(Open) A Fair Day

The hustle and bustle of the marketplace swirled around me as I walked down the main thoroughfare of the town. The trample and pound of countless feet kicked dust up into the air, creating a thin brown haze that hung over everything. I moved through the crowd, deftly avoiding running into anyone as I weaved my way through the people - and where I couldn't avoid bumping into someone in the press of people, I made sure to keep my injured arm out of the way of the impact. It was a street market day, and the crowds were thick with busy shoppers.

This close to this many people, the swirl of emotions that were washing over me was too jumbled to make out clearly. As a matter of fact it was almost difficult to think straight from the constant intrusion of other's feelings. Only long practice kept me on my feet and my thoughts relatively clear. It did help that most of the people around me were all feeling relatively the same - a soothing medley of contentment and expectations, tinged with some excitement as they found things they were looking for.

Greed. My head snapped around at that sharp, discordant emotion. Someone nearby was feeling that strongly enough that it overpowered the other feelings that were sticking to me. If I was any closer I might think it was one of the vendors, trying to gouge an unwary shopper, but no - the nearest stall at the moment was roughly twenty five yards away. It was possible that the emotion was strong enough for me to feel it from that far away, but I doubted it. No, this was closer - and from the undercurrent of expectation mixed in with that greed, it was a thief moving through the crowd.

A cutpurse. The heavy throng of people was ideal for someone like that, with everyone bumping into each other so frequently that one more impact would be ignored. Until later, when the victim found their purse lighter than it should be. I looked around, not for the first time cursing the fact that my empathy didn't give me a specific location for the source of things I was feeling. No one looked out of place, everyone was minding themselves, rushing to and fro from different stalls and looking at what was on offer.

I staggered a bit as someone bumped into me from behind, and almost ignored it, caught up in looking for the would-be thief. That is, I almost ignored it until I felt a faint, soft touch on my belt, a slight tug that was only barely there. I spun around, my good hand shooting out and grasping the wrist of the hand that had been extended and searching, and I took a look at the cutpurse. Greed became shock/fear and I knew I had managed to catch the right person.

I stared at the scruffy, dusty figure in front of me, taking in how scrawny and thin they were. That was the problem with my empathy - I could only feel emotions, and sometimes things were a fair bit more convoluted than just those surface feelings indicated. If the person had actually been going around cutting everyone's purses, then there should have been some warning before they were basically on top of me - as strong as the greed had been, I should have picked this thief up as soon as they were within my range. So the greed had come on quickly, likely spurred by something else, a decision reached in the heat of the moment.

"Not always a good idea, kid." The waif - and even now, holding their wrist, I couldn't tell if they were a boy or girl, too thin and scrawny and their clothes too raggedy to tell. I sighed internally - I'd been where this kid was. I reached into my vest awkwardly with my injured arm, pulling a few silver pieces out of the pouch that was sewn to the inside of my leather vest, then turned the waif's palm over and deposited the coin into their hand. "Sometimes you get lucky. Sometimes, you won't. Stop before that happens." I let go and the would-be thief stared at me for a long few moments with big, trembling green eyes - then darted away into the crowd, shock/fear melting into relief/gratitude that faded away as the kid left my range.

I heaved a sigh and resumed my wandering - looking to see if there was anything or anyone that caught my eye. Mixed in with the vendors hawking their wares were a few that were trying to hire guards, or get some small jobs done - and at the moment, I was at a loss for what to do with my time so picking up an odd job suited me. Now I just had to find one.

The constant hum of voices all talking over one another was enough to drive anyone mad. Rhythmic footsteps, shuffling of money, and the smell of body odor couldn’t drown out the constant sound of chatter. Maybe Reina was just frustrated, selling freshly caught fish should’ve been simpler than this.

After being greeted with several blank stares and lousy offers the young woman had settled upon a new approach. It probably wasn’t ethical but ethics really hadn’t done much for the pink haired pariah lately.

One grocer near the edge of the market was dressed particularly nice. A silk scarf, trimmed mustache, and plenty of wares. He certainly could stand to lose a few dozen coins. He’d make the perfect mark for one broke wandering lady. Reina took a deep breath, clutched her katana, and flung the net of fish over her shoulder as she approached him.

“Hello kind sir, lovely stand you have here,” she said, coating her words in honey. “One thing seems to be missing though,” with a squishy wet thud Reina plopped the bundle of fish onto the stall. Smiling and staring directly at the man she concluded, “freshly caught salmon!”

“Damn I’m a good saleswoman,” she mused to herself.

Bewildered and annoyed the merchant spat back, “don’t really want no stinking fish.”

Before the man could reply further the young entrepreneur put forth her hand, gesturing for a shake and stating, “understandable, not everyone likes fish.”

Amused that he shutdown the harpy of a saleswoman the merchant put forth his hand, giving her the courtesy of a shake. As their flesh connected the pale skinned woman lifted an eyebrow as she concentrated. It was simple to link to one’s soul once she had made physical contact but in this situation she simply reveled in it.

“Now, maybe you could reconsider… after all many folks enjoy fresh fish,” her words were sly and filled with venom.

Awkwardly smiling the merchant retorted, “nah lass I don’t think s-“

Before he could finish Reina placed two fingers against the back of her neck. Racing through her body, and the body of the merchant, was an intense pressure. The exhilaration of pain seeped over her and her smile grew tenfold. Alarmed, the silk wearing merchant snatched his hand away and tried rubbing his arms in an attempt to cease the pain.

Glaring at him the young woman quietly said, “I can make it worse. Twenty pieces of silver for the fish.”

Eyes widened, the merchant was not having it. “Y-you witch, I’ll alert the guards, I’ll have you put into the stockades. You can’t,” before he could continue Reina pressed a third finger deep into her neck. Screaming the merchant punched at Reina square in the face. His fist connected with her cheek and the merchant, to his surprise, felt the same intensity and swelling of flesh in his cheek.

Several passerby’s stopped and glanced at the scene, surprised at the explosion of violence and the screaming.

The young woman regained composure and said, “we’ve got an audience now and you’ve just assaulted me. Twenty-five silver and I’m out of your hair.”

(First post, I really hope I'm doing this right!)

Daziel was trying her best to communicate with the old marketeer. He'd been trying very hard to convince her to buy a thin piece of cloth that she didn't want and that he called a 'shawl'.

"I'm sorry, sir," she shouted over the hubbub, "I really only have a few silver, and I still need enough for accommodation!"

She supposed that she's been doing what the locals called 'haggling', though how or why she couldn't say.

"Such a beautiful shawl for such a beautiful lady! Surely you can see the value of such a finely woven piece!"

She had to admit, it had a certain... rustic charm to it, but the browns and reds really didn't suit her or match her current attire at all. The only set of clothing she really owned was her white robes, cinched at the waist with a silver cord, and her shield—emblazoned with a sort of 'V' holding a blade atop one side and a hammer atop the other—in a lovely sky-blue. And there was her mask, itself a delicate inlay of silver, white, and blue. There was a theme. That, and the asking price of ten silver left her with precious little to live off for the next few days.

"I can really only do four silver."

"Four! Pah!" the man spat, "the dyes alone are worth more than four! Eight!"

A small form bumped Daziel from behind, and she nearly fell into the old marketeer before catching herself and looking around quizzically. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, though there was a small child in ragged garb just slipping away through the crowd.

The man gave a heavy sigh, "You should check your purse, miss."

"What?"

"The little scamp's a pickpocket."

"A... sorry, what?"

"You really aren't from around here, are you?"

She shook her head.

"Well, check your coinpurse, there's been a slew of pickpocketing—that's when some rascal or other nicks your valuables without you noticing."

Confused, Daziel shook the coinpurse that she'd been holding, since she'd just been counting exactly how much she had left. But then she strayed a hand down to the cord tied about her waist, to where her reagent pouch should have been.

"Hells," and she started to move to follow the child.

"Wait, miss! You want the scarf? Six silver! You know you won't catch them!"

"No, thank you," she called over her shoulder. She barely got three steps before the marketeer's hand clamped on her shoulder.

"Fine, four!" He shoved the shawl into her hands, extending his own to request payment.

Flustered, she eyed him for a second before counting out four coins and dropping them into his hand. What do I do with this now?

Shaking her head and sighing, Daziel started again toward the direction the little thief had gone. She pushed her way through the milling crowd, cursing the kind of day this was becoming: she already didn't get on with crowds, this experience only sold her on it more.

Daziel barely got a few stalls before she heard a scream of pain cut through the market din, "Witch!" Several heads turned, and Daziel, her missing herbs forgotten, immediately began forcing her way toward the source of the wailing.

When she finally broke through a ring of murmuring onlookers, she saw a scene strange enough to give her pause. A pink-haired young woman stood over a sack of fish, hand on her neck, grinning savagely as a harried-looking merchant fumbled with a stack of coins, spilling some onto the ground in his haste.

"Take it and be gone, witch!" the man shouted at the young woman, almost throwing a pile of silver at her.

Daziel went on tiptoes to ask a neighbour, "What happened?"