A Marnian Welcome

[Brokk]

122PW, City of Marn, Downtown and Business District, Corner of Market Street and Carter's Walk, Sign of the Drover's Rest

There was nothing like the smells and sounds of a trading street, Ren felt; people should bottle it and sell it to revive the faint of heart. Well, they should after she had figured out how to distill the sensation at any rate and then they should have to pay her for the privilege. Not a lot, after all, she wasn't greedy by any means, but a woman had to make a living somehow. She sniffed disapprovingly, not that some of these folks would spot a bargain if you beat them about the head with one. It broke the heart. Cupping her hands to her mouth, she savoured a moment of anticipation and prepared to advertise her wares once more.

"Come on, let's be 'avin ya! Hot pies! Meat in a roll! Genuine Marnian Craft Beer!" She stated, more than shouted, her voice carrying through long practise. "Odds offered! Commemorative Tunics! Support our boys an' girls in armour!"

Beside her, her cart rocked ever so slightly in the breeze and she glanced at it to make certain she had secured it, just as she had many times before. As she turned, the tray she held in front of her seemed to move by accident, wafting the enticing aromas of warm meat and spices to those who would pass by. The wind was an old friend to Ren in this regard and she played it to full effect while announcing her wares again. A few souls, either low on coin or high on hunger, opted to take her up on her offer and she happily traded pies for coin, greasily wiping her hand off before taking another grip on her tray. This was a popular spot, but she'd gotten here early and the rest had to set up around her. She smiled the broad, honest smile of a true merchant and rocked slightly on her feet to keep the blood flowing.

"Named meat pies! Quarter Bishan! Rare items! Custom utensils for the busy sort! Unbeatable prices!"

God bless the upper crust, she thought, preparing for another round of advertising. Sure, they wanted their meals fine and they wanted them now but heaven forbid that the makings of said meal would share the same streets as their horses and such. So, of course, the carters and drovers and the hegglers' wagons came over the bridge and were immediately shafted on the narrow side roads to the industrial district in a large scale imitation of the tradesman's entrance and they all swung by here; all of them hungry, tired and with coin to spend. Plus, she thought, with a shiver, thanks to the effects of ongoing poverty there wasn't a pigeon to be seen. Paradise indeed.

[Manuel]

Bloodied, tired but happy from a round of hunting. Manuel made his way towards his cart, ten skinned rabbit carcasses hanging from his shoulder, and a soft smirk playing over his face.
"Today is going well."he mused"Should make enough Bishan to make father happy."

Spotting his cart he walked over, and dropped the rabbits inside, dicing five of them, before heading off. Slowly he pushed the cart, as he made his way downtown, his eyes scanning the area for a prime spot. Soon a shout reached him.

"Named meat pies! Quarter Bishan! Rare items! Custom utensils for the busy sort! Unbeatable prices!"

Stomach growling at the promise of food, he steered his cart toward the voice, growing ever aware of the carcasses below him, ripe for the picking. He chastised himself "Dammit, I'll eat when I've sold some, gotten enough Bishan. Not before!" His stomach rumbled defiantly one last time, before falling silent. As least for the time being.

The young Aknin soon reached the source of the shouting, a human woman; tall, brown hair. He couldn't see her face, but he could see a large crowd passing through. Pushing cart closer to her, he turned to the crowd and bellowed.

"Get yer rabbits here! Freshly caught, Half to One Bishan. Diced rabbits just Quarter Bishan!" His voice elicits some interested faces. Customers approached, and money changed hands. His burden was now three rabbits lighter.

His grin grew wider, and Manuel idly moped his forehead, while pushing his glasses up. "Yep, today's gonna be a damn good day"

[Renee Raialagos]

The woman had lots to say, but only one thing caught Renee’s attention.

Rare items.

Renee had seen the seller and her cart before, once in a while when passing by. But she had never been interested in buying food, and she had a well equipped kitchen in the house she had grown up in and eventually inherited. Renee was the kind who made her own tasty jam of the berries from her own garden, using the special recipe of her mother. She had been the valuable and endlessly loved only child and no effort had been spared when it came to her education in practical things. From tender age she had participated in everything the parents did. They had simply liked to have her around at all occasions, in the shop, in the kitchen, in the garden, everywhere.

Buying food wasn’t Renee’s thing. But rare items were.

Owning a kitsch shop, albeit not so big, she was sometimes able to sell some very rare things indeed at amazing prices you wouldn’t believe people would be prepared to pay for these...oh, well. And sometimes she made money as a pawnbroker, which she didn’t speak so loudly about. That was discreet business. The ones who needed her would find their way to her.

So, this street seller with the meat pies had started to sell rare items now, had she? And exactly what could these rare items be? She'd better have a closer look, Renee thought to herself.

Renee felt curious and also a bit competitive. The decision to investigate the street seller’s rare items was nearly instantaneous. She slowed her normally so springy steps and started to stroll in a slow and seemingly aimless way. She would make her way to the saleswoman and her cart, just wait ! But she would do this in an innocent way that would come off as random. She was a shrewd business woman and didn't want her intentions and interest to be obvious.

Unfortunately, Renee was on her way home and was still dressed for work, in the flamboyant style that supported her business. Today this meant a long dark yellow dress the color of mustard, with a dark red belt, and on her head and around her face and shoulders a shawl of thin golden lace. Today’s generous collection of fake jewellery glittered in deep dark forest green and burgundy red on her chest. It wasn’t the best outfit for strolling around discretely and she looked around for an excuse to be there without looking like a colorful parrot sneaking around mysteriously.

A hunter lad turned up and started to sell rabbits. How convenient ! Renee was going to buy some rabbit meat and then move on to the saleswoman with the cart. Recipes and spices started moving in her mind. She approached the lad. “Diced rabbit meat please” she said.

[Manuel]

Manuel watched the crowd carefully. Although his actions and tone were one of a simple hunter, his eyes scanned the crowd intensely, looking for potential customers. A glance down at his wares, sent another rumble through his stomach. "Ugh, I gotta hold on, ain't got much more to sell" Again he silently scolded his stomach.

Trying to divert his attention, he returned to scanning the crowd, then he saw her. Some woman all dolled up in a dress the colour of pus, she came straight for his cart. “Diced rabbit meat please” She said.

Now Manuel knew the kind of people that usually bought from him, and this woman, she didn't fit the bill one bit. In her flamboyant dressing, she looked more suited to be a shop owner or scholar, not the kind of person that wanted freshly caught diced rabbit. At least, that's what Manuel thought.

"Ah what the hell, Bishan is Bishan" Manuel thought to himself. He pointed towards the cart, and switched back into his business demeanour. "Yer free ta choose Ma'am".

[Brokk]

Ren smiled, taking a sip of water as the crowd ebbed and flowed like a tide of money. Some things simply could not be rushed and the art of salesmanship was one of them. So she savoured each sale and presented each offer like a timeless treasure, knowing in her heart that the crowds could not turn them away, though some seemed determined to try. She saw the skinny youngster with the hand cart approaching and smiled even wider, admiring his sand. This late in the day, though late was a relative term, nobody just walked up and grabbed a spot for nothing. But then, maybe the poor lad didn't know, she thought, spotting the looks even if he didn't. It wasn't a law, not really, but there were rules to follow. Bit sellers with barrows either passed their stuff on to the butchers or the heavy traders, or else cooked it themselves and sold on the fly. Less hassle that way and you shifted the dead weight faster. Plus, you could hop it in a heartbeat if the Guard took an interest. Simple sense was all it was really, she thought.

"Hot food, ready made, best in Marn! Save your fingers, my loves! Why mess wi' knives, eh? Work's already done 'ere! Pies! Meat and veg rolls to lift yer souls, why not?"

She turned, the smells of her wares traveling ahead of her to entice the hungry and the unwary into sating themselves on something unique, lovingly made and truly organic in every sense of the word, and spotted them towards the end of the street, working their way down. It was more than the plate and mail, really, it was the way that people just got out of the way as they drew near. constables Karris and Quirke, the one ugly and the other uglier still, moved through the crowds like oxen in a herd of sheep, their eyes moving that much faster than the rest of them, scanning. They knew the faces and the names of the players, Ren knew, and they always took their cut. They'd spot the newbie in seconds, and while some considered that street theater, she didn't need it spilling over into her patch; it tended to spoil the appetite. A look in the other direction and she spotted another familiar face approaching.

"Come on, my loves! Let's be avin' ya! Odds offered! Balms and salves! Rare goods! Patriotic clothing! Guaranteed best prices in the city!"

She knew the face and the walk, but not the name of the woman approaching. But that was okay, the name wasn't the important part; what mattered was that she had money or was married to money. It was hard to tell at a distance, but that was fine too. Ren had spotted the perked ears and the curious glances, so she knew that the dance was joined. She did a split second mental inventory of her stock as the woman nonchalantly closed the distance, moving not towards her target, but towards the youngster with the rabbit. It was an old tactic, but nonetheless it was another black mark for the poor lad. She stopped, passing off food and cool beer to weary drovers, and leaned in to listen to a man looking to place a bet, one hand resting surreptitiously on her knife. Well, a lady couldn't take chances, could she? Plus, the cosh was on her other side, and shifting her stance would draw attention.

"Not a worry, sir, not a worry," she said, "I'll see to that and thank ya kindly for yer custom. Spices! Tinctures! Not to be missed opportunities, right 'ere at yer door, ladies and gents! Right 'ere at yer door! Ooh, no miss, don't wanna be doin' that, miss, not you, eh?"

This to the interested woman, who was now inquiring about the lad's diced rabbits. Closer to, she had to reassess the woman. Yes, she had money, but she careful about how she spent it. The dress was well made and meant to draw the eye with bright, primary colours to display her wealth to all and sundry, but she could see some wear around the edges and marks where it had been repaired, most likely by hand. Jewellery was ostentatious, but clearly glass and polished brass, and her shoes were well-heeled, so her money went to other things than appearance, clearly. Add to that that her smile was too ready, and the eyes were too sharp. She was a seller too, perhaps? Ren smiled broader, her face all eagerness and innocence.

"Can't eat just rabbit, miss, not rabbit," she said, in knowledgeable tones, "bad for ya, ya gotta mix it up. Fine selection 'ere, miss, fine selection 'ere, all ye'd ever want. Put the kitchen knives down for an evenin', eh?"

[Renee Raialagos]

The rabbit selling lad seemed to have sold most of his catch already, and although he told her to choose, the choice was limited. Despite this, Renee had been on the verge of buying some diced rabbit meat, just as a cover. But she had noticed a change in the atmosphere in the street. Nothing in particular had happened, but some people seemed to move a bit faster like they were in a hurry to leave. Renee glanced up the street and saw the two City Guard constables heading this way.

Oh, no ... not Quirke ! Not right now when Renee was going to find out about the rare items over there at the meat pie cart.

Renee had no reason to be scared of city guards. She was a titre and she wasn’t doing anything else on the street than looking around a bit on her way home and buying a few things. Perfectly lawful. But. All the time after a small marketing party last fall, corporal Quirke had been set on courting the shop owner. It was unclear if it was Renee herself who was his reason, or if it was just her shop and house and the opportunity to marry into more money and a convenient life.

There were for sure people who might think of Constable Quirke as metal clad ox, as he met the physical requirements to be one of this city’s well trained, professional and skilled guardsmen and the discipline and unbending mentality for it too. Being a constble in the guard commanded some respect in Marn. His stern looks suited his job. No fop there. People were moving to the side much like a flock of sheep, and it was no wonder.

Renée had met Constable Quirke when he had a day off, but despite this had taken on to have a closer look at a small marketing event hosted by some of the shopowner’s, one of them Renee. According to Qiurke the reason for checking in on them was that he wanted to make sure it wasn’t some illegal riot. Everything was in order, and they were actually only offering the customer’s tea and cakes, but for safety’s sake Renee had put on her best saleswoman smile and invited the constable to taste the cheesecake with blackcurrant jam she had contributed to the tea table. Quirke hadn't said no.

It was embarrassing, but truth is Renée could react a bit too much to flattery even if it wasn’t skilled flattery. Appreciation by a guardsman and a constable had affected her, no matter it had been blunt. It’s a shame, but she had basked in the attention and spent far too much time with Quirke. It had maybe given the marketing party the cachet of “approved by the city guard” and added to the brands of the involved shops. There was that. But it had also made Quirke discover that although Renee sure seemed as eccentric as rumor had it, she wasn’t half-bad. And the cake was ecellent. A pratical no nonsense military man he made up his mind; he was going to court her.

This hadn't been Renée's intention, but it still happened once in a while, when Renee was unable to avoid it. It was carried out with military resolve and tenaciousness.

So. She hoped the constable would be too busy with his job to speak with citizens like herself. But just in case he wouldn't feel too busy, Renee had to get busy, at once! The rabbit meat wouldn’t be enough to keep Quirke at bay. When the saleswoman with the cart turned to her, Renée jumped at the opportunity and changed her mind. It was time to speak about pies and rare items a lot earlier and more eagerly than she had planned. It wasn't the best tactics for business. But necessity knew now law. Besides, it had started to dawn on her that the lad with the rabbit meat might soon be in trouble and it could be best to move to the side.

She left the rabbit meat to its fate and pointed at the pies Brokk was selling. “I think I will have one of those for a start” she said, pointing at a pie randomly. “I will eat it while I have a look at what more you have for sale. If you don’t mind. I’m something of an expert at rarities, by the way. But I’m always interested in the simpler goods too. It’s possible that there can be something I’d like to buy.”

[Manuel]

Manuel was well aware he was in trouble when he saw the Corporals approaching, he had noticed the saleswoman's glance towards the crowd, as she informed his customer to buy a pie instead. So he waited.

When the lady in the awful dress turned towards the pies, she unknowingly shielded him for few moments. And Manuel did what any quick-witted shifter would do, he made his exit quite speedily, vanishing from the Corporals sight as he dashed away.

Bolting through downtown like a fox from the hounds, he made his way towards a nearby alley, it was one he used often. Inside the dark alley, he made sure he was alone, then he shifted, quickly assuming his mamba form like one would wear a coat. It took him seconds to slither through some loose bricks. "Hope the Corporals like rabbit" The thought crossed his mind and he snickered silently, as he made his way through the old building he had entered.

[Brokk]

"Ooh, fancy that," cooed Ren, preening a little, "an expert, eh? At my cart too? Oh, miss, the Changers are good to me, ain't they? Does the heart good t'see a fine lady like yerself doin' well, miss; it's an inspiration to us all, so it is. Woman after my own dear self, I say, and proud to say it!"

She'd noticed the slight panic in the woman's tone as she turned away from the young lad, who promptly high tailed it into an alleyway like a pro. Perhaps he'd gone that way before, she supposed, though she'd never suggest that a fine young lad like that was involved in anything illicit, perish the thought. Still smiling and bubbling without missing a beat, she proffered her tray and indicated the pies that the woman had pointed to. The other two were still approaching, but now there was definite purpose to their movements. One of the other merchants must have talked, she thought; she could see the looks.

"Brave woman too," she said, smiling wide, "brave woman. One of these, yeah? Good on you for game'un! Special, these. 'Erbal, natural, full of flavour they are, my, yes! Thank you very much m'love and much appreciated! Guaranteed no pigeon!"

The last was to a sweaty man in worn clothes who handed her some coin in exchange for a meat skewer and a beer, and she turned back to the nice lady, picking up one of the indicated pies. The pie rumbled slightly at her touch, which she took no notice of at all, since that was perfectly normal and just meant the pie was ready to eat. The spices were tough to source but they added one hell of a kick to the whole thing; put a proper spring in your step too, when they didn't explode.

"They are dears, ain't they, miss? Quarter bishan, please. Fall down starvin' without me to look after 'em and thass the 'onest truth. But i don't need to tell you that, eh? Not a pillar o' the community like yourself, not an expert."

She preened again slightly, thrilled at having such an illustrious customer and leaned in conspiritorially. Whatever about her words, the woman had sharp eyes and looked calculating in that sharp way that burghers did at market. Something about the face said exotic too, which Ren filed away for future reference. She also smacked of being both indoorsy and outdoorsy at the same time, but her mode of speech marked her as educated and perhaps a reader. Ren glanced about and lowered her voice, keeping the tray perfectly balanced.

"Would this be for t'home or t'garden, miss? Between us, I might have one or two things that I wouldn't show this lot," she said, quietly, sniffing with disapproval. "Ya know 'ow tis, yeah? Might not interest an expert, but you never know, miss, you never know. Now let me see, eh?"

The last was said loudly and lovingly for all to hear, and Ren turned back to her cart, surreptitiously swapping the tray for another as she rummaged through her stock. This one looked identical to the first but contained a slightly better class of pie. After all, she was no stranger to guardsmen of a mercantile mindset and it never hurt to grease the wheels that kept the city safe. Figuratively speaking of course.

"Got a few tomes here," she said, jokingly "good condition, leather bound. Flora from Afar, thassa scholar's book on 'erbs and sich from Tian Xia, miss, wealth of information there. After a Fashion, tale o' intrigue an' court tailors there. Custom tankards, gnome made, precision engineering, a few very nice God-catchers here too. Commemorative spice jars, hand carved, very pretty..."

She opened her mouth to say more but the approach of the two valiant guardsmen and the subsequent blockage of sunlight made it hard to see much. She turned and shot them a smile so bright it reflected off their armour and stood, bustling over her tray.

"Oh, sirs, you gave me such a shock, you did, " she said, "shouldn't sneak up onna lass like that. What can I get you, eh? Always proud to serve our lads in armour, me."

Constables Galen Karris and Aimsbury Quirke looked right past her to the abandoned cart nearby. Her customer, she noticed, seemed quite eager to keep her back to Quirke, who was looking at her with brows furrowed as though remembering something. They fitted into the guard like little square pegs, the two of them, by the unimaginative standards of those required to move in armour and stand staring at nothing all day, but they were street monsters, which made them more dangerous. They also had a healthy income from bribes, which they dutifully shared with the shift officer, just to smooth things along, and were the kind of people who hadn't quite grasped that continuing to beat a man long after he'd lost consciousness was wrong. That kind of news got around.

"Where is he?" asked Karris, his voice a deep rumble.

"Who, sir?" Ren asked, genuinely puzzled.

"The lackwit who owns this cart," he said, "who else? Been skimming, he has. It won't do."

"Ere," said Quirke, removing his helmet, "Miss Raialagos, I should have known!"

Karris, meanwhile, passed a gloved hand over the cart and looked from it to the alleyway, then back at Quirke in slight surprise.

[Manuel]

Corporal Karris motioned to Quirke, and pointed towards the alley, "I'm going to check over there, find our little skimmer" He rumbled.
Standing, he walked purposefully towards the alleyway, his armor clanking relentlessly, and denying him any chance of surprising the lad. But Karris wasn't worried, as he doubted the boy could do him any harm.

Soon Karris stood at the entrance of the alley, his face set in a scowl as he glared at discarded boxes and bags, but no boy. Even after kicking boxes, searching behind bags, and walking the entire length of the alley way, the boy's position still eluded him. "Changers damn it!" He bellowed, "No one can just disappear into thin air!".
Pissed he looked around once more, and his eyes landed on the small hole Manuel has slithered through, but he didn't think much of it, not seeing how a boy that big, could have fit through a hole that small.

Fuming, he made his way out of the alley, back toward the saleswoman and his partner.

Meanwhile Manuel was still coiled up in the building, comfortable and snug he listened to the guards ranting and raving, if a snake could smile, this one would have.

[Renee Raialagos]

She had noticed the sudden swift change of trays for example. This intrigued her. It had been carried out with such and unconcerned easiness that it had looked premade. Renée was under the impression the saleswoman had planned it in advance and been ready to shift the trays if needed. And now when the guards had arrived there were other pies on the tray than the moment before, but the saleswoman continued like nothing had changed. Renée made a mental note to remember this step, for future use.

Brokk had greeted the guards in a relaxed, friendly, cheery and joking way, like she found it nice that “our boys” had turned up. Not that the two constables had seemed to care one bit. They were after the boy with the rabbit meat, that much was obvious from what little they had to say. But Renee didn’t see anything of what happened behind her back, as she was looking the other way in the hopes of not being recognized by constable Quirke. This meant she didn’t have the slightest idea what had happened to the lad or what the guards were doing.

But, alas, her attempt to avoid Quirke had been to no avail. He was already speaking to her and as she found it best to be polite. He was after all a man of a social standing that genuine puradyne marnians respected, and she didn’t want to feed the rumors about her own eccentricity by insulting a city guard constable on the open street. She turned to Quirke just in time to see him take off his helmet, and look at her with a resolute expression on his stern face.

“Oh!” Renee pretended to be totally surprised. “Captain Quirke!”

Constable Karris opened his mouth like he was about to say something but shut it again after a menacing glance from his colleague. He looked uncomfortable and sour. But Constable Quirke didn’t say anything to correct the title Renee had given him. (She seemed to see his value and there was nothing wrong with that.)

Renee had been about to start eating her pie, but now she postponed this, because she didn’t want to much on a pie while speaking with Quirke. It seemed unwise, in particular as Constable Karris had returned to join them. She couldn’t just stand there and eat. And she didn’t want to stand there with a pie in her hand either, so she put it down on the tray with the other pies Brokk had for sale. “I’ll just leave it there for a moment” she mumbled in passing by . She grabbed the skirt of her dress and held it up slightly as she made a small but polite curtsey.

She still wanted to investigate what Brokk could have to sell and how rare or not rare it would be, but not with the guardsmen watching.

“I can see that you are on duty captain” she said in the tone of professional politeness she used to apply at customers in the shop. Friendly but not inviting. “Are you looking for terrorists? Have you discovered anything new about who was behind the bombings ?” She paused a bit, but not long enough to give Quirke a chance to get in a word. “But I apologize, don’t let me delay you in your important work Captain Quirke. Marn’s safety depends on you.”

She beamed a small smile at him and hoped he would go away.

[Brokk]

There it was again, Ren noticed, that twitch in the lady's eyes that suggested she was thinking, and thinking fast at that. Yes, the guardsman was making her uncomfortable, though she masked it well, but she seemed more interested in watching her move. Smart lady, then, just like she'd thought, and Ren kept smiling, blessed to be able to serve such illustrious individuals. It almost made up for the fact that all of her trade was flowing around the guardsmen as though they were poisonous. Almost.

"Captain, is it? Well why dintcha say? And you know each other? Aww, bless! Now thassa smart match there and no mistake. An' jus' think, 'ere I was tellin' 'er how sharp she'd look in one of our patriotic tunics, canya 'magine?"

Wincing slightly at being called Captain again, but loathe to turn his attention away from the lovely miss Raialagos, Quirke turned with brows furrowed to look at her. She returned his questioning look with the open, honest, friendly blankness that years of selling truly unique and not to be missed bargains summoned into being. Marnians may have been born suspicious, but speak with any kind of pace and you ended up confusing the poor dears. That was good; it was easier to tell confused people what they really needed to buy. He glared, certain that she was winding him up, and she shot him a smile so winning it reflected off his armour.

"What are you talking about, woman?" he asked, derailed.

"Smart man, smart woman, sir; issa joy ta see, so tis. A joy ta see. Makes a lass feel young again, sah."

"Right," he said, still confused, but drawing himself up at Renee's question. "Investigations are ongoing, Miss Raialagos, and it is Guard policy never to discuss the details with civilians. You never know who might be listening."

It was fascinating the way Quirke's chest inflated with every high handed word, Ren thought, preparing to interject again, but she was cut off by the return of Karris, who looked somewhat displeased. Apparently the lad was quite the runner, though when the good corporal returned, he was holding a piece of clothing in one, shovel-sized hand and weighing a small coin purse in the other. So, wherever the lad had gone, he wasn't going to be modest.

"Welcome back, sah," she said, "makes me proud ta live 'ere, so it does, 'avin' strong chaps like yerself on patrol, sah. Proud as punch, it does. Wanna pie, sah? Maybe a beer, eh? Warm ya up fer ya rounds?"

Karris narrowed his eyes and stepped very close to her, pocketing the purse and tucking the fabric into his sword belt. He may have been physically similar to his companion, but he was much faster on the uptake and that bit meaner besides. Ren knew how these things went, and as amusing as all of this was, she wanted them gone before they took it to heart to start sniffing around. Slowly, deliberately and eyes never leaving Ren's, he picked up two pies and two bottles, while Ren smiled right back at him.

"If you see him," he said, "tell him he pays like the rest or he swings. His choice."

"Proud to, sah, proud to," she said, cheerfully, "gotta help our brave lads, sah, got to. Never dream otherwise, sah. Not I."

He shot her a look that promised a return and turned to Quirke, looking Renee over in the process.

"Wind it in, Captain," he said, putting emphasis on that word. "We need to move."

Quirke bristled at that, but there was little that he could say there without drawing comment, so, with many a reluctant farewell to the fine lady, he departed, leaving them alone. Ren smiled, winking at Miss Raialagos.

"You've yer feet well under t'table there, miss," she said, giggling, "well done, you, snaggin' a gent like that, eh? Fine body o' lads, the Guard, fine body o' lads."

[Renee Raialagos]

Renee watched the two busy constables walk away. The saleswoman with the cart sure seemed to be a dedicated admirer of the City Guard and had gone as far as to offer them free food and drink, if she understood it right. Well. Renee had actually offered constable Quirke something to eat too once upon a time, but that had been different as it had been part of a marketing event and a lot of people had been offered the same.

Now...there had actually been a somewhat weird moment, when constable Karris had stepped so close and then taken the pies and the bottles of beer from the cart woman without a thanks. It spoke volumes. As a Marnian shop owner it wasn’t possible to not be familiar with the fact that some of the City Guards weren’t as perfect as one would wish from people in their position. She knew what she had seen, even if it had been done in a subtle and cheery way by the rugged saleswoman.

Renée hadn’t thought of her own similar tactics with cheesecake and smiles as paying Quirke for not making trouble that time a while ago. She had thought of it as ... sales activities in order to promote her shop and her business. It was part of the culture in Marn to be nice to the City Guard. It was just common courtesy to show gratitude for their protection of the city, wasn’t it?

Renées thoughts moved on.They had taken the young rabbit sellers clothes and purse with them. Renée wasn’t able to even guess at what the lad had done or where he had gone. How had he been thinking and why had he left both money and clothes behind? She wondered fleetingly how he was meant to be able to pay, now when the guard had his money and why they thought he would approach Brokk in the street when he was obviously undressed. She guess the lad would have to hide somewhere until it was safer for him if he didn't want to "swing" as Karris so harshly had worded it. So, there he was now, the unfortunate chap, only a thin lad, somewhere in the city, moneyless and so on. Law had to be enforced of course. But she must admit she hadn't been aware the punishment for streetsellers who didn't pay their fees was death. Renée hated to question the City Guard, even if it was only in her thougths. But she couldn't stop herself from wondering if Karris had been lying and was just trying to scare people in order to, well, benefit. It seemed wrong to think so. Unmarnian, unpuradyne. threacherous and bad; Renée blamed her elven blood for her reaction. In her thoughts she scolded herself mercilessly and promised to repent by putting in more effort at being a good marnian.

When the gangly woman with the cart started to congratulate Renée to having caught the attention of constable Quirke, she felt a bit annoyed. That woman was babbling like it was only a question of time before Renée Raialagos and constable Aimsbury Quirke would be involved in an affair. No doubt this would feed the gossip that always circulated in the city. It was too late to avoid this now. She had been lost in her thoughts too long and meanwhile this chatterbox of a streetseller had done the deed. Not that the woman seemed to realize that her thoughtless chatter might harm Renées reputation. Maybe it hadn't even occurred to her and she was just a romantic personality? Anyways, Renée could only hope to stop the woman before she rambled on even more.

She would try to limit the damage by speaking about Karris's interest in Brokk instead.

“You are right to think the City Guard a fine body of lads. A fine body of lads! But you are mistaken when it comes to me and my plans” she said to Brokk in a cheery tone. “But I must admit it looked like one of them fell for you. The way he stepped closer to you and gazed into your eyes spoke volumes! I guess that can happen when a lass smiles at a guard and offers beer and food. You have won a constable’s heart there, mark my words. Before you know it he’ll be back for more! ”

At this point she noticed that the pie she had put away on the tray was gone. Karris had picked it.

“Patriotic tunic ?” If you asked Renée it was time to change topic now. She hoped to investigate what Brokk had for sale before she and all others in the street had to go home. There was the curfew to think of. Staying out too late these days wasn’t an option, not with terrorists preying on the city and the guard preying on people who didn’t follow the curfew rules. This could however also be used for business. She glanced at the sky like she tried to gauge the time. “I’ll have to leave soon” she said. “The curfew. You know. I guess none of us would want to be caught out on the streets at the wrong time. So if you really have something rare to sell we’d better hurry up and have a look at the items now. Forget the pie. The constable took the one I had put aside, but never mind; you can see it as my part of the gift to our lads.”

[Brokk]

"Oh, you are a card, miss, and no mistake," Ren said, laughing at her suggestions. "Lass like me wivva Guardsman? The world'd end!"

She laughed again, like this was the funniest thing that she'd heard in ages, turning to fish out the tunics, and once again, the trays were swapped with effortless ease and she turned back, still chuckling at the joke. It might have been pressing her luck, but it always paid to let people think that you were simpler than you were. Sometimes it was hard for her to remember where she was from and what that was like. She'd been so many places and been so many people that it all just blended into one after a while. Still, no good ever came from thinking about that sort of thing, she knew, and you could only sell to the person in front of you. Being clever could cost you in the end.

"Me wivva Guardsman," she repeated, wiping away a tear, "bless my 'eart. He will come back though, always does," Second helpings and never pays. "just like the rest, miss. It's quality produce does it, miss, pure quality and folk 'ave an eye fer it, so they do. Pure Quality, ta very much, young sir, be careful wi' tha'; it's hot, so tis."

This to a young apprentice, who paid for two pies, which she handed over as efficiently as she could, given that her hands were full, before rising to tackle the saleswoman once more. Most would have been frustrated by the length of time that this was taking, but Ren was thoroughly enjoying herself. People did like a show after all, and salesmanship was show business in all of its painted glory. Give them a show, get them laughing, and you had them halfway to where you wanted them to be, which in Ren's case meant them giving her money. Theirs, for preference. Shifting her grip on the tray, she held up the tunics for perusal, still smiling her sunny smile. Each displayed the Marnian crest and a tasteful slogan condemning the bombings and blessing the fallen.

"Quality work, miss, but still early days," she said, "let us never forget, eh? Dark times. Dark times. Still, our lads in armour'll sort 'em out, won't they? Too right!"

There was a ragged cheer from somewhere in the crowd and Ren held up the tunic in a sort of salute, still grinning madly. Give them a show. More than money, that sort of thing was remembered, and hopefully for all the right reasons. Sure, the hawkers didn't like it, but that was why she was still making money while they were struggling to get by wasn't it? Brains and bare-arsed cheek could get you far in life, she reflected, and farther still if you carried a blade to drive the point home. Complaints tended to stop once blood was drawn, but that was another one of those nasty little details she didn't need to think about at the minute. That was for later, if needed, but in the now, she had other needs.

"Much obliged, sah! Knowed you fer a patriot the second I clapped eyes, eh!" She said, laughing. "This your style, Miss, or are you after other stock?"

[Renee Raialagos]

It looked like the marnian crest on the tunics, as well as the patriotic slogans, had been printed on what looked like basic sleeveless standard worker tunics of medium grey cloth. It was the kind of tunic that consisted of one single rectangular length of cloth, with an opening in the middle where it was supposed to be pulled over the head. In it’s normal form, it was a simple and practical no nonsense garment that was easy to quickly pull on over other clothes and hold together with a belt. It had other pros as well. It was simple and cheap to sew. Although this kind of tunic was among the staples of laborer clothes for sale, people often made them at home too.

This kind of drab and practical tunic was definitely not Renées style at all. Normally. But to her own great surprise she found that the printed crest of Marn and the slogans took these common work tunics to a totally new level that would actually qualify as advanced kitsch. Whoever had created them was a genius, she thought to herself. A genius!

In her head she started to calculate. Hmmm...

Patriotic tunic, common, soft medium grey with a Marnian crest in black, and simple natural slogans like “Marnian Patriot Forever!” and “For Marn!” Simple but stylish and affordable for people of lesser means, but more than a bit embarrassing for richer people to wear.

Patriotic tunic, better, soft medium grey with a Marnian crest in red and more committed slogans like “Always Vigilant” and “Death to the enemies of Marn”. Suitable for most people who want to show their patriotism and discretely inform people that they were able to spend as much as 25 bishani on their solidarity with their city.

Patriotic tunic, gold. Let’s begin with the price. No less than one hundred bishani, which is of course not at all related to the material and production cost but to gaining the cachet of the elite. This tunic is soft medium grey, with a Marnian crest printed in blue and green, with the option to get added décor in form of a unique small and tasteful embroidery with gold thread. The latter for only fifteen bishani extra. Patriotic statements like “Descendants of Marn Unite against Evil !” or “ Synevive Patriots League of the Puradyne!”

“I’m not sure” she said to Brokk after having a closer look at the tunics. “How much ? Where did you get these? They look just like worker tunics with prints on them. Have you made them yourself?”

People were still moving around, the young lad who had been chased away by the guards was still gone, and the guards were luckily gone too, but Brokks words about how guards “always comes back” was a little bit disturbing. Renée didn’t want them to come back and meddle. But it wouldn't surprise her if they would return to look for the rabbit seller lad again. She stepped a little bit closer to the cart and in a lower voice she added. “We can speak more about these tunics. A lot more. They can’t be said to be so rare though. In case you also have other things to show me we could be a bit more discreet. Did you mean what you said about rarities, or is it actually just these tunics you are selling?“

[Brokk]

Ren stopped short, looking positively wounded by Renee's suggestions, although she did not stop selling on pies, meat skewers and beer to the hungry lads and lasses that stopped by with a few coins. An astute observer would have noticed that some of these people were handing over rather more coins than the meals were worth, but it would have taken a very astute observer indeed to spot the little vials and notes that Ren passed back to them with the food. It was amazing what people would pay for, Ren thought, and even more so what they would pay so that none would find out. Well, amazing to the uninformed, that was, but to the seasoned salesperson it was all part of the game. Renee, she could see, had been firmly hooked, and Ren could almost hear the gears turning in head as she totted up the money she'd make. Still reeling from the shock of what Renee was implying, Ren put a hand to her cheek and looked despairing.

"Oh, Miss! Oh, Miss, I thought better o' you, I did," she said, sadly. "Not a rarity indeed! As if I'd show you anything less! Fine customer like yerself and ya think I'd... Unless..."

She smiled broadly and clapped a hand to her brow, looking suddenly ecstatic, and laughed musically. By now they had a small, but interested audience, which was fine with Ren, as people would watch anything when they were bored and bored people were more likely to pay for distraction. Ren always made sure that her stocks of comestibles and other wotsits were always readily visible for exactly this reason.

"Oh, bless me! You thought that these were the line, dincha? You are a card, miss, like I said," Ren said, wiping away a tear. "No, no, no, no; I've already got some lovely sof' woolen an' cotton ones in lovely colours, even 'ave a silk one 'ere somewhere. Tunics, scarves, 'ankerchiefs, lovely embroidery and all those reds and blues... No, these is testers is what they are, and they are rare, Miss, not for what's on 'em, but fer what's in 'em, if'n ye get me. It's what they're made of."

She gestured to the tunic on Renee's left.

"Specially treat'd cloth, miss, specially treat'd," she said, "Easy Clean. Feels rough, yeah? Bu' t'fibres is coated chemic'ly. Stains and sich jus' bead righ' off. Look."

To demonstrate her point, she took up the tunic and broke a pie over it, squeezing the crumbs and meaty juices onto the back of the tunic. Instead of seeping into the fabric, as one might expect, the fluids pooled, and when Ren held the tunic upright, to the focussed interest of their little audience, it all slid right off onto the street, leaving not a mark behind. There was a smattering of applause and Ren bowed, grinning madly. True, the cloth had a tendency to burn like pure alcohol and burn for hours, but they didn't need to know that. Anyone standing that close to a fire was asking for it anyway. She gestured to the next tunic, fondly remembering how warm she had been with an 'Easy Clean' tunic burning beside her all night.

"This'n," she said, "is call'd mem'ry cloth. Write yer own message, yeah? You take one of these," she said, picking up what looked like a plain black pen with a pointed crystal where the nib would have been, "and twist it. Then, quick as ye can, write down on the tunic what ye want it t'say. Sure as I'm standing 'ere, that message may as well be written in stone."

Twisting the upper half of the pen to the distinctive crackling of fractured crystal, she wrote the words "Isn't that Amazing?" across ethe back of the tunic in a fine, copperplate hand and held it up for the crowd to see. The surface shimmered for a moment, then the words came clear, bright white against the more sombre background, and didn't look like it was going anywhere. Of course, if the temperature dropped by any great margin, that writing would turn to glass and become tragically attractive to metal. But that was the price of progress. She let her hand hover over the last one, then shook her head.

"No, this last migh' be too flash, even for you, Miss," she said, "more expensive, but you will know where that money went."

She turned back to the crowd.

"Easy Clean and Write Yer Own Tunics! Right here in Marn! You can 'ave this'un, sir, as a souvenir, eh? Good man!"

She handed the tunic she'd used as an example to a handy passerby and there was a brief flurry of activity as she sold more food, drink and more than a few tunics to the suddenly interested public. Give them a show and you were halfway home, she thought, leaning in to whisper to Renee.

"Now I do have a few more...delicate items, like this'un, Miss, but that depends what yer after, don't it?"