Cats in the Market

Tenebrae - Saturday, July 06, 2013, 8:17 AM

-=--=--=--=--=--=<* A07: Local Alexandria Market District *>-=--=--=--=--=--=-

Just west of the Northern Highbridge and east of the arena, commerce blooms. Noisy and bustling, most anything may be purchased here for a price. Vendors from all cultures sell their wares from exotically colored carts, and the smells of different nations and far-off city-states mix with local ones from Alexandria and its riverbanks.

For all its commerce, visitors are advised to keep hold of their purses. Even the merchants possess a certain, cunning look. Most are positioned at carts or stalls as opposed to a formal storefront, with trade here being mobile, and visiting from all parts of the world.

Though the quality of goods suffers here compared to Upper Alexandria, the options are more diverse. Too, the oversight of the Watch is slightly less, and during times events are held at the Arena, chaos abounds. After dark, the square becomes a hangout for bards and other entrepreneurs whose business is best conducted by night; the shadows at the edges of the square often contain furtive figures engaging in their own brand of business.

Azog strides through the market, clanking in his heavy armor, carrying a bloody sack over his shoulder. Some people might be suspicious about a huge oruch carrying a bloody sack, and one or two along the path of his stride do scoot across the street. Others know him, or are at least a bit more worldly, and know how these things go. This thing goes to a butcher's shop, and there is some haggling over price before Azog turns over the sack containing his fresh kill.

Niama wanders through the market holding the reigns of a dusty grey, saddless mare. The horse forces people to give her a bit of room which is just as well as the small elf peels back her lip from her teeth and half growls at anyone who decides to ignore that. She looks around with a wild sort of expression that may seem aggressive at a glance but perhaps has more fear in it too. All the people.... Her shoulder presses a bit more to the familiar side of her mount and she makes herself breath slowly.

"Nonononono! No! That is not a toy! GET BACK HERE!"

There is a crash, a thump, and a couple of other noises as a rather large, rather fat white cat races thru the marketplace. Right behind it is Mikilos, his long legs almost keeping pace with the feline's scamper. The little kitty legs may be a heck of a lot more agile, but the elf doesn't have near as much to dodge. In part for just going over small obsticals, and that people tend to get out of his way. Or get run over.

Azog is tall enough to be able to see over the crowd, for the most part, and he eyes the elven woman scowling at the crowd. Newcomer, he quickly realizes. He's got a complicated philosphy of city life which is at once useful and mostly wrong. But it seems to get him by. He calls out to the elf as she passes closeby the shop he's just finished at, "Hello, on the horse," he shouts just before a cat scampers across his boots. He pauses, square in Mikilos's path without noticing the man running up.

Niama's nose twitches a little. Blood. Meat. Food. She tugs the horse that way just as Azog cals, her head pulls up with a bit of alarm. She turns to look around and see if perhaps he's speaking to someone else before putting her hand to her chest as if to ask, 'me?'. "H...hello?"

"Move! Movemovemo-!!"

It's a little like running into a a brick wall. At least so far as Mikilos is concerned. For the Orc, more like a strong breeze. A breeze that stumbles a bit and peers around, ducking down to try and see around legs. "Ow. Hi. Excuse me. Bad cat. There!" And the elf is off again, scrambeling madly after the ball of fur.

Azog nods to the elf. "Yes, you. You are new here?" It is more demand than question, interrogation more than query. His voice has the accent of the high Dran Tablelands, though it's mellowed by the accents of the city. He hasn't gone native, but there's a lot of influence. His topknot is tribal, but the armor he wears is local. And not much dented as Mikilos caroms into him, rocks him very slightly, and continues on. His expression does not change a whit, though he does call out, "Good morning, Mikilos," in a flat, unsurprised tone.

Niama wraps the reigns a it more tightly around her little fist though a laugh slips out of her, the sort of laugh that is bitter and self depricating. "Yes." She answers simply, staring at the mad cat chasing elf with a puzzled expression. "New to Alexandria, new to cities." The trade tongue is clearly not her first langauge, it seems awkward in a mouth more accustomed to the smooth flow of the elven tongues.

Mikilos yelps as his shin bounces off a stall edge, and mutters in annoyance. "Right. Enough." Stopping, he takes a moment, then murmurs something forgin under his breath. When a flash of fur is visible thru the market crowd, there's a susprised meow, and a cat floating by the scruff of it's neck. A small bag of bright red leather remains firmly clamped in it's mouth. "Right. Drop it. Drooop it! You're not getting away again. Drop it!"

Azog in truth recognizes a bit of himself in Niama, though he had a bit of warmup, civilization-wise, before coming to Alexandria. "Welcome, then. This is not like where you came from," he says with total assurance, then adds, "It's not like where -anyone- comes from. It's not like where they came from, even for people that were born here." Which takes a /lot/ of philosophy to wrap one's head around. And pretty much on cue, Mikilos gives a practical demonstration of his declarartion.

Niama shakes her head quickly, "No it is not like home. Less trees, more people." She grimices with a bit of longing. She looks after Mikilos worriedly, "Mother said our pale cousins are graceful. If this one sick? Should he be put down before he breeds?"

Valadhiel has arrived.

Mikilos holds the captured cat with a physical hand now, tugging on the bag before prying a finger into the cats mouth and prying his item free. Not without a sharp nip. A sharp, high voice protests in childish elven. 'No! Mine! Mine! No!' Tucking the cat againt his shoulder and roughly petting its fur, Mikilos places the bright red bag into his component pouch, and from a diffrent pocket pulls a tattered and worn red elather pouch. "No dummy, this one's yours. Here. Stupid cat." Blinking, the wizard turns his attention the the people around him, in particular the newcommer and the Orc. "Wait, what? Me??"

Azog eyes Niama thoughtfully, and nods about not like home, and nods again at the second comment, though whether the sick part or the putting down part is hard to tell. "However," he says. "There are people here who will take great offense if you try to do that." He shakes his head slowly, ruefully. "And then they will come after you and lock you in a small room for the rest of your life, or else kill you, for your efforts. And however high you stood above your fellows at home, they have greater resources, and will eventually take you down." He sounds disappointed by this, but resigned. "There is no honor, and little sense, but there is a ... a Way, an understanding, if you watch to see how things go. It is not allowed to kill people unless they are actually trying to kill you first." He nods towards Mikilos as a practical example of making little sense. "You have recaptured your cat?" he asks Mikilos. "Have you considered a leash? It will prevent its escape."

Niama tilts her head up to look at Azog, trying to puzzle through his words and logic. "I did not stand high above anyone. I have no home but the soil under my feet and the call of the wind through the trees. Is not here. None of it. There is no sense here, yes. Only the reek of humans and noise." Alas. "You are very tall." And to Mikilos, "And you are very strange, cousin who is cat's pet."

Mikilos snorts softly, but grins to Azog. "Never had a cat, have you? They don't -do- leash. Anyway, not my cat. Mistook one of my bags for it's toy. But" he hesitates, thinking how best to frame the situation for an Orcish viewpoint. "...if the magic powder had spilled, it would have been... bad." The fluffy troublemaker seems content with it's proper toy back, gnawing playfully at the worn leather. Turning his focus to the fellow elf, Mikilos nods, and smiles. "This I cannot deny. But I think around here I fit in a bit better than you. For now, at least. What brings you to this place of stone and metal?"

Azog considers Niama for a moment, and says, "I think I know a place where you may find things less reeksome. Another ... cousin of yours," he says after a pause. "There is soil underfoot there, and no effort at lawn care. There are druids with groves outside the city where things will probably seem less unpleasant as well. I do not intrude on their business, though." To Mikilos, he says, "I have had cats before." This is Azog, so he goes on, "They are stringy, but far more meat than a squirrel." And /that/ is the orcish viewpoint. He laughs about fitting in, and says, "That you consider fitting in a virtue speaks volumes to your assimilation into the Alexandrian way of thinking."

Something akin to affection flits through Niama's eyes hearing Azog, just the thought of it makes her shiver a bit and exhale with relief. "I would like to see this place. Yes." She laughs a bit, a sound elfishly musical if a bit rough against the edges. "There is not enough meat on cat and they move too fast to be worth the trouble. Rabbit is better." With a wink she looks back to Mikilos, sober and serious again, "I am looking for something my mother lost a long time ago."

Valadhiel wanders along the road, absently browsing the market wares as a fairly large snow owl resides upon her shoulder. She glances over at the group, smiling a bit when she recognizes Mikilos among them, and makes her way over towards the trio. "Good afternoon." She wrinkles her nose, "Cat? Yes, cat seems to be something not quite suitable for dining." An indignant hoot comes from the owl on her shoulder, and she smirks, "Well, for most, anyway."

Mikilos frowns at the talk of cat eatting, but sniles to Azog. "Assimilation nuthin. I came here because I'd fit in. Well enough, anyway." Blinking, he nods to Niama. "I'd be happy to offer assistance. While I may not know where to find something myself, I can likely suggest people more likely to know than I." He grins as Val arrives, nodding hello.

Azog gives Niama a puzzled look, and says, "You think a cat is harder to catch than a rabbit? But rabbit is better, yes." He nods to Niama about her search, and says, "If anyone can help find a lost thing, it is Lady Sandiel." There is a hesitation. "She has much honor," he explains. "But. She is not always sweetness and light. She is under a geas, but she does great good." He offers a nod towards Valadhiel. To Mikilos, he says, "If you know of another wild place within the city that she could go, now is the time to say. Otherwise, we must brave Lady Sandiel's."

Niama looks over to the newly arrived elf and offers her (or maybe her owl) a stiff nod. "Is this Lady Sandiel a cousin of mine? This loss was over a century ago." She rubs the neck of her mare, trying to soothe the restless beast, or maybe just herself.

Mikilos chuckles, and nods to Niama. "A cousin, yes, though Sandy isn't fond of family. Or much of anyone, really. A century is quite a long time for a city. What sort of thing was it?" Pondering a moment, he nods to Azog. "The Memorial Park? It's always quiet, and I think pretty empty this time of day."

Valadhiel wrinkles her nose, "Lady Sandiel... you might be better off asking a dragon. And less chance of being killed and devoured, no doubt." She grins cheerfully despite the grim words, and looks over at Niama, "Mind if I ask what exactly you lost?" Stepping up next to Mikilos, she gives him a smile and nod back, while her owl looks at Mikilos' cat as if pondering an early lunch.

Ol' Mags has arrived.

Azog has himself assimilated to some extent, but he tries to recognize where and what he's changed. "Cousin is a broad word in Tradespeak," he explains with a dismissive shrug, which grinds the shoulderplates of his armor. "Humans sometimes use it to mean people who are ... not cousins, but who nevertheless linked in some way." He shakes his head to Mikilos about the Memorial Park. "It is a made thing, as much as a stone wall. It is green, but it is not ... natural. It may be better than here, but ..." he shrugs. "Who can say." To Valadhiel, he says sternly, "And that is the kind of teasing that feeds her ill temper. She has great honor, and you lower yourself to speak of her that way."

Niama's head pulls up and she looks at Val curiously, "If you know one I would very much like to. It's my father." She tugs on the reigns of the grey mare who seems eager to get moving until Azog elaborates. "Nature in a cage?" It sounds like the sadest thing she's ever heard.

Mikilos rolls his eyes, but smiles, letting the cat go. Might be safest that way. Blinking at Niama, he hesitates, frowning faintly. "...your father is a dragon?"

Valadhiel keeps her grin as she looks at Azog, "Oh, well, you know that calling her 'Lady Sandiel' feeds her ill temper more than any other teasing I can do, right?" She chuckles, "Story has it that an elvish mage of the Academy labeled her as such, and the label stuck, much to Sandy's chagrin. Least, that's the rumors in the Academy, but who knows?" She shrugs a little, "And Sandy is a friend, on my side at least, but I'll reserve the right for teasing her when she acts like... well, like Sandy." She pauses, and glances over at Niama, "I don't know a diviner personally, but the Academy might have someone that could help." The owl, for her part, stays perched on Val's shoulder after Val whispers something soft to the bird in elven.

Azog shrugs about nature in a cage. "It is a thing that is. But Lady Sandiel's land is at least free, in itself. Because she will permit no groundskeeping there. I had a druid help with things. It was a great undertaking." Sandy's lawn was awful before. Now, it's kind of wild, but not horrible. He is proud of this. He peers at Valadhiel, but says sternly, "She has done much good for this city. If she is distant, then it is so her enemies have no one close to her to target. If she is short with people, it is because people speak to her disrespectfully. To taunt her lacks honor." Oruch honor, anyway, which is a strange thing to most.

Through the hussle and bussle of the market, a familiar (well to the lower classes) figure trundles past several stalls with an oversized pot being lugged along with her. A number of young gobs follow along - at least, until she's put the pot down near a small grouping of folks, and she chases them off with a spoon almost as long as she is tall. "Ol' Mags has already been tellin' all the tales she'll tell! Now git! Don't be comin' back without somethin' in hand!"

Mikilos glances between Val and Azog, and just bites his lip. Some topics are best avoided. The arrival of a goblin draws his attention, and the elf glances the way the cat went, as if to check that it's safe. It's not that he's racist, it's just that... well, okay, so maybe he's racist. But only a little.

Niama shakes her head, "Not that I know of." She looks down at herself. "I don't have scales." "Let us go to this free land, it sounds like a relief. We will see this Lady who knows things...." She trails off and her eyes narrow a bit when she sees the goblin though no threat seems immediately evident. "This city is strange."

Valadhiel grins, "It's not a taunt, it's a tease. Bit of a difference, there, but I guess that's a different point of view." She shrugs and lets the matter drop, and looks over at Mikilos, sensing his change in mood, "Everything alright?"

It's the elf with the owl that draws Ol' Mags' attention towards the small group, even as she sets up the pot up, doing something to the bottom to cause a bit of flame to appear. Not even bothering to clean her spoon after thwacking the little gobbers, she sticks it in and starts to stir it. "Stew, come get your fresh stew! Best in the city - known to be curin' the cough, puttin' hair on your chest, an' in general fixin' what ailes yeah," she starts to hawk her wares, even as she might hope for some 'chicken' to add to the general 'goodness'.

Azog shakes his head gruffly to Valadhiel, "A taunt and a tease /are/ the same thing, but you call it a tease to ward against just reprisal." He nods about it being a different point of view, and likewise drops it, a scowl across his face. To Niama, he agrees, "I will take you there." He peers at the goblin, and at her stew, and has to take a long think about that.

Mikilos smiles to Val, and nods. "Well enough. Though we really should go over the details of the trip. Do you have some time?"

The owl swivels her head to Val, hooting a bit, then Val shakes her head, "No stew either, off with you, do some scouting. And no cats!" The owl hoots, almost indignantly, then flies off, and Valadhiel glances back to Mikilos, "Definitely do, and if not I could always make some."

Niama's nose twitches in the goblin's direction, trying to sniff the stew from here. Her lips purse together a little, "Do they poison the stew?" She queries, her stomach rumbling a little.

There is a distinct look of disappointment - warts and all - as the owl flies off. That, however, is enough to have Mags point her spoon at the group. With, yes, something stringy hanging off the end. "Hey, you. The one who had the bird! You an' good at trappin' proper? I'd be payin' decent coppers - or some of m'extra special stew - for a pair of birdies, delivered live," she calls out to Val.

Azog shakes his head to Niama, "Technically, no. Some are more /flexible/, that is the nice way of saying it, in what they eat than others. There is a war golem in the city who was created to dispose of garbage, and some of it is used to ... I guess, to fuel him. The receptacle is his mouth, and he describes this process as eating. So he may speaking eating things that ... should not be eaten. It is bad to even begin any discussion on that topic."

Valadhiel arches a brow slightly, "I don't really trap, but I do hunt. What are you looking for?" She glances at the goblin, "We can talk about that later, I think." She gives Mikilos a curious look, apparently willing to let him lead on for that conversation.

Niama grimices at the thoughts of eatting the filth of the filthy inhabitants of the city. "I agree it is bad. I will hunt outside of the city later, and find a place to sleep near these druids, that may be advisable rather than eatting anything prepared inside the walls."

Azog nods to Niama. "In particular, do not eat the chili," he advises. "Most of the rest is safe, if not homestyle, though as you saw a few moments ago, I hunt outside the city as well. You will see where the farms end and the wilderness begins. Some farmers do not like you to hunt across their lands." He says this as if describing some terrain feature. It's amazing how farmers will chase off poachers, but leave a seven foot oruch to go on his way.

Mikilos nods to Azog and Niama. "Very rare is someone who'd try to poison another. But there are some wide ranges on 'edible'. Have you ever been to the Academy caffeteria? Food should not -wiggle-. I don't think that's unreasonable."

"Any kind's fine with Ol' Mags - though that bird of yours was lookin' mighty fine; plenty of meat on the bones, I'm thinkin'," the gobber replies with a bit of a cackle. Then there's a snort, "M'stew's the type that'll make you stronger!" Probably in the manner of 'That which does not kill you...' but that's a different issue. As none seem all that interested in the Mystery Stew, Ol' Mags loses interest in the group, and turns back to those actually passing by, spewing out more hawking-like calls - and occasionally getting an interested buyer.

Niama eyes Azog, "If the farmers can see me, the deer can too." Her head shakes a little and she pulls herself up onto the horse's bare back, which brings her a bit closer to the oruch's eye level at least. "I have not been to this academy but sometimes food wriggling is best. Have you never pulled a fish right our of a cool summer river and bit into it's belly so that it's chilled blood will chase away the heat of the noon sun? Delicious."

Mikilos makes a face. he tries not to, but he does anyway. "Actaully, I gave up eating a while back. I still take the occasional small meal to keep in practice, but in general I avoid it." Because of statements like yours, he's polite enough not to say aloud, but still thinks it clearly.

Azog nods to Niama about farmers and deer. "It seems like you know what you are about, then. You have no need of my advice as far as that goes." He squints about the Academy, then gives Niama one last bit of advice before she goes. "There are some here," and he eyes Mikilos and his Academy, "who will do a thing just to seem shocking or get attention. Goblins, halflings, gnomes," and he doesn't look at Mags as he says this, he's not actually including her in his generalization. She, at least, seems normal to him. "They are generally the ones who will do this, but there are some of every race. You are not required to treat them as if they were normal." He shrugs about biting into cold fish. If that's what people do to cool off, they can do that. "I come from a cold land, I like my food warmed."

Niama smiles to Mikilos with a flash of teeth, "You should try it." Maybe she does have a sense of humor, if a dark one. "Cold lands? I prefer the warmer places, the heavy press of furs on my skin is irritating to me."

Mikilos is only slightly green at the thought. "Speaking of things I should be do, going is one of them. Was an education meeting you, miss. If you wish assistance finding you father, the Library may have records from that time. Good luck." Turning to Val, he nods. "See you in the Courtyard in a bit?"

Azog chuckles about warm lands, and says, "I have been away from home for some time now, but I think what you grow up with, that is what you get accustomed to." He will lead Niama over to Sandy's place, if she's still interested, and then go his own way.

Niama has left.

Ol' Mags has left.