(Open) A Fair Day

[Daziel]

(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?"