| A Trifle Bazaar; Celebratory Reopening of the Grand Bazaar | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Feb 12 2017, 02:26 AM (415 Views) | |
| Ternunda Hunter | Jun 16 2017, 05:32 PM Post #21 |
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Shadow Stalker Of course, her trouble placing a finger on him only made him feel that much more comfortable. He was doing well, then. But, still, he was hesitant… Concerned. How hard would she push? How far would he go? Secrecy was a part of his life, it had to be until further notice. And that did include the Red Dragon; it included anyone that didn’t already know what he did or who he was. He liked the game but knew well that Saerelith was bright enough to catch on. Fools were simple, but she would be difficult to keep in the dark as she maneuvered around him like a serpent ready to strike. Or, perhaps he was the serpent… Slithering by in hopes that he would not be noticed until the moment was most opportune. The man didn’t actually have anything to offer her as she verbalized her considerations, nodding a little so she knew he was listening rather than just staring off into his true friend: the dark. He enjoyed her company, too. He didn’t want it to end that night. But, he knew the both of them had a busy day to follow their evening under the stars. Still, as his words spilled from his mouth and in her direction, and her expected reaction to the unfinished part of his question tamed, he returned his attention to her as she spoke. She was much better at flattery than he ever assumed a Dragon would be. It was his understanding they were more used to being catered to, which often stomped all over a person’s humility. But, she was pleasant. Fiery as they came, he did not ignore that flame that sparked in her eyes before he finished his question, but careful and appreciative. It was relieving. She was that aforementioned dash of red in his otherwise grayscale painting of a man stepping with purpose through a quiet life. ”I’ll admit it isn’t often I’m paired with a partner such as yourself, either. I do not attend higher profile events where the women and men have been trained to dance with elegance for the purpose of courting one another. So, it isn’t uncommon for me to carry the weight of another on my toes for the sake of completing the song.” He smiled lazily, half his face pulling up as his shoulders rolled in a shrug, threatening that very top button as it begged for relief. Dancing wasn’t something he originally intended to take up as a hobby or a skill. But, it turned out to be a blessing, not only for the sake of his evening that night but as an activity that was considerably less dull than lifting a weight or sprinting through town, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. He found himself enjoying music more… And he was able to enjoy the company of another for a defined duration of time. He could settle for four to six minutes at a time, dreading the thought of staring at a partner’s face for any more than that. Of course, Saerelith was the exception to the rule. ”I don’t know that I’ve always loved it. But, I like to feel my heart race. I like to lead through a song and to feel my partner work with me rather than against me… Still,” he continued after a brief pause, ”It isn’t as fulfilling when you lead sheep through the motions. The effort is considerably more rewarding when you have the opportunity to guide a predator.” The other side of his face lifted to smile at that as he looked back at her, realizing he’d been staring out beyond the two for longer than he thought. Her face was a welcomed reprieve from the emptiness. But, the feeling of his glass pressed to parted lips was mildly disappointing as he realized he’d finished the Moscato. So, he looked to the Cabernet Sauvignon with longing eyes. It was a standard wine, one many common pallets were capable of appreciating… But the consideration was whether or not he should stop or pry the cork off and continue. His line of thinking looked to bother him, even, as he deliberated, and his eyes moved up to her just as those brown brows furrowed. His face reflected that of a troubled man. Consternation. The corners of his eyes drooped a little and his lips pressed together in a line as if he was asking her what he should do. But why did he feel so lost? Maybe it was the wine... It had to be the wine. But, one thing was certain. A finished bottle always meant either the end of the night or the start of the evening. Edited by Ternunda Hunter, Jun 16 2017, 05:42 PM.
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| Ariel | Jun 16 2017, 06:31 PM Post #22 |
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The Red Dragon “Well, I certainly hope you’ll never have to carry me. I like to think I know a thing or two about what I’m doing.” A knowing laugh left her at his empathetic comments regarding experience with poor dance partners, amusing common ground they could share without inflicting it upon one another. This felt so.. Right. The weight of doubt no longer pressed upon her, and though her curiosity regarding his origins had yet to be sated, Saerelith found herself smiling more often than not in his presence. She had mentioned earlier the disconnected sort of loneliness she dealt with even in the middle of a crowded square, but here, in this quiet space she occupied with only Vincent, there was peace. Solace. An appropriate word he had chosen after all. She preened beneath his ascertations of her position on the food-chain, delighting more than she perhaps should at being referred to as a proverbial wolf amongst lambs. His observation held more truth than he was aware of in that moment, for despite the shimmering frippery she garbed herself in, the woman was a deadly weapon in the service of the Empire. “Indeed,” she agreed with an understanding nod. “Quite a different time all together when you’re paired with someone who matches you. Perhaps you can handle me after all.” It was the Red’s turn to wink, long lashes lowered for the fraction of a second to convey another playful double-entendre in reference to their much earlier talk on the dancefloor. Last God, when he smiled at her, it was as if the world came to a halt around them. The stars could have fallen from their heavenly perch, and in that instant she would not have noticed. And so it was when that lovely expression fell from his features as he looked to the empty bottles that she was immediately aware of the change, transformed as it was to a countenance of concern. He looked so troubled by something, and it would take her a few seconds longer to determine what, but the urge to soothe whatever ailed him tightened her chest. Why was he capable of provoking these responses in her so effortlessly? What was it about him that drew her in like a moth to the flame? Her eyes shifted toward the wine accusatorily, for now blaming her unusual whims on its influence. It was hard to remember the last time she had imbibed so generously, regularly too busy with other things to afford the headache and discomfort overindulgence would bring the next morning. And yet, that mild sickness in the future seemed a worthwhile price to pay if it meant an excuse to stay. She realized then, when he turned that considering look her direction, that he was waiting for her to decide the course of action. A bottle remained unopened, the others empty. It would have been the responsible decision to end their festivities for the night and retire to her bed, but the thought of leaving filled her with such regret that she decided in that moment to remain. “Mmm… I really shouldn’t, but.. On one condition,” and Saer aimed at him a look that had become rather serious in comparison to before. “You show me what it was you secreted away when we first arrived.” A letter? A note? He had been too quick for her to make out the item he briskly tucked into a pocket earlier, but its mystery still tugged at her mind like the buzzing of a fly she couldn’t ignore. |
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| Ternunda Hunter | Jun 16 2017, 07:29 PM Post #23 |
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Shadow Stalker As the Red Dragon’s expression shifted, Vincent was comforted enough by her consideration than anything she would say immediately after her decision. As he worked to determine what it was that truly pulled his features downward, he was caught in a corner that he hadn’t seen.. Hadn’t expected. There was no planning for the angle she’d elected to take. An unexpected flash of irritation stole his heart and made it cold as his back and neck stiffened, hands moving to his knees. She wanted to see … He blinked. What right had she to question him? To be suspicious of him? She’d said herself that he’d shown her a great night. But she was so intent on taking more and more. Why would he show her anything, then? He’d already given her too much. Panic consumed him but it only displayed as a cold, efficient, stand-offish attitude. She wanted more. More than he was willing to give. That face that was very nearly pleading only moment ago shifted into chiseled, firm, dissatisfied lines. His face darkened significantly, more so than any shadow could cast on his features. Frustration amplified by the alcohol coursing through his veins, his jaw tightened and he shook his head, curls falling from left to right with his sharp, short movements. ”I’m sorry, Saerelith. Perhaps it is better we call it a night. I’m fairly certain you’ll be attending that ceremony tomorrow? We wouldn’t want you to be out too late. Certainly not for my sake.” He stood, pushed his chair in, and started cleaning up the table by stacking plates, bowls, the basket for the bread, glasses, and topping the pile with napkins. Perhaps, sober, he would have realized how quick and rude the abrupt ending to the night was. But, in the moment Vincent didn’t actually care. She’d attempted to invade his privacy in a way that he’d not seen coming. Perhaps if it was a question he’d planned for he would have been able to handle it with more grace, alcohol included. But, vulnerable and intoxicated, the man just shut off like a well fortified safe-room in times of war. Those walls were very nearly impenetrable and tight, meant to protect the most prized lives in the city. And in his cell of a mind, there was no room to move; having a mere inch to his left, right, front, and back, Vincent would be hard pressed to see the attempt as anything but an attack. So, after wiping his hands off with a clean napkin and finishing the pile of dishes and food with it at the top, he offered a hand to the Red Dragon to help her up. Who said one couldn’t be a gentleman while still being an ass? Not to mention, he’d attempted to make the reason for the ending something that was for her interest… Not selfish. Never selfish. Perhaps the display was much more telling than if he’d simply showed her what he held so dear to his left breast pocket. Only the outline of a folded piece of stiff paper did show through the white fabric. But there was hardly a way, in the moment, he’d be able to veer off his newest plan of action: escape. |
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| Ariel | Jun 16 2017, 09:01 PM Post #24 |
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The Red Dragon Saerelith blinked, at a loss. What the Accuser’s name just happened? One moment he had seemed open to her and interested with his honeyed words, the next he was a sealed door slammed in her face. She didn’t understand where the sudden hostility had come from, could never have known the intimate nature of what she had demanded. He had proven earlier willing to play along, quizzing her for her ascertations about him and now withdrew from her as if he’d been struck. The way his face hardened took her by great surprise and the chill she felt had less to do with the wintery air around them than it did the way he regarded her from then on out. As if she were an enemy. Had what she asked been so unreasonable? She hardly thought so, but there was clearly a rift between them now as far as he was concerned. The first sign of her predictable displeasure was the evaporation of a desire to appeal to him, that lovely smile a thing of the past replaced by the irritated purse of her plush lips. The fire in her eyes cooled like the calm before a storm and those handsome looks became a thorn in her side to look upon, though she wasn’t sure if the pain she felt was that of rejection or the annoyance of his refusal. “Oh,” was all she managed at first. Saer made the conscious decision not to give him the pleasure of her hot anger, ready though it was simmering in her core. Instead, when she did speak, the cadence of her speech was a little too formal, a little too neutral to be authentic. “Perhaps I have misjudged you, Master Okia, but you have certainly misjudged me. Let us not pretend you’ve any regard for my well-being, what investment should you have in my schedule adherence? No, you will find I am not interested in playing along with that pretense.” He had offered her his hand to rise from her seat, and if anything, that was one of the more infuriating things he had done yet. She felt hurried along by his out-stretched palm more than placated by it. He was trying to usher her away, to get rid of her. Had she not been so offended by Vincent’s actions, she might have asked if he were serious with how drastic the change was that had overcome him. Saerelith didn’t just brush off his polite manners, she raised a hand and with the back of it, slapped his side as though its very presence insulted her. “Oh, please.” There it was, venomous disbelief practically dripping from her tongue. “Do not overly trouble yourself.” She stood without his assistance and in doing so, there was a palpable shift in her demeanor. No longer did he address the woman he’d met on the dancefloor, but the Red Dragon of Valencia with her head held high and spine defiantly straight. Saerelith spun away from him on high-heeled feet with practiced grace, an exaggerated sway of her hips more a flaunt of what he was missing than any attempt to entice him further. How dare he treat her to such patronizing excuses! She stalked around the other side of the table with a provoked panther’s stride to avoid him entirely on her way out, tearing his jacket from her shoulders in the process to toss the garment aside unceremoniously rather than the polite alternative of simply returning it. Without another word, the Red swiftly descended the stairs out of view. Edited by Ariel, Jun 16 2017, 09:05 PM.
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| Ternunda Hunter | Jun 16 2017, 09:46 PM Post #25 |
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Shadow Stalker Certainly the man would come to regret the way he acted as soon as he woke up in the morning, his curls a mess pointing every which way… But, in the moment everything seemed as clear as it could be. And that clarity was as smokey as the first floor of a bar. He had no reason to consider his actions wrong or irrational in the moment. He only had the way he felt to work off of. But he, despite it all, probably still wouldn’t have said there was a rift between them. Just a well maintained brick wall that was, at present, lacking not one of their clay blocks or paste in between. Freshly made and baked, that wall was as sturdy as it could get, and he hid behind it instinctively. He watched the enjoyment drain from her face, standing there over her like an immovable force. Though, when she started to speak his jaw tightened as he realized she’d put on a veil of her own. Right back to the posh nobility which he made every effort to avoid on a daily basis, her voice cut through him. Unlike most, though, the pain only made his nose flare and his resolve stronger. It was a great mechanism for battle, but being particularly unyielding in confrontation with a person of interest wasn’t particularly advantageous. Though, her words did have him hold his breath. No regard for her well-being? Was it not his jacket she wore to fend off the cold? Was it not food purchased by his own coin that she’d enjoyed that night? Interest was investment. Consideration for one’s physical well-being only strengthened the belief they have a vested interest in them in their totality. But, she was very clearly just proving her egocentricity. Still, as enraged as he was, the only change he’d displayed on his face was the growing frown as she continued, watching the woman walk towards the door. Every click of her delicate heel was like a needle perfectly placed in his chest. They were evil little inventions for both men and women. Signal sounds for any man afraid to run and hide, and pillars for women to walk on. A woman as powerful as Saerelith could use them for wicked… And that she did as he had to keep his breath still for fear his lungs would collapse from all the holes. Probably wise she avoided him entirely, though, as he was made of stone. His hand burned from her slap. Not from pain but due to the incredible disregard. Cool eyes boring holes into the back of her skull they only peeled away to watch his jacket fall to the floor. A crumpled pile of black his offering laid there rejected and unappreciated in the dirt and dust. The door swung closed behind her and slammed shut, shaking on its hinges. But he just stood there staring at his jacket before looking back at the table and unopened bottle of red wine. There was no pulling out of his head that night. He’d already fallen in. So, why not give in completely? It was practically his duty, at that point, to let his body fall into the pit that promise destruction in the recesses of his mind. So, he decided to do so gladly. What was one night? He would wake up in the morning only to continue his work. It was of little sacrifice. Clamping his jaw tight, flexing over and over in a vain attempt to manage his frustration, he stepped forward to pick up his jacket off the dusty roof. Carefully, he folded it like it was some prized possession he’d rediscovered after having searched for it for months. With his folded jacket tucked under his arm and the untouched bottle of wine in his right hand, the man did what he probably shouldn’t have done… For the sake of not having to see the Red Dragon again in the event she climbed the steps again to give him a piece of her mind, he disappeared. The night was where Vincent thrived. There were shadows abound for him to maneuver in between. He was able to move freely. Able to run. Hide. Become nothing more than a slight movement in the corner of one’s eye… Something they saw any time they walked around the dark. Something their mind created to haunt them, punished them for venturing out into the unseen. Edited by Ternunda Hunter, Jun 16 2017, 09:58 PM.
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| Ariel | Jul 5 2017, 08:52 PM Post #26 |
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Snake-Eyes The Grand Bazaar was guaranteed to lure crowds from every section of the city, and all those people congregating in one place made for a barely-contained chaos that was precisely the way Ethan liked things. There was an electricity in the air, an energy that transcended normal gatherings in the heated exchange between countless merchants and patrons that usually made his hair stand on end. He likened it to a nighthowler slipping undetected through a herd of livestock, filled by the constant reassurance of plentiful prey. Almost an overload to senses fine-tuned to catch minute detail; the flash of an expensive watch on this man’s wrist, the glitter of a valuable gem-core on that woman’s ring finger, the muffled walking jingle of a coin-laiden purse. Everywhere he turned, someone was flaunting material wealth with a disregard that could only have been born of privilege, and each time it registered in his periphery, estimated figures danced in his head. All choices in life were a matter of risk versus reward, and he weighed every unsuspecting passerby on a proverbial scale. Keeping his head casually down so that the shield of his nearly-brown hair served to conceal speculative glances, Ethan popped the collar on his jacket upward to interfere with the cool winter’s grasp on his neck. Even with the magitech heaters set up in advance of the celebrations, that late afternoon there could be no denying what season it was. All the more encouragement to get this over with. He was a patient man; you had to be when marks became scarce. Work had been dwindling of late, though he was confident it would pick up eventually. There was never a shortage for long, though the gnawing of his stomach reminded him of his need. Here among the bazaar’s bounty, however, he remained cautious. Just as there were an endless buffet of options available to him now, so too climbed the number of eyes that might catch him in the act. There it was, just up ahead: the stall he sought. Owned by a plump older woman whose kindly face was painted on every day over the soured cream of her demeanor, warm smiles and a grandmotherly voice an easy lie to bait customers. Ethan couldn’t judge the woman for her hustle. There was a saying on the lower levels that everyone had three faces; one they showed to the world, one they wore around family, and one they revealed to no one. He didn’t need to wonder at old Glenda’s true face; he had seen her malice directed toward his fellows as a youth and had never forgotten. It was for this reason that he never had a qualm with taking from her, small penance for a debt she’d never be able to repay. That she was swarmed by customers was an advantage he intended to profit from. He recognized the hag’s voice immediately, cooing over a baby cradled in the arms of her closest patron. Ethan resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the sweet nothings she lavished the stupid child with when he drew near, slowing his stride. Spread before her on the table that she was reaching across, Glenda had prepared an assortment of baked goods. Steaming pies either meat or fruit-filled by their labels, tantalizingly fresh smelling breads both sliced and whole, cookies, pastries, and nearly a whole mountain of confectionaries. The sight made him salivate, and he swallowed reflexively. Rather than stop and draw attention to himself, and likely earn a whack from the crone’s rolling pin, Ethan merely adjusted his pace. A glance in the opposite direction and he shifted to collide with a hefty gentleman with frilled lace at his sleeves on the far end of the stall’s audience, a bump of shoulders strong enough to jostle both men out of their positions. The larger stumbled aside, chuffing indignantly as Ethan spun on the balls of his feet with his eyes low and deferential. “Pardon me, sir.” Ethan offered an apology to defuse. “That was clumsy of me, I must’ve lost my footing. You alright?” Bulging eyes looked mildly offended, and the lace-bedecked man ran thick hands down his chest as if smoothing wrinkles from the emerald coat he wore. There was a curl of his lip that rankled Ethan, as though he were somehow disgusted to have come in contact with someone lesser. “Quite.. Quite alright, boy. Move along now.” With a dismissive wave, the aristocrat turned his back on Ethan, no longer interested in what he had to say. Which was just as well, for it released Ethan from the obligation of conversation and he drifted back into the river of people on the street, just another attendee. Only once he’d made it around the bend of another side-street did he pull the palm-sized pastry from his pocket, inspecting the flakey crust for lint before tearing a bite free with his teeth. Juicy, flavorful minced meat was the reward for his efforts and he consumed it with gusto, licking the grease from his fingers when it was gone. There was an exchange occurring in front of In Dew Time when Ethan stepped out of the alley opposite the street on which the shop sat, and it drew his attention immediately. Lucy was instantly recognizable with her dark hair and pretty, albeit regularly stern, features, but she was spoken to by a man Ethan did not consider familiar. Given the nature of the telepath’s communications, he was privy only to half of their conversation and even then, over the din of the haggling crowds, it was difficult to make out what the nobleman said. And he was almost certainly that: nobility. No mistaking it, the fine cut of his clothes and what seemed like awkward discomfort in his posture marking him for what he was. Ethan narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but folded his arms and waited to see what would play out before he made a move. When the Lord made his exit, Ethan strode across the narrow lane to the stall. The speaking cat inspired a cheeky sort of smirk to spread across his lips as he approached the cauldron, kneeling to scoop Wyatt’s feline form out of the pot before heading toward the shop’s door. “Hey, fuzzball. Who was the suit? What was that all about?” Edited by Ariel, Jul 5 2017, 08:58 PM.
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| Quix56 | Jul 6 2017, 05:41 PM Post #27 |
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Whisperless Voice Wyatt had just curled back up inside the large kettle when he was suddenly - albeit carefully - picked up. Had it been a bit less ceremonious, and he would have lashed out instinctively in an effort to not be stolen. Or not be bought - he didn't put it past his sister to put a price label on his collar for a laugh. The voice however was one of familiarity and Wyatt did not resist, and instead returned the man’s question with a jovial reply. As a human he would have shook a man’s hand or perhaps - if a friend - partially embraced them in comradely fashion, but as a cat, he had to settle for gentle purring. ”Ethan! I did wonder when you were going to show! With this many people I imagine getting a five finger discount can't be difficult!” He and Ethan had been good friends ever since he had caught him stealing from their stall. Most people would have reported a thief, but having him steal the actual pillow he had been lounging on - gold leaf and very comfortable - Wyatt could only laugh after transforming back into his regular form and tapping the man on the shoulder. Maybe it was because any other thief would have shoved him out of the way, but Ethan had very carefully slid him onto a different, notably less expensive cushion. Humanity was a rare trait these days. Said every cat ever. Ever since then they had been as thick as thieves. Sometimes literally. ”That man had three names, I think he was a Lord Argon? I don't know, I was trying to have a cat nap. I'm sure Luce’ll tell me later” ”Lord Jared Sebastian Argon, our new landlord,” the familiar dulcet tones of his sister filled his mind, and Ethan’s mind for that matter - she was not rude - although she did add ”I'm watching you by the way,” which was a little creepy given she wasn't completely in view. She did always have magnificent hearing. Wyatt had had years to get used to her speaking to him internally enough that he was able to sonically pinpoint at least the direction the message had come from - which meant he spied her half-concealed by a display of magitech lights which one could only get behind by deliberately forcing one’s self behind two other displays. However you looked at it, she had gone out of her way to watch them the second Ethan had entered the storefront. To say Ethan and Lucy had a strained relationship was to call a spade a spade. But then, her role was the overprotective sister, and it was her job to detest anyone who would encourage her brother to stray. Ethan on the other hand seemed to deliberately go out of his way to push her buttons. Buttons that ironically, for a haberdasher, she didn't have to give. Wyatt stretched out in Ethan’s arms, yawning massively to reveal a deathtrap of pointed teeth. As quickly as the yawn had subsided, one swift movement later and he was leaping from Ethan's arms and untangling into the form of the average sized male with wispy brown hair and smart suit attired shop-owner of In Dew Time. The transformation was not grotesque neither was it visually simple. To a casual observer it was almost like a knot being undone in one swift motion like it had never been tangled in the first place. Wyatt turned slightly on the balls of his feet, almost as if to consider Ethan some sort of rival or nemesis. “I know that face, that's the face of mischief. Did you finally get round to robbing the bank or have you come to get me all caught up in your latest dastardly schemes?” He turned to smile at Ethan and gave the golden eyed man his deepest smirk before full on embracing the man. ”How you been man? It's been far too long as always.” |
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| Ariel | Jul 14 2017, 04:01 PM Post #28 |
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Snake-Eyes Ethan couldn’t help the quiet laugh that left him in response to the purring feline in his arms, but offered a shrug toward the first implication. “Oh, I’ve been managing to get by. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people are walking around with today.” The expression his features adopted was both amused and roguish, the devilish curl to his lips unmistakable for the predatory satisfaction it was. To say he felt no shame regarding his own profession was an understatement; he was proud of it, even if he would only talk of such things in private company. The Honeydew twins were among the few he considered trustworthy enough to speak openly around, as evidenced by the nonchalance he displayed in their presence. Upon entering the store, he took a brisk survey with a flash of his cadmium gaze to insure they were free of unwanted eavesdroppers, only to flinch reflexively when the unexpected, but all-too-familiar voice entered his head. Ethan wasn’t sure he would ever truly be accustomed to the way Lucy communicated, and the brush of her words in his mind still provoked the shiver that ran down his spine. “Yeah, hello to you, too, Peaches.” He called after her, unsure where she might be in the building. Her suspicion was neither unwarranted nor a surprise, but instead of offend, her disdain for him only made Ethan want to ruffle her proverbial feathers as frequently as possible. “I know you’re happy to see me, but you don’t have to stalk me from another room! I’m not gonna bite.” He knew that was the least of her concerns. He watched the cat leap from his arms with all the grace of its species, unfolding mid-air into the shape of a slender youth with mismatched eyes, and grinned broadly when Wyatt twisted about-face. “There might be a scheme or two with your name on it,” Ethan admitted, feigning as innocent a look as he could, though on his rough-hewn features, it seemed drastically out of place. Mischief incarnate. He clapped Wyatt on the back when drawn into an embrace, equally glad to see him. It wasn’t a daily occurrence that he stopped by their place of business, far from it, for the thief tended to vanish for days at a time without any hint as to where he had gone. Knowing him, however, no stretch of the imagination was necessary to picture just what he was up to. It was never anything good in the traditional sense. “I’ve been alright, but I’m better now.” Another smile took up residence on his countenance, masking a white lie. He was happy to be here, but things had been nothing if not difficult as of late. “Check this out.” He stepped backward to dig through his own pockets, of which there were almost too many. “I snagged this off a guy near the Academy. ...Where’s this stupid-- Ah! There it is.” Successfully retrieved, Ethan stretched a closed hand toward his friend and opened his fingers to reveal what seemed to be a clockwork spider. Its spindly legs were so delicate they looked as though they might snap in a stiff wind, but the silvery metal was deceptively strong. Cut into the shape of its bulbous abdomen, a cloudy emerald core was held in a casing of elegant filigree, making it look as though the fragile arachnid wore a coat of gleaming lace. Notches in the pinky nail-sized face held chips of garnet in place of its eyes that reflected the light from the windows in their sparkling facets. “Some tinker’s toy, probably, but at the very least that core’ll be worth a few coins. It looks like it’s supposed to move, but,” Ethan gave the thing a prod with his finger as if to prove his point. “I can’t get it to do anything.” Infinitesimal gears did, indeed, connect each joint and impossibly small internal parts certainly gave the impression of an automaton, but Ethan lacked the magical aptitude to make it perform. “Think your sister would like it?" |
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| Quix56 | Jul 18 2017, 05:54 PM Post #29 |
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Whisperless Voice In a way, Ethan was as much a supplier as Wyatt was a salesman. The only difference between a traditional supplier, like one of the industry sector’s miniature core companies supplying a steady supply of replacement cores for handheld magitech apparatus was that Ethan was more bespoke, and inconsistent, and.. Cheap. Most of the time. Wyatt always saw him right, usually by following up purchases that had gone much higher than he anticipated, or even by accompanying the man on his heists - when the call for a primal abjurer was necessary. Read: Cat burglar. Cats were great at pretty much everything. Distracting guards - C’mon, stroke the kitty; leading guards away - C’mon, follow the kitty, clawing at guards - Get this blasted cat off my face! Anything involving guards or distractions. Ethan’s penchant for winding Lucy up was a great source of mirth for Wyatt, and he thought he could almost hear her audibly groan in response to his greeting - despite the fact she couldn’t produce sound. Regardless, she stayed where she was, whilst pretending to be going about her business, which was only more amusing the more contrived it became. The clockwork spider caught his attention and brought him back into the conversation occurring in front of him. Wyatt bent forward to examine the spectacle. A lot of the more random objects Wyatt usually ended up repurposing and selling on - in a way that the original owner couldn't find them that was - but every now and then Ethan happened by a gem that Lucy couldn't refuse under the counterfeit clause. Basically, ‘if it's stolen, I don't know about it.’ ”I do believe you've found something very unique there!” He put a hand out, and waited in the silent acknowledgement before extracting it from Ethan’s grip for a more hands-on look. ”So you’re telling me you came all this way to give my sister a gift?” He looked up from the jewelled spider to consider Ethan’s equally crystalline eyes for a second, before averting his face back to the spider. ”But you brought nothing for me, charming!” He held up the spider at an angle so that his sister could see it from her position behind the display. ”She says she loves it.” No I didn’t The reply came a little too quick for someone who was pretending not to be eavesdropping, and Wyatt wondered if she’d said it so Ethan could hear it to. The promptness hinted she may had slipped up. Your eyes lit up the second you saw it, You can’t lie to me He thought, knowing she would be checking his mind for a snarky reply. Handing the glittering object back to Ethan for safe keeping and putting his arm around the man’s shoulder he swivelled him around so they both had their backs to the storefront. ”Shall we walk, so we can discuss business?” Edited by Quix56, Jul 18 2017, 05:54 PM.
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8:33 AM Jul 11