Sun, Streets, and Suspicious Sausages

[Ferric Vintas]

122 PW February

Ferric was tailing an unfortunate target. It was midday and the sun was high in the cloudless blue sky. If it weren’t so blasted cold out, it would have been a wonderful day. He suspected it would have snowed if there had been any moisture in the sky. As it was there was not so much as ice along the roadside.

Ferric shivered and tightened his scarf. It was a simple brown article wrapped tightly about his neck. It would have been a breach of uniform, but the chill was such that Ferric was quite thoroughly grateful he was not on patrol duty. Considering the cold breeze that ruffled his dull hair, he was willing to guess that most of his fellow guards who had that misfortune had come up with some method of warding the weather, protocols be damned.

His target was a simple looking man by the name of Desorte. Brown hair, brown clothes, a modest knapsack and a set of glasses were almost all that defined him. He too defended against the cold, his shield a heavy shoulder cloak. He had been selling statues far beyond the value of their expected prices, and been doing quite well. Either he was one hell of a smooth talker or something illicit was being smuggled in them. The loyalists were convinced it was the latter, and so here Ferric was.

Ferric’s boots ground into the gravel roughly. He didn’t much care. The trick to tailing wasn’t in peering around corners and lurking between hiding places, but instead appearing so normal as to melt into the background. The same was true in pick pocketing, and that was a lesson Ferric knew well. Even though the streets were sparsely populated, it held true.

It helped that his target had no reason to suspect anything, as far as Ferric was aware. Sane people didn’t glance over their shoulders constantly. Ferric wished the weather was not what it was; a nicer crowd would have let Ferric slit open that bag this shady character carried and spill out the contents for inspection. He fingered his knife not for the first time as he attempted to figure out some way of getting close to it. His hand brushed up against the handle of the longer combat knife hidden on his person, provided by the Loyalists specifically for this incognito assignment.

Of course, he could simply walk up, reveal his identity and demand the contents. But then they wouldn’t learn who was buying the things, and that might well be just as bad as leaving the situation unresolved. After all, unless this Desorte had some unique talent and worked alone, one could always find another dealer.

It seemed that Desorte agreed with Ferric about the weather, albeit for different reasons. He ducked into an inn called “The Tiger’s Crossing” which Ferric found to be an entirely unusual name. Not much call for tigers in Marn, after all. After waiting for a moment, Ferric slid in after him. He moved to sit at a table and watched Desorte out of the corner of his eye.

Ferric couldn’t be certain, but he was confident the man had not yet been alerted as to his presence. He waited to see what he would do, keeping watch for those he spoke with. Hopefully, he could get to the bottom of this before the day was done.

[Julius]

The inn was aplenty filled. Nearly all the tables had a patron or two, drinking to their joy and laughing away. It was one of the merrier days at Tiger’s Crossing. Julius enthralled and entertained the lot of them with his gleeful melody. He turned to watch all around the room with a convincing smile for each person who met his gaze. The space he stood in was permanently cleared of clutter specifically for this purpose: attracting the weary to a gentle and joyous environment. Several table were arranged around the room in such a way that all could watch Julius and his concerto.

The sound of the door creaking open caught his attention, but did not break his focus. There were too many sounds; clapping, laughing, cheering, and the like, for most to have noticed the arrival of two new patrons, but Julius couldn’t afford not to notice. A man in very plain brown clothes entered the inn and chose a stool at the counter, while another man with an incredibly stern manner appeared a moment later, choosing a table close to the door and bar.

Julius plucked at the strings to his instrument harmoniously as he finished his performance and followed with a seemingly embarrassed bow. It’s all about appearances. It hadn’t taken him long to notice the large bag the first of the new patrons carried with him. Julius had his sights on a meager prize at best he thought. But how could he be certain, and what harm could be done in finding out? He strolled close to the bar and rested against a finely carved column as he waited for an end to the man’s conversation.

As the man’s company had left, Julius was less than a heartbeat from him. He seated himself adjacent the man’s right, ignoring what unspoken rules there could be about personal space. With that he began his work. He bought the man a drink and met his gaze, Julius’ eyes and smile promising more than the man could ask for. The man certainly seemed the type, not one to turn down a soft, embracing warmth. Julius had the man in his pocket in mere minutes. And the chance of acquiring the contents of the man’s luggage was soon upon him.

Mr. Svireppy, the owner of Tiger’s Crossing and friend of Julius, offered a drink to Julius for his “fine work today”. Such a gesture was common, but it was the name of the drink that caught his attention. Svireppy and he had developed a sort of code over the years, the drinks he offered on the house were messages for Julius. This one in particular was a warning. He remembered the other patron, the one who now sat a mere twenty feet behind him at a table.

Julius became nervous. Svireppy was no fool, he wouldn’t warn him over nothing. Could it be the man behind him? He couldn’t turn to look, it would be too suspicious. Could the man whose arm Julius was now effectively wrapped around be someone dangerous? How could he escape or weasel his way out? Dammit, he thought, there wasn’t enough time to think.

[Brokk]

"Sausages! Cooked chicken! Genuine pig pies! Quarter Bishan only! Not to be missed!"

The streets of Marn were alive, even in temperatures like this, and at almost every corner there were people advertising their wares or advertising shops. Ren strode through it all, cart ahead of her and her tray balanced artfully against her chest as she moved along, the sizzle and aroma of cooked meat travelling with her. It wasn't all she was selling, but it helped to draw people in, especially of a cold day. Once they were in her grasp, then she'd pounce. People were very pliable whilst desperate for food. It helped that she also had a steaming pot of spiced apple juice adding to the mix. She already had a good number of envious eyes turned her way. It was a good thing too, as this weather wasn't exactly conducive to her more upper crust attire. As any trader knows, a smooth tongue only got you so far in rough clothes, but she was used to that. Of course she still cursed every now and then at the weight of what she was carrying, even if she was used to it. Strapped to her bag were two poles holding a small banner proclaiming; "NEW PRICES! NOT TO BE MISSED!" and clad in bunting.

"Hot food! Fresh pig sausages and pies! Bets taken and small loans given!"

Trawling over beside the Tiger's Crossing, she propped her cart up against a handy wall and continued the street vendor's battle cry, which boiled down to an ongoing battle with the driving wind. She grinned in spite of herself, knowing that the wind would carry that most important of advertising tools, smell, to her potential customers. Already she could see a few drifting over, guided by their stomachs. It was a constant mystery that these sold so well, given how poorly so many of her other products did, but money was money at the end of the day.

She fought the urge to glare as a man she recognized ducked into the bar. Healthy competition was good and all that but he was scum. She raised an eyebrow involuntarily as he was followed in by a better built man and she felt her grin spread further as she accepted some Bishani from her customers. Upon the cart itself, written in cheery letters, were the words: "Brokk Independent Trading. If you want it, we sell it!" Taking a small sip of water to refresh, her throat, she thanked the people heartily,waggling her eyebrows and suggesting some other marvelous purchases they might make. But her mind was busy elsewhere.

What was that clown, Desorte doing out this way? The man dealt in curiosities, not house calls. Over priced and shoddily made figurines as she understood it, but he seemed to be coining it all the same. Perhaps there was a market there after all. More customers wandered over, and she shelved the thought as she welcomed the money.

[Ferric Vintas]

Ferric couldn’t fault Desorte on one matter: he had nice taste in women. Ferric’s mark had hardly sat down before the musically gifted woman who had been playing the inn a tune sidled up to him and began courtship. Perhaps a little flat, but Ferric had never found anything particularly wrong with that.

The barkeep was offering drinks on the house in an act of charity which, like all kindness, Ferric found suspicious. He wondered if the inn was a front for Desorte’s work. Were it not for the fact that selling figurines out of a tavern would be damned strange and very obvious, he would have seen little evidence to the contrary. Maybe he would search the place later.

Desorte’s girl seemed to be getting nervous. Some warning from the innkeep about Desorte? Second thoughts about a good tumble? If it was the latter, she probably should have considered that before she had wrapped her arms around him. Desorte wasn’t having it. Ferric rolled his eyes.

He considered pulling out a knife and playing catch, but was concerned that it would draw attention. Instead he sighed and leaned forwards. It was in his interest this whole event play out quickly, but Ferric doubted it would. As he considered his options, he heard someone outside shouting about sausages. He also heard confusing shouting about loans from the same voice. Well, he was now both hungry and curious, and the inn didn’t seem to have a backdoor. Unless Desorte was onto him and terrified out of his mind, he’d refrain from jumping out a window. No harm in grabbing a bite to eat while his target dallied with the princess.

Ferric stood and made for the door. He pushed back out into the open air and closed his eyes when greeted by a rush of wind. Upon opening them, it wasn’t difficult to spot the colorful stand. “If you want it, we sell it” was written on the cart, which Ferric found amusing. He entertained the notion of walking up and asking for human flesh, but decided he had better not. The citizens didn’t put up with as much horseshit if you weren’t in uniform.

Instead he strode up to the stand, arguably cutting off a second customer as he did so. The other man made to complain but decided against it. Ferric could feel the simmering glower from behind him and drank it up. It would go well with the meal.

“Morning. How much does the sausage go for?” He asked the store owner. She was an endearing creature with a charming smile. The whole day seemed to be easy on the eyes, not that Ferric could complain.

She didn’t look like she was from Marn, though Ferric could admit it was hard to tell simply by sight. She had a notable accent, at the least. It was Northern Eyropan, unless he was mistaken. He thought about her sales pitch as he pulled up his bag of bishani. “And can I take a loan?” He added, his voice as dry and sardonic as he could manage.

[Julius]

A sound at the door, a perfect chance to look. Julius keeps his façade of sensual glee and turns his head slightly to peer at the door through his hair. He notices the suspicious patron exiting. Julius instantly exhaled in relief, only resting for a moment before turning back to his mark. Julius took this opportunity to try and lead the man away and claim his prize. Once again equipping a gentle, feminine voice, he spoke.

“I know how lonely it can be out there.” He runs a finger down the man’s chest. “It’s not easy for me either, travelling all over playing my music.” He weaves his tale, ensuring the man won’t be coming back for more once Julius has finished with him. He shyly looks away from the man. “I can take care of you. There are rooms upstairs…” He lets his voice trail off with an obvious hint of what he desires.

Pathetic, Julius thought, that such cheap flirting and promises of sex would arouse the man. The city needed more class and elegance to entertain Julius. The man swallowed his last swig of beer and purchased a room, as Julius informed him “she” didn’t have one. More money for Svireppy that way. Julius led the way upstairs, holding the man’s hand and practically dragging him to the door of their room, eager to retrieve his prize.

Once inside, Julius locked the door and quickly sat the man on the foot of the bed, and himself upon the man’s lap. He held the man’s shoulders tightly and kissed his neck gently, all the while whispering sweet nothings in his ear. Before the man had a chance to go on the offensive, Julius put a hand to the man’s chest and laid him back on the bed. He then moved from the man’s lap, slithering off of his body in a serpentine motion until he was on the floor, where the man’s bag lay.

The bag now within reach, Julius decided to distract the man in a way that would free his hands for a few moments. He slowly began to remove the man’s pants as he coiled his tongue and took the man into his mouth. His hand now free to do as they please, he quietly searched through the bag, visionless yet analytical. He weighed the value of each item within, which all seemed to be simple totems or figurines. They must have value to someone, and he would not let this dull chore be for naught. He carefully slipped one within his purse and returned the bag to its previous state.

It is fortunate that Julius works fast as the man lost himself in what couldn’t have been much more than a minute’s time. Julius would have congratulated himself had he not suspected this to be the first touch the man had felt in some time. It was now time to put his mask back on and continue the charade as he prepared to leave the inn for the next few days, ensuring he would not be spotted by the man should he be of a desperate sort.

Julius strolls downstairs and buys a drink to wash the taste of “petty” from his throat and tongue. He wondered what could be so damn special about this tiny statue, or any of them for that matter. He had gone further with people for less, but at least then he wasn’t confused afterword. He dare not examine his prize here, lest there be prying eyes. He began to make his way to the door so that he could find answers and something more fun to do for the next few days.

[Brokk]

Ren didn't even blink as someone stepped out of the tavern and straight into the queue, cutting off her next customer. Never hesitate unless you have to, that was the key, just say the right words in the right tone of voice and always, always radiate confidence like the sun. She smiled broadly and cocked her head to one side, tapping her cheek with a finger. It was the man who had followed Desorte into the tavern. Not much older than her, hard faced and scarred.

"Quarter Bishan for pig and chicken, half bishan with Hot Sauce," she said, as though considering, "although..."

She stepped slightly closer to the man, glancing around quickly. No-one was really watching but it was all about the Look of it.

"For a working man like yourself, I'd recommend the pies," she said, in a lowered tone that could make even 'hello' sound like a once in a lifetime opportunity, "cow and spiced beer, half bishan, nothing like it to warm the muscles of a chilly day."

She nudged him gently in the side and gave him a conspiratory wink. He was hard as teak, his eyes were searching and there was at least one weapon on him, judging by the way his clothes moved. He'd seen combat too, to judge by how he held himself. So he was either a bruiser or something worse. She stepped back to her cart and pulled out another tray of produce, the smell of heat and sizzling meat once again wafting enticingly through the air.

"Wouldn't dream of offering you anything less, sir," she said, still smiling. "Nothing of the sort, eh? Take your pick. Lot's to choose from there, sir."

She gave him another wink and smiled.

"You don't need a payday loan to get something unique for that special someone, sir," she said, in that same sincere tone of voice, "we have a wide range of gifts for the discerning gentleman and modern lady, sir. Very reasonable prices. All natural. Preventatives, perfumes, pleasantries, we aim to please, sir. Nothing less, sir. Nothing of the sort, eh?"

[Ferric Vintas]

Ferric smiled at her continued sales pitch. An opportunist for certain, Ferric was willing to entertain the thought of such antics being the reason for her presence in Marn. For now it wasn’t any of his business, and he doubted it ever would be. Still, there was no harm in questioning her about the Empire. He was always curious about the going ons of the nation of his birth.

He chuckled at her forwardness. “I’ll stick to the sausage for now. Skip on the sauce.” He drew out the required bishan from his bag and passed it over into her palm.

“That’s a fresh Eyropan accent I hear.” Ferric had long ago lost his to the dialect of Marn, so he clarified, “I’m from Madaal myself, though I’m guessing it’s hard to tell by this point. What news from the Empire?”

Ferric cut himself off as he heard the door open behind him. He spun his head to look as he continued the conversation, wanting to make certain it wasn’t Desorte who had just exited the building. He was probably being obvious, but the saleswoman wasn’t someone he needed to fool. He continued his conversation anyways. Looking out of the corner of his eye, he was at first reassured by the plainly blonde hair. Desorte was a brunette. “Can’t learn anything of the outside from these isolationist shits.”

And besides, Desorte was probably upstairs by now, being entertained by the musician.

It hit him in a moment’s time. Ferric glanced over his shoulder, more rapidly than before. Indeed, it was the musician. He grimaced, unsure of how to proceed. There were too many unknown variables for his liking. Making a snap decision, he figured he could probably pressure her into silence if it turned out Desorte was still inside.

Ignoring the salesperson for the moment, he abruptly left the wagon. His heavy boots rattled the gravel as he strode purposefully across the street, making a beeline for the musician. He reached her just as she crossed to the other side of the street, which Ferric considered ideal. It made it unlikely anyone would see him from inside the tavern. His hand landed roughly on the girl’s shoulder, making sure her movement came to an end. “You there. Where’s the man you brought upstairs?”

Unknown to Ferric, Desorte had just exited the building behind him. The man stood in the doorway, with one finger held over his lips in an unspoken demand for silence. He slung his cloak around his shoulder with his free hand and shuffled off down the street, a small, smug grin on his face.

It abruptly vanished when he noticed Ren and her cart. No longer a peacock, he became a mouse, scurrying along the side of the road: Desorte’s pace quickened, but he hunched over and tried to avoid eye contact.

[Julius]

Shit. If ever there was a time to have an ally, this was it. Julius had no idea who this man was other than he was watching either Julius or the fleeting man whom Julius was trying to leave behind. In truth, Julius didn’t know much about the other man either, practically nothing. Who could he trust in this situation? There has to be some gullible pedestrian nearby.

Suddenly, he had a stroke of genius. What fool wouldn’t jump at the chance to save a damsel in distress? He relished the few opportunities he had to put his skills to the test in a public crowd. He would fall back into the man’s chest and scream, making it seem as they “she” was being attacked. Today was turning out to be eventful, he thought.

He did just that. Losing his footing and falling into the man’s chest. Within seconds Julius let out a feminine squeal of terror and scrambled to the ground after making sure that people saw “her” against the man with his arm on her shoulder.

Perfect, he thought, now to wait until the crowd made their own assumptions rather than fabricating his own story. Julius wore the mask of a terrified and abused young girl, tearing at the eyes and shielding herself with her arms.

[Brokk]

"Hard to say, sir, hard to say, news travels slow this side of the mountains," she said, accepting the money and handing over a sizzling sausage in a bun, "lots of talk, sir. Revolutionary, sir. Can't trust em, sir. Nothing changes. Nothing changes."

Which was, technically, true. Although to be fair, she was generally too busy fleeing in the opposite direction to heed the trending news topics or presiding political debates. News generally travelled as fast as the people bringing it, to which she owed her ability to set up shop anywhere for any great length of time before the mob found her. Still, there had been rumblings to be sure. It was the usual voice of the people stuff though, which was why she had paid it little attention. Old ideas getting too old, time for the new. Let the wheel turn and let us turn with it. It hadn't offered a profit for her as best she could remember. And none of it changed that she could no go back.

"Are you sure you won't reconsider, sir? Very reasonable prices. Bargains, sir and no mistake."

She was about to go further when the man's attention was pulled away by someone much more interesting exiting the tavern. That was rude of him, and just when she'd been about to convince him to partake of some very reasonable services in exchange for a modest sum. There was no helping some people it seemed. As the man, whose manner was narrowing down his list of potential professions quite quickly, neared his mark, she got a better look at the...youth. She squinted. Yes, that was the only term she could use without casting aspersions on a possible gender. She was prevented from giving the matter further thought when another motion near the door caught her eye. Desorte. Proud as punch and making to walk away. Then he saw her, and he seemed to shrivel where he stood. Ren beamed. Sometimes the day was good to her.

"Well, well, well," she called out jovially, throwing her arms out wide. "Desorte? What brings you out here you old codger?!"

Her voice carried clearly and easily over the sound of the wind, the product of many years of street trading. It was boisterous. It was friendly. It was the sound of someone who was more than willing to empty your pockets for you. Right then, it was calling out to Desorte, who did his best impression of a crayfish and attempted to scuttle away. Her call even drew attention back from the antics between her former customer and his friend. Nobody wanted to miss free street theatre after all.

"No sense, crawling off, Dessie," she shouted, "haven't you got a minute for an old pal?"

The man flinched as though punched and made to speed up. The youth was using the distraction ploy. Ren decided to throw one more punch before calling it quits.

"What's in the bag, Dessie? The river's the other way if you're out drownin' cats!"

There were some half-hearted laughs and Ren crossed the street quickly to where the scream had originated. In the hubbub, she did her best mother hen impression as she separated the two and took charge of the struggling youth. The man, she pushed in the direction of Desorte.

"Never you worry there, never you worry," she said, "I'll look after you, you poor motherless thing."

She turned the full force of her smile on the youth, briefly noticing the weight of the purse and reached out to help the person up. She had to be quick before he or she bolted. Catching the youth under the arm, she began to balance the person.

"What did that brute do to you, eh? You just stick with old Ren."

Quick as breathing, she turned mid lift and drove her knee into her catch's crotch hard. Not stopping for breath lest she be rumbled, she turned the back motion into a downward stomp and stomped on the ankle, steering the boy across the street as he sagged. Putting a hand around his shoulders, she made to half lead, half drag him across the street.

"Cup of spiced apple will chase the demons away there, don't you worry. Old Ren's got you," she went on.

[Ferric Vintas]

When Ren yelled out Desorte’s name, Ferric’s head flipped around. His feet moved on instinct, hardly leaving time for Ren to push him from the musician. It might have looked like they planned the switch, especially when Ren hit the girl right between the legs. Ferric respected her tactics, happening to know that a woman’s groin was no less vulnerable than a man’s. It just made a smaller target.

Ferric saw Desorte, but Desorte had the lead. No fool, Ferric’s target had begun sprinting off the moment Ren had spoken his name in her booming voice. Compounding this disadvantage was the crowd the musician’s antics had worked up. Ferric found it due time to get them aside. He took a deep breath as his footsteps turned to sprints.

“Marn Guard!” He shouted at the top of his lungs, his left hand flying into his knapsack. There was no time to back up his claim by pulling his gloves out, but a big knife would work just as well to establish authority any day.

The steel slid easily out as Ferric barreled forwards. At the sight of the gleaming weapon, the crowd struggled out of his warpath. One stumbling citizen couldn’t make it away in time, struggling to carry a large basket of bread. Ferric reached his arm up, caught the man on the shoulder and sent him sprawling to the ground. Ferric had to lift his leg to avoid tripping on the fallen man, but otherwise was hardly slowed.

“Desorte! Stop right there!” He shouted. Ferric wasn’t certain that direct action had been his greatest decision. He couldn’t be completely certain that Desorte had noticed him and arrived at the proper conclusion. But with Ren’s reaction—He could think about it later, Desorte just rounded the corner.

Ferric rounded the bend and saw Desorte frantically glancing down several paths, apparently paralyzed by indecision. Ferric’s boots dug into the road and sent him lunging forwards. His palm connected with Desorte’s back and sent him sprawling to the ground. Desorte’s brown cloak nearly caused Ferric to lose his grip, but Ferric held on.

“Don’t make a damn move!” He shouted, but he gradually lost his volume, noticing differences in the appearance and build of the one he was currently using for a cushion.

Ferric looked down at his target and immediately groaned. This was not Desorte, it was some unfortunate wanderer who Desorte had thrown his cloak on the back of. Damn his poor eyesight. Adding to his embarrassment, this was apparently a woman with short black-brown hair.

He huffed and pulled himself off his nonresponsive victim. He checked for a pulse; she was still going strong. Ferric looked up and down the street: everyone had apparently been scared off by the chase or distracted by the entertainment around the corner. Ferric helped himself to her coin purse, shoving it in his shoulder slung bag. He also drew out his guard gauntlets, and shoved them onto his fingers.

He propped the unconscious woman up against the wall. She was bleeding, but not badly, which was good enough for Ferric. He started trekking back through the alleys, keeping his pace quick but not sprinting. With any luck, the musician and the peddler would have remained there. Barring them, he would turn his eyes on the innkeeper. There was something unscrupulous going on in that tavern, that much was for certain.

[Julius]

Upon receiving the deadly blow to the crotch, Julius let out a loud whelp that could hardly be considered human, let alone used to determine gender. The woman spoke more nonsense to him as she began leading, or possibly dragging, him to an odd-looking cart of miscellany. He struggled out of the woman’s grasp and gathered himself. He now stood staring angrily and confused at the woman for a brief moment. He then remembered the man that grabbed him…no, not a
man. He was a fucking city guard!

Julius glanced around in a panic. He saw the guard chase after a man with a brown cloak, the man from upstairs. He saw people looking every which way in awe, some casually leaving as if up to no good and startled. He didn’t know where to go or what to do. He had never been so close to being caught before.

Wait! The guard was chasing the man from before, not Julius. He should be fine, just admit to being acquainted for the better part of a minute and everything should go without a hitch. Julius began to calm himself…Shit! He had stolen something from the man. What the hell was it?! Would he notice?! Would the guard?! Was the guard dirty?! Was the man his peon?!

All these thoughts and more ran through his head in a flurry. Finally, he snapped. He glanced back at the woman who assaulted him, angrily. Then he ran. Ran as fast as he could, which isn’t impressive, in the opposite direction of the guard. There was no time to think. He had to leave, get somewhere safe, and hide for a few days. This was all he could manage in the panic.

[Brokk]

She felt the man struggle from her grasp, for man she was certain it was, given what she'd felt her knee impact. He staggered backwards, swaying bow-legged as he got his bearings, which was more than enough for Ren. She smiled broadly, raising an eyebrow in question as she took in his appearance. Tasteless highway man jacket, rake's silk shirt, matching blue-dyed boots. Very fashionable and colour coordinated. She would have applauded if it wasn't utter lunacy. She wondered about him. She'd seen him here before, she thought. Some kind of musician, if you could call it music. No instrument now though. She filed that one away.

"You've had a trying time, dearie, have a sip of spiced cider to settle yer nerves," she called out, smiling, "least until that handsome guard comes back with yer money!"

The light of pure unadulterated panic shone in the man's eyes as he stood there, his mind whirring like an expensive clock. Honestly, Ren could have walked over and secured him in the time it took. Eventually he decided that running might be a plan and hopped to it, as it were. Ren stifled a chuckles, still calling out to him.

"Sir! Sir, you shouldn't run in that condition, you'll catch your death! Sir?"

He was soon out of sight and she shrugged theatrically, drawing a laugh from passers by.

"Doesn't know a good deal when it runs over him, that one," she said, loudly, "who's for hot food? Quarter bishan only! Best in the city!"

[Ferric Vintas]

Ferric walked back down the streets. He chose to bypass the alleyways Desorte had led him down, preferring instead the midst of the road. His scarf had become loose during the action, so he put his recent gains on his belt and lifted his hands to tighten his accessory.

The woman who had sold him the sausage, which he had dropped during the beginning of the chase, had clearly intended to aid him by calling out Desorte’s name. More to the point, it meant she both knew and held no affection for him. It made her an ideal asset. With luck, she wouldn’t have left the front of the Tiger’s Crossing. With still greater luck, the musician wouldn’t have fled.

Ferric pulled up the bag of bishani. He opened it up and sifted through the contents, tossing out a few slips of paper. They floated lazily to the ground, sliding back and forth like feathers. He didn’t much care what was on them, but it was enough to ensure that the bishani’s source would not be identified.

He looked up as he finished, fastening the top of the bundle back to secure levels, and saw Ren from behind. She had already returned to selling her wares to civilians on the street, and the musician was not anywhere in sight. It was unfortunate, but Ferric was quite convinced that he could track down the girl later. After all, the barkeep had likely failed to flee, and unknown to them Ferric had reason to suspect they were running a scam of some sort. But that was his secondary objective at the moment.

“Peddler, a moment of your time.” He said calmly. He let the bag of bishani jingle. “The name is Ferric Vintas. No relation to the Vincas line. I work for the Omenbryn Loyalists and our mutual friend Desorte has attracted the wrong sort of attention.” He flicked his wrist forward and tossed the bag to her. “You both know him and were clever enough to call my attention to him, for which I am appreciative. What else can you tell me?”

[Brokk]

"Danke, sir, you'll not regret it," she said, handing over a beef and beer pie and pocketting his money. "Hot food! Best in Marn! Quarter Bishan! Try it with hot sauce! Spice mix! Try it with honey mustard sauce! Half Bishan! Not to be missed. Best in the city or my money back!"

It earned her a few chuckles as she plied her trade. People coming and going and generally buying now that the excitement had died down. She wasn't really paying too much mind to the two that had left. The one was a rake and would surface again in time and the other was trouble in shiny boots. Now that she thought about it though, she wasn't quite sure which was which. Well unless they planned on buying something it didn't really matter in the long run. She readied her pitch for another barrage, when she saw the guardsman returning.

"Welcome back, mein herr," she said, with a sunny smile, "couldn't take just the one, eh?"

She listened as he spoke, glancing at the money carefully, as though it might bite. It was a wonderful theory. It really was. But there were rules to be observed, even in her line of work. This sort of thing just wasn't done. Well, it was, but not like this. She let her smile stretch, wondering how best to phrase things.

"Ooh, that's a special kind of guard, is it? Well now I've seen it all. I can't take your money, sir, it wouldn't be right. If you were to buy something, now, that'd be different. No reason I couldn't sit and share a warm mug of spiced cider with a valued customer after all, is there?"

She smiled and handed a sausage to a waiting customer and accepted the payment in return.

"Trader's honour, sir, nothing like it in the world. Course you could just find that poor lad's Lute and bring it to him. I suspect he left it inside. He must be missing it."

[Ferric Vintas]

Ferric couldn’t help but chuckle at the mention of trader’s honor, being fairly confident that there was not a successful trader in the world with any of that. It took him a moment to realize she was being serious. He raised his eyebrows and lifted his head back as if he was concerned honor was a toxic substance. “You were being serious?” He asked, accepting the bishani back, “My apologies.”

Ferric folded his hands together and furrowed his brow. It seemed that she did not understand how the Marn guard worked. He asked questions and she answered them: the payment had been purely a courtesy. If he wanted to, he could have her taken in for interrogation. Refusing to answer a guard was, after all, disrespectful. He even had authority to beat her at the moment, on the most technical level.

But such was not practical. The guard was more than attack dogs. He offered her up enough bishani for the sausage. “I suppose I did drop my previous purchase during the chase. And if I were to pay for the sales lost as you speak to me, well. That certainly couldn’t be anything less than fair.”

As to the instrument, that was another matter to be dealt with in time. Neither it nor the innkeeper would be going anywhere. In fact, Ferric would be quite content with the possibilities involved in mixing his idea and Ren’s.