Who | |
What |
Kaelige might not be the merchant that he seems, but Doji gets her buttons and Kaelige gets a new knot. |
When |
It is evening of the nineteenth day of the eleventh month of the fourteenth turn of the 12th |
Where |
Igen Weyr - Cloth Corridor |
OOC Date | 01 Sep 2018 05:00 |
Cloth Corridor
Countless cloths of every cut, color, and size obscure the open air of this bountiful booth. Extravagant silks embroidered in so fine a metallic thread drape in diaphanous folds, billowing in the wind as one parts through veil upon veil of hanging fabric on display. Beyond, yet more plain or patterned cloth tower in neat stacks, the likes of which are oft seen wrapped about many a stylish Igenite.
The sandstorms have left their typical remnants, sand littered about even where one would think it should never. For much of the day, the outdoor stalls had closed up tight, trying to protect their wares from the unforgivable winds and the desert they carry with them. But now, in the gently arriving evening, the temperatures have settled into something fantastic. Cool, almost chilly to those used to baking in the heat, with only the faint whisps of gentle breeze. Bazaarites have re-opened shop, lit by glowlight and overhead lanterns in all the fanciful color and carnival glow that breathes a vivid sort of life even into the corners left to be swallowed in the advancing shadows. The cloth corridor is splashed once more in color and glittering adornments, the long tapestries and dresses and spools of cloth waiting for an imagination to make it into something more rainbow the lengths of these streets, even criss-crossing above as the vendors try to make up for the sandstorm-enforced loss of sales for the day. The buzz of people has slacked a little, many still absorbed in later mealtimes, but groups mill about from stall to stall. A young man dressed in off-blacks, with hood pulled up over his head, sits just removed from the general excitement. Where he's perched on a load of crates- some open in display of their bright, glittery contents, his still sealed by wooden slats- is just behind one of the vendors who looks decidedly nervous, perspiring far more than the 75 fahrenheit should afford. Kaelige says something, and the man nods, closing and locking a drawer on the farside of the stall before walking away with a small satchel in one hand. Kaelige remains, as if minding the shop himself, letting his shadow-swathed gaze follow the man until he vanishes into a mass of the crowd.
Among the many that chose to peruse the bazaar now that temperatures have dropped and the sands have died down, Doji's own utilitarian garb was probably more likely to come from the stores than any stall in this particular alley, but nevertheless the brownrider is here this evening. She's engaged enough in an exchange of marks of her own with a thread dealer a few stalls down that any potential shift changes at the other business is missed, but eventually she comes to agreement in price with the older woman and receives a few hanks of brightly dyed thread. Once the goods are safely tucked away into her jacket pocket, the rider turns her attention to the stall that is at least for the time being Kaelige's although the rider's attention is more on the odds and ends than the shopkeep. She doesn't even look up from the table as she's inspecting although from the wrinkling of her nose, probably a safe assumption what she's looking for isn't readily displayed at the moment.
There's a lot in this particular shop. Satchels of various sizes, combinations of leather and cloth making fanciful dagger and pocket-knife sheathes, even beaded pendants on thin chains. Over the swung-open doors of the stall are drapes of bright and dark colors, seeming to specialize in more minute detail such as blue thread detailing on only slightly darker blue cloth- the more one looks, the more one might see. Kaelige shifts in the background there, bringing one of his boots up on the crate with him. His hands have met around his leg, fingers picking lazily at the thread-worn edges of his half-gloves. Glass-blue eyes are just barely noticable from 'neath hood's rim as he watches her for a good few moments. A chuckle might bring attention to himself- its a soft sound, mostly low in his chest, but the evident amusement is audible from his distance to Doji. If it doesn't, his words certainly do, "Not exactly my.. cup of tea either." The greeting, of sorts, is drawled. Lazy in his flare of arrogant nonchalance.
The sound at least, does draw Doji's attention, causing the brownrider to start slightly. She's not one used to keeping secrets and the surprise at the words is clearly telegraphed as she blinks at the man in front of here, down to the wares and up again. "If they're not your cup of tea, why are you selling them?" Whatever interest may have drawn her over is waning as she places arms across her chest and takes a half step back.
Scruff-lined face is drawn into a crooked grin, the idle motions of his hands ceasing just long enough to allow a subtle, uneven shrug. "Why would I sell what I want to keep?" He considers, his Bitran accent more evident as he continues, "Even the most valuable of things holds different value to different people, wouldn't you say?" Kaelige's responses seem far more tuned to prompting an answer than giving one, the young man's curiosities given slowly, pointedly. Low volume, low voice eerie in the manner in drifts, but somehow friendly, welcoming. Patient in a way that seems to hold an endlessness to it.
"Most people sell things they could at least use and sell them so they don't end up like some old couple that died cause all their junk collapsed in and they couldn't dig their way out," Doji peers more at the various odds and ends even as she rapidly lists off that example. The last question gets a bit of a shrug. "True enough. But again, why would you chose to sell something you don't use? You'll be surrounded by it day after day after all." That step back is retracted as the glowlight bounces off a bit of bronze buttons, catching her eye and causing the rider to point. "Those. Do you happen to have a full set of ten?"
Amusement glints in the ice-chill of those too-light eyes, the young man having adjusted enough that his face is more visible as he watches the brownrider's reaction to each of the objects before her. A huffed breath must be a form of a vague, brief laugh to her concocted tale of example. He's too-still for the most part, those miniscule motions being just-enough to separate him from melding with the backdrop of the wall and Bazaar's on-coming night. The picking ceases, a forearm let to rest over his risen knee. "A fraction of a mark is still a fraction of a mark, I believe, unless some sort of passion or.. attachment makes it trade for higher." Kaelige's attention shifts to the buttons Doji finds, then downwards to the cache on the vendor's side of the stall. "Curious." He doesn't explain this reaction, nor does he give yes or no before inquiring further, "And what would a lass like you be making with those?"
Doji raises an eyebrow at the man's vague enough response. "For the most part, although depends on the mark and the Turn as well." As for why she's inquiring about that particular button, she tries to pass off a nonchalant shrug however that may be undermines by the hand reaching out to poke at the one button that is visible in the pile. "I might not be making anything, if you don't have a set. And since they're not your cup of tea, I may be able to take them off your hands."
Lack of further information doesn't seem to sway the misplaced curiosity, but it does provoke motion. Kaelige leans forward enough to reach into the excess wares behind the stall. Some rustling is brief, as if whatever he searched for had already been found at initial cursory glance. Instead of getting up, the small burlap pouch he'd palmed- no bigger than a meager man's coinpurse- is tossed onto the flat of the stand. Rather than clunking on wood, it thunks softly onto the softness of a satchel embellished with criss-crossed weaves and spectrum of buttons of various size. The burlap pouch is tied at its neck with a simple string and one of those buttons she's an eye for. Assumably, there's a handful of them within. Or rocks. Probably buttons, though. "And what sort of value is this project of yours to you?"
Once the satchel of possibly-rocks-but-probably-buttons is tossed on the counter, Doji will eye the presumed shopkeeper but if Kaelige isn't going to sort through the items, she will. Slowly the stack of bronze buttons grows, although not all of them are identical. "The project isn't really for me. It's for my dragon. For me." She lets out a small ah-ha as a fifth button joins the pile. Halfway there. "Since he's otherwise occupied and wouldn't fit in the bazaar, here I am. Scrounging for buttons." Pretty buttons, but still buttons.
"A dragon cares about buttons." The response is flat in that accented low tone, a question without inflection, and perhaps more of a re-phrasing for his own sake. It isn't disbelief, though, or even disapproval. It's about as neutral as it was monotone. Curious in the same way as everything else. Information that thing of highest value, often traded with no higher cost than time, but hoarded in the eventuality of being held on a string by one in-the-know for much more than that. "If there aren't enough there-" Which there may not be, not of even or equal quality, that is- Kaelige's hand rises to the drape of cloth to her right. It's a crimson red with blackened boarders and shimmering thread outline, with the same bronze buttons that she's collecting in her pile. The indication is clear- but would a vendor really mutilate his own wares for the sake of.. buttons?
There's a slight nod of Doji's head as confirmation. "Sometimes, and some dragons more than others. Mine at least is fairly insistent I need some new buttons… Although not necessarily these buttons." Doji waves her hand at the little pile of now eight buttons. The last is added on after a brief pause, as if a reminder from afar that she will still need to negotiate at some point. There's a bit of a skeptical eyebrow raise as Kaelige decides to reveal that particularly artful display of cloth, thread and buttons. "You are a most peculiar merchant."
"Admittedly, I'd no idea that some had such an interest in… fashion." The delay is a search for the right word, toyed with on his tongue as if more colorful things had wanted to come first. The hand that had tossed the little bag now raises to tug on the peak of his hood, pulling it with no consequence. It doesn't hide his face more than it already does, he doesn't tip his head as if to try. There is a rumple of cloth about his neck that he tucks deeper into his jacket with a couple of fingers while Doji continues her search in the journey for that final count. "If not these buttons," Kaelige's head tilts just a little bit, that arrogant smirk lingering in that cool, callous patience, "What keeps you searching?" A pause at her observation, a quiet, brief chuckle kept hauntingly low, "Aye, perhaps so."
"Not fashion. Appearances," Doji corrects quickly. Apparently there is a difference, at least to her. "Someone doesn't want me to embarass him on his big day. Or night." Yet another shrug comes off her shoulders, as finally another button is claimed from the odds and ends bag. No need to break out a seamripper or a pocket knife. "I was close enough to finding the last. I could find other buttons, but that would take more time. There is still a matter of price though… but I seem to remember someone saying these wares weren't his cup of tea."
A fair difference. Apparently, with the flicker of an expression that passes over the darkness-clad young man, there's a sort of.. approval of that differentiation. There's a significance there that will remain yet unsaid. "And what big day might that be?" This question is the obvious follow-up, almost too much like small-talk for his taste, but important enough none-the-less. The fact that she finds the last needed button is a brief disappointment, his grin faded by a degree, maybe even two, but repaired by the thought of what could-have-been. It's within a lapse of silence burdened by the heaviness of his looming presence despite being seated that the question of price is verbalized. "Aye- yes," the correction comes a little oddly, as if catching himself, his sort of speech, and adjusting it with conscious effort that vanishes back into the placid, corrupted compsure of him, "What is this appearance worth to you, to him? Is it worth more time to find others?" An intentional pause, waiting, playing with something so simple- or is it? "Or have you something worth an equivalence to trade?"
A grin begins to creep onto the brownrider's face. "Hatching, of course." As much as Doji might prefer something as simple as the candidates will be wearing, there will be festivities afterwards that she (and Raktraeth) may need to be involved in. "I still have a few sevens yet until I need the buttons." For once, she's actually looking more at Kaelige than the wares, brown eyes flicking from the man's hood all the way down to boots. "I was intending to pay in marks. Was there a particular trade you were looking for?"
No judgement has been passed yet, not enough information garnered. It leaves Kaelige at a disadvantage with which to play his hand, a thing he's not too keen on, for he always holds the upper hand. But he's played worse. And he has an idea of her from whatever he's divined from that unwavering, cold, glass-blue gaze, always evident in its stark contrast from beneath the constructed and guided shadows of his garb. It's slightly noticable now in the low glow of the vibrant Cloth Corridor of the dark strands of hair that lie over his face, but detail is still lost to the night that creeps steadily over them. "Perhaps so." He moves, then, settling both boots beneath him and unfolding to his height. He's more lean than his clothes give him credit for, laying in some wrinkles around him, distorting edges. The approach to her would be more imposing if he'd not stopped where he does, waning the pressure of his nature by leaning on the vendor's side of the stall on his forearms. Easily threatening, but that smile.. it's somehow warmed from the ice otherwise deeply imbedded in his chilly demeanor. "But maybe another time, another trade." His accent is much thicker in closer quarters and a low-voice implying whatever future business.. 'less she's backed up by now, "For you, a sixteenth." For all of them, he means. What does he care the price? They aren't his wares afterall.
Another judgement has been made as well, but not one that Doji is exactly arguing with. The price at least for the buttons is acceptable. She might not be the most savvy of bazaar shoppers, but she was at least prepared enough that she can slide out the required mark piece without showing however many other marks she might have to any potential pickpockets. The wooden coin isn't the only thing she fishes out of the pocket though, as a little white knot is placed on the counter right next to the mark. "The knot isn't part of this transaction, but it's your's if you want it. You are under twenty five and unmarried, right?" Because there are definitely some checkboxes left to tick.
With the habits of one used to watching every detail, every potentiality of threat, Kaelige's gaze follows her hand a few moments after she starts fishing for the payment, and he clearly hesitates when she brings out more than anticipated. It's a hesitation that doesn't last too long, too aware of himself and appearances to give away more than what he has. He tilts his head, his sly grin emboldened in sinister amusement, "Without this in hand, that would be the most interesting request for a date I've heard from a lass yet." He drops his stare to the counter, having already slid the markpiece under a palm and out of sight. It would be poor form to get stolen what he just stole. But his half-gloved hand doesn't move for another beat of a moment. Plans- this didn't go as planned. This was expedited. This was… It doesn't matter. "Aye-" he doesn't edit this time, as if he doesn't think of it as quickly as before, "Both of those things are true, as far as I'm aware. You're certain you wish to give this.. to me?" He's taken it partially in hand, lifting it a couple inches to hang in the balance. His question comes with a lift his brows, humor there, disbelief slipping where it has likely never existed before.
Although Doji surely knows that was a joke, the brownrider starts turning red anyways. Good thing the glowlight is at least a bit forgiven and won't reveal just how vivid a blush that might be. "I… no. If you do say yes, it'll be a while before you're going on dates with anybody." Since the mark has been accepted as payment and the knot is close enough to accepted, those buttons will be tucked away in the same satchel pocket as the threads she purchased earlier, and then the rider is crossing her arms and nodding her head. "The offer is real. I'm not sure of it, but Raktraeth is. And he probably has a best guess as anybody at the moment what the eggs might be looking for. I'm Doji by the way and you are….?" There's a brief pause for a name before she also continues on. "Also, are you going to need additional time to close up? I can't wait too long, and there is a curfew for candidates as well." And while he may be the most peculiar merchant, at least this rider doesn't have reason to suspect it wasn't his stall.
"That isn't a problem, sweet." Kaelige shrugs again, that uneven subtle thing that almost comes as more a shuffle of clothing than a motion of his upper body. The dating life has been something far from his line of work, adequate for training of this sort, some might argue. But, inappropriate comments aren't too off that path, don't worry. His amusement has dimmed, sneaking a glimpse at the hardness just beneath it. Fingers curl around the too-white cord, and he straightens, taking it with him, stashing it into the deep pockets of his jacket as if it's not something he needs others to see just yet. "I'm called Kaelige." He phrases it particularly, as odd as the rest of this perhaps has been. There's a glance past Doji, and then a return to her. The smile is replaced, this one mischievious, captured in the more evident roguish appearance of him now that he's let his head up in this proximity. "A pleasure, dragonrider. No, I think now is the perfect time. I needn't hold you up." Perfect, because the owner of the shop is headed back this way just rounding the corner a couple blocks away.
Doji bristles a little at the word sweet, straightening up. "Remember, candidates are outranked by all riders. You'll be expected to act accordingly. The headwoman or her assistant will give you the full explanation of all the rules when you arrive to the barracks, Kaelige." And with that, she gives a nod. "Don't be too long arranging your affairs. Curfew after all." But she has her own business to attend to as well and so with a wave, she'll depart with her buttons and threads, before the owner happens to make his own appearance.
Kaelige tips his head in a sort-of nod. "Of course." Though the motion is slow, deliberate and not entirely convincing on that matter. "I will report in a candlemark. Fair skies, rider." His shoulders dip in the makings of a bow, and he steps around the side of the stall at the end of her wave as if to travel behind her in her wake. But he doesn't stay so close, a hand tugging his hood lower over his brow, shoulders hunched ever so slightly. He takes a different turn in the depths of the Bazaar labyrinth, and scales a wall to an out of business business to take the rest of his course from up above. He's one contact to make before taking on the facade of candidacy rules, but he'd make it swiftly, and arrive to the Weyr he'd been at so scarcely before in just about the time he'd alloted himself. Maybe even right on time for that curfew. Maybe. And the merchant? Well, there might be some loud grumblings in the distance as everyone else goes about their evening, grumblings with the echo of a slam of one door of the stall, cracking the latch as it sways back open, defeated.