the_last_resort | The Market

Entry tags:

The Market

Who: Merchants, Reporters, and You
What: Open Market
When: M9 D13
Where: The center of town, near the resort
Notes & Warnings: Here is how the market works...

The marketplace is a large open air affair in the middle of town, with a couple of dozen vendors out supplying wares. For the most part they're local crafstmen and farmers; it is post harvest time now, and the last of the fresh vegetables are being sold off before it gets really cold (various tubers, fruits, roots, wheat, etc). There are also cooks with a variety of foods, so everything smells pretty good. There are even pierogi and sausages along side more unusual fusion foods like deep fried gagh on a stick.

Unfortunately, it's raining and while it's not a drenching rain, if you're not used to the rain an umbrella probably wouldn't go amiss.

There are a few odd stands, though. External stands, brought in by merchants that don't want to permanently reside here but are happy to do some sales for the resort. Sure they have to earn in the planetary currency, but they can buy a few unique items from here to take back with them before they go. That makes the trade worth it for them, and Blackstaff needs all the external trade it can get (even if the outside vendors doing the trading are a little dubious and are probably breaking the law just by being here during the quarantine).

In the meantime, with Blackstaff's cooperation Upsher and Doff have set up a booth in the middle of the market. Imports receive additional pay for going inside and answering their questions, and Jeffers is very adamant that imports should participate. It may help out their current situation by showing the universe what widely varying worlds are represented by the resort and attaching real faces and voices to the people of Quadratus.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[For all the good that the thick fabric of Tuco's tattered outer-coat usually does to insulate him from the cold, it's not exactly waterproof. In fact, it's clearly quite the opposite, doing a rather impressive job of collecting the water like a determined (and not particularly welcome) veteran collecting money. This is all ultimately evidenced by the loud schlack that cuts through the air the moment Tuco's shoulder connects with Niko's arm.

Tuco, being the smaller man, spins and glares up from under his hat brim, letting out a fierce,] Hey!

[An abrupt pause. He probably meant to follow with the traditional swaggering tough guy growl of, "Watch where you're going!" Instead, there's a surprised flinch that just about passes for a smile.]

...Niko!

[He whips his hands down and away from any suspected pockets, thumbs pressing tightly over the tops of his fingers.]

Hey, watch it- [he started, not so offended by being sprayed with water (he tended to slap and shake rain off himself) but being irritated at being thwacked. Once he realized who it was, though, he smiled over the collar of his new coat and clasped his hand in a friendly way.]

Tuco! Good to see you man. How you doing after ah... all that bullshit. Looked like you got hit pretty hard.

[Realizing that his aborted pre-thievery must have gone unnoticed, Tuco's face relaxes into an easy smile. He gives the offered hand a shake, slapping his other one on top of Niko's knuckles.]

Good! Very good! [He punctuates with a flash of teeth.] Yeah, yeah... it's like my father used to say: "El que más temprano se moja, más tiempo tiene para secarse." [He pauses self-indulgently before translating.] He who gets wet earliest has most time to dry!

...A little like today, no?

[In case it isn't crystal clear that his earlier failings aren't his chosen order of small-talk for the day, he moves straight on, pointing to Niko's jacket.]

And what's this, huh?

[Little does Tuco know, Niko doesn't actually care that much. He knows Roman would have wanted into that chest, too. And... probably would have made the same mistake, and that makes him disinclined to get too angry at him. His cousin is back home and far away. Having a little something familiar is nice.]

This man there, he's selling armor that helps you heal. It doesn't do it instantly, but if you get hurt a little bit it can pull you back together. Like sprains and things.

It already seems to work.

[Tuco squints slightly. From the way his lips purse, it looks like he's on the brink of saying, "Really?" And yet in a place like this, while the ridiculous seems entirely plausible, gullibility isn't exactly a good look. He cocks an eyebrow instead, grinning like he's in on a joke.]

You sprain your arm running into Tuco?

Yeah, you should watch where you're going. Аљкаво мокро копиле. [He jokes, and then he explains.]

No, I was sore before I put it on. You know that sort where you can't even stretch it out? I put it on and I feel better.

[If Tuco knew the story of the Emperor's New Clothes, this would be the moment he'd smugly recount it. As it stands, he just smirks.]

And what happens when you take it off, huh?

I don't know. I am still getting used to it on.

[But he starts to undo the coat, right there, despite the fact that it's raining to see.]

[When he's done, he hands it off to Tuco. And even in someone's hands it's soothing to the touch, for being hard as hell leather with some sort of heavy mesh under the lining.]

[Tuco's wet, he's aware he's wet, and he knows the longer he stands around, the wetter he'll continue to get. He jostles on the spot, bouncing on the balls of feet while Niko gets on with the grand unbuttoning.

His expression (faintly bemused, with just a hint of petty meanness) softens the moment he takes hold of the jacket. He's never been the kind of man to dress for anything other than lazy practicality. Whether it's tattered and stinking of death, or pretty in a rigidly gendered way, it really doesn't matter: if it does the job, he can work with it.]

...Huh.

[Right now though, he finds himself coveting with the fierceness of a fat pink man stood inside a tailors. It feels good in his hand, it looked good hanging off Niko's shoulders, and he finds that there's a reassuring heaviness to it. Smoothing his hand over the leather, his eyes dart up.]

Well? How'd you feel?

[It's a question in need of answering, sure, but it's also a delaying tactic.]

Still pretty good. [And then, as if to test, he tosses a few coins at a vender, takes a cheap, hardcover book, and smashes his hand against it. Books shouldn't bend when hit. That one does a little. And Niko's calloused knuckles are reddened.]

[He takes back the coat and puts it back on, then turns his hand to watch the redness in his knuckles ebbing away.]

Well, is not super quick, but is better than if I get hurt.

[There's a brief window of undisguised reaction: those brown eyes get big and his mouth draws high on one side as he stares down in wonder. Hell, he even briefly looks a little younger, like he hasn't had the desert and its denizens wear him down year after year.

Then comes the snort.]

Remind me to come to you next time a pack of books attacks.

[He lightly bonks Tuco on the head with the book.] Come on, man. Let me get you out of this rain. I'll ah, get you something to eat? How is that?

[He doesn't reply immediately. Instead, he actually frowns, eyes narrowing like the offer of a free meal is worthy of all the suspicion in the world. Of course, what Niko can't know is that the last time someone reached out to him like that, it ended with a Union corporal's meaty fingers digging into his eye-sockets like the man was a damn prospector.]

I, uh...

[He glances away for a moment, rocking on his heels—the back and forth motion acting like a kind of metronome of indecision.]

Yeah. [Then, more confidently:] Yeah! Why not? It's better to eat than drown, hm? [He manages another lopsided grin.] After you!

[He notes that uncertain look.] We don't have to.

But there's a good pizza place. Is right over there. [And he starts going in that direction, figuring Tuco could follow if he wants. He does wonder what that was about, though. At least it ended in another smile.]

[He pauses just long enough to remove his hat and tip the tiny pool of water from it, before following with a jog-turned-walk.]

Pisaplace, [he repeats carefully, peering up at each sign they walk past.] Never heard of it.

It's got pretty good food. [Niko doesn't even catch the lingual misunderstanding- he has them so often he forgets other people do, too. But unlike when he and Boone were so drunk they could barely walk, this time the journey is quicker, and he leads Tuco inside.]

[The entire interior smells like Italian seasoning, even if most of the food here is local near equivalents. It's small and homey and the waitress roaming around has four arms. Niko's gotten used to it by now, so he doesn't pay her a second glance.]

[The smell has Tuco flaring his nostrils the moment he edges his way through the door. It doesn't remind him of home or anything, no, but his stomach lets its opinion be known with an angry little growl—a quick, deep gurgle that no doubt roughly translates to, "This'll do! Now let me eat!"

Awkwardly shrugging his jacket off, he makes his way over to a table and sets himself down. Rather than looking for or at a menu, he lets his eyes drift over to waitress, first keying in on those extra limbs, before inevitably sliding lower. Brief evaluation done, he turns back to Niko, staring at him expectantly.]

[She does have one pair of very nice legs. Niko is quick to order a soda, a cheese pizza, and some breadsticks since those are good enough.]

[When he's done, he turns his attention to Tuco.] Hey, other than the fuck up with the darts you've been doing pretty good. Used to shitty places with lots of things that try to kill you? [He says it lightly, but that's really where Niko's job experience comes from.]

[That earns Niko a wry smile and a head tilt that acts as both a nod and a bow.]

I'm lucky, [he begins, spreading his hands.] You replace the spiders with ugly bastards, I had a lot of practice. Where I come from, people aren't so friendly.

[He lets his palms drop back down to the table like that's explanation enough.]

What about you, huh? What's your excuse?

People aren't so friendly. You learn to deal with it or get walked on. It helps you shoot stupid skeletons later.

[They're pretty stupid skeletons. They have shit aim- even if it really hurts when they hit you.]

[He hunches forward, arms folded on the table.] Is good, anyway. This place? It can be better than home. But is still not perfect. It's just easier to get by.

It's different, [he confirms, pressing a finger down on what he assumes is a salt crystal.] But I been here long enough now to know most people's heads are the same way... even if they got two of them.

[He allows himself a dumb half-smile at that.]

I was a soldier. [His eyes flick up.] Before I came here. One time, anyway.

Edited 2014-11-23 23:11 (UTC)

[That warms him up. And he sits up a little.] Ah, guerilla warfare? Army? Merc work? I'm curious.

[She brings their drinks, and Niko nurses his dark cola in front of him for a bit. And wonders if he should have gotten a float. Not the most badass thing, but pretty good anyway.]

Army, [he says, shrugging like it's no big deal.] Back before I had short hairs, I spent a little time in Diaz's Second Cavalry. Then, years later, just when you think you done dying for some pig—

[Spotting the waitress rounding in on them, he trails off mid-sentence, grinning suddenly. He even sits a little straighter, and—having left himself entirely at Niko's mercy by ordering the "same again"—pauses to stare at his own glass for half a beat.

When she's well out of earshot, he relaxes again, shoulders slumping.]

Four arms. [There's a quiet snuff as he sighs through his nose. Apparently the conversation has shifted again, because he then subtly thumbs in her direction.] You ever...?

Edited 2014-11-25 01:39 (UTC)

[Niko agrees fully, obviously softening up at the mention of having fight for assholes with beliefs he didn't agree with. It's sadly a problem of Niko's- being far too trusting of intentions. In any case, it's nice to hear people agree with his views.]

They don't really do you any favors, even after the war.

[He looks over at her, and then shrugs lightly.] There are some pretty ladies here. Some have scales. Some have hair like flowers and good fingers. And some have four arms. I bet they could do a lot.

[He's polite enough to keep his voice down.] But I have not had the pleasure with this type of woman, no.

Two steps into the cathouse, I learn that maybe Tuco wants to fuck a plant.

[Which, as a standalone sentence, doesn't put him in the best light, but he rucks his brow like it's a totally normal thing to say.]

What about you? [Half a beat.] ...A soldier, I mean. You talk like you know a thing or two.

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