“Aren’t you the optimistic one?” Divale’s going to keep right up with her brashness and a rather sarcastic tone along with it. His cheekiness earns him a quirked brow and a shadow of a half-smile, but the Wingsecond rolls with it. “Funny until you’re ill and unable to ‘Lead the Weyr into ‘Fall. Who’d be laughing then, hmm?” Though she has to hand it to him, she’d have probably done the same if she could get away with it. Oh, wait… she already stole a few samples the real stuff! Still, temptation has her needling him a little more, even if she’s kind of approving of his plan. “You know they will, right? Only more daft and stupid than before…” she mutters and glances sidelong and up to his direct question. “Not yet. Give it time, though? Someone’s going to dabble in ingredients best left alone. Only a matter of wondering — who will it be? Men? Women? The young?” Cue a shrug of her shoulders.

H'rik is pretty tolerant of brashness, so long as it's not disrespectful. He's not sensing rebellion here - or at least, not enough to say something, so he'll go with it. "Certainly not Wendryth," he admits with humour. As for people experimenting more dangerously with their fakes - that brings no humour from him, the idea of people actually being harmed pulling his face into a grimace. He'll start to walk, the expectation there that Divale will follow, continuing his path through the increasingly busy bazaar. "I don't want to give it time, truth be told. I don't exactly want to be the Weyrleader who let people die under his nose from stupid experiments." His voice is low enough not to carry too far, a hint of frustration in his words.

Divale’s smirk returns and she merely dips her head. See? “Valid reason to be more cautious!” she muses, echoing words probably thrown her way on more than one occasion. H’rik has likely heard the very same, even before he was Weyrleader — probably says it too. Of course she will follow, like a temporary if persistent shadow. His open admission to frustration has her caught slightly off guard, but she nods subtly. “Not a way to be remembered,” she quietly agrees. Silence follows that but it takes only a few steps for her to gather her thoughts. “So far, no rider has been foolish to risk themselves. The Bazaar is not entirely your concern… and I doubt even the Steens and some of the other families will dabble in counterfeit.” A pause. “… untested counterfeit.” She corrects. “As long as none of these are successful, they’ll filter out in time. We’re doing what we can,” Parhelion, she means. “Along with the Weyr’s Guards.”

H'rik gives a quick flash of an amused smile at that, but it's gone quickly enough. He has more things on his mind. He's fallen back into that casual walk, though his gait is a little different now that one arm is pinning his bundled jacket to his side. Silence is fine for him; he's in no rush to fill it with hasty words; he's not expanding on his personal worries about what his legacy will be. Anyway, he wants to hear what Divale has to say. "Untested. Exactly. If there's money to be made though, some families will jump at the chance." Is he implying his father would be one of those? Hard to tell; H'rik's face is neutral. "My thanks to Parhelion. I assume anything seized is being taken to the appropriate people for testing?" Should his jacket be going to them, too? Or is Divale's opinion of the substance now coating it enough?

He’ll feel a sharp look from Divale, but she keeps it to a brief sidelong stare for what may be implied there. She, however, is not so censoring of her thoughts. “I was thinking more of the Akzhan family, myself,” she states, careful to keep her voice pitched low and cautiously. “Depending on the profit to be gained.” There could be plenty of assumptions on what those would be. H’rik could take Divale’s observations and likely spare his jacket being confiscated too. “Seized, studied and destroyed.” she assures him, with a grim set to her expression. “So far, none have come even close to being similar. That…” And she points to his jacket. “Is some clever dye, probably your run of the mill glow and some other mish-mash of nonsense. You’re fortunate not to have been hit with the ones made from dung.”

H'rik's lips press into a thin line when Divale brings up that particular family. "Mm." He's hardly going to shout a reply; indeed, H'rik seems rather more on edge than before, trying to be subtle about looking about him. Not that anyone would be stupid enough to attack two ranked riders in the open Bazaar, right? Whatever thoughts he has on the Azkhan and their particular ways will have to remain in that disapproving noise; H'rik is moving on to talk the fakes that have been got hold of by the right people, so far. "Good." His nose wrinkles when Divale mentions dung. "Nothing surprises me any more. If people are willing to pay for something they don't even know is real - there must surely be a need for the actual thing?" Is he…implying they could make a profit? Apparently not, for he continues, glancing sidelong at Divale. "I'll be interested to see what our healers come up with from the actual stuff."

If she mentions the name three times, does it summon a Akzhan tough guy to rough them up? Divale doesn’t need words; she has answer a-plenty in H’rik’s disapproving noise and his change in behaviour. All quietly observed and filed away, with an additional note to herself to later delve cautiously further into that family. “Depends. We’ve already plenty that works for infections. I’m thinking it’s… the allure of a novelty?” She grimaces. “Which makes this all the more dangerous. You get the gossip and rumours going and folks are going to think this stuff instantly heals you — which it doesn’t. Nothing does.” Magic and most superstition may not exist on Pern, but this is about as close as one can skirt it! “You’d be best to ask Baezyl and Amarante, if you’re truly that curious. Though I’m sure you’ll be drowning in Healers, Herders and Farmcraft soon enough…” A few have already started to trickle in, after all! And as brash as she is, Divale speaks none of her concerns for the slow simmering unrest in Kurkar. That she saves for different ears…

If H'rik's thoughts drift to the mention of the man and his (presumably glowing) private parts, forgive him. Novelty, indeed. "Hmmmm," comes the low noise again, but this time it's not quite AS disapproving. He can understand why people would try such things, when it's laid out like that. "Something new and exciting. Until it goes wrong." Is it his problem? He sure feels like it is, or will be, or is shared with Diem. Ultimately it's going to come up to him though, good or - more likely, it seems right now - bad. "Thanks. I'll go speak to them when I can, I think. Maybe before I get overrun," he at least offers a small smile at Divale's mention of drowning in crafters. "I should let you get back to your duties, Wingsecond. And - go change my clothes, I suppose." There's a sigh there. "At least I can tell the laundry it's just dye and not dung."

H’rik should count it a blessing that Lukoith is preoccupied or Wendryth would’ve been sent the Pernese equivalent of a dick pic. Divale would count it as a blessing too, as she undoubtedly would never live that one down. “Pretty much,” she agrees with grim humour. Another small nod and an exasperated sigh of her own. “Let’s just hope smarter minds prevail. Not that we’ve concerns a rider may try anything foolish?” She’ll just plant that little seed in H’rik’s mind, for a later conversation with Diem as well. No rider has tested it yet on themselves or… more outlandishly, on their dragon! “I’ll leave you to your, ah… task then, Sir. There should be a report by days end of our findings.” Just in case he was wondering! With a vague, not-quite smile, Divale respectfully excuses herself. “Clear skies, Weyrleader.” And off she goes, to slip back into the growing crowds of the Bazaar without so much as a backwards glance.

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