the_last_resort | 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

[Although he could easily mention that some people like being beaten, or agree that yes, a little softness really does make a hell of a lot of difference, all he comes out with is:] Sweaters?

They're ah... woven things. Like knit, but softer. They're not particularly shapely unless you put the right girl in them, but the right girl can make most things look good, right?

[Niko always thought Kate looked amazing in hers, but he doesn't want to feel that thought too loudly in front of Tuco.]

[Thankfully it's that part of the conversation when they receive their breadsticks, and some of their food for eating.] Dig in, friend. Might as well enjoy it while it's plentiful.

Right.

[He leans back in his chair as the food is set down, eyes darting from one plate to another.

It's hard to say whether he should blame Angel Eyes or a lifetime of poverty, but being presented with a table full of food, and being urged to eat? Well, it fills him with just a little trepidation.

He reaches up and "casually" smoothes the ends of his moustache down, before grabbing a couple of breadsticks.]

And hey, if it feels good? [He shrugs lightly.] I don't let my eyes do all the seeing.

[He's clearly back to talking about women again, but, having snapped the end off one of the breadsticks, he uses it to gesture down to the spread in front of him.]

So what the hell am I looking at?

It's a pizza. An Italian food thing. Cheese and meat. It'll be hot so don't eat it too fast, you might burn your mouth.

[He notices that Tuco looks uneasy, though.]

...Look ah... you can get me some booze sometime if you want this to be fair. I don't mind sharing. I probably shouldn't eat all this shit by myself and you're pretty good company.

[As luck would have it, that seems to have done the trick. Tuco just nods, sets the breadsticks down once more, and reaches for a slice.

...Scratch that, three slices.]

Sure, [he says, eyes down as he begins rolling one up into a tube.] I like Pugsy's. You, uh... you see Tuco around there, you welcome to name your poison.

[Then, as a distracted afterthought:] You're not so bad, either.

Hey, no problem. [And he doesn't have a problem with a ravenous apetite. Hell, when he eats he tends to swallow items like a snake.]

I'll do that. I used to go with a friend of mine, but because he is patrol he gets funny looks. Not that I blame them, but the patrol people here aren't so bad.

Somehow. [He still sounds like he's genuinely surprised by that, like how can cops be good people?]

[Tuco snorts at that.]

Famous last words, friend. [With the slice sufficiently rolled, he allows himself a quick, cool glance up at Niko.] Maybe they trot a little differently around here, but a pig is a pig.

Maybe. Back home, I was pretty sure of that. Now? [He pokes at the pizza on his plate, suddenly grumpy with it.] Well, if they stab me in the back I guess I'll know. Some people are good at pulling the wool over your eyes and being shitty bastards when you don't expect it.

[He doesn't actually think of Tuco doubting him when he says it. He's just thinking out loud. He really doesn't think they'd use him- if they had to arrest him, he wouldn't fight, but he didn't think that, if he told Boone at least what he did, he wouldn't use him for anything.]

[Tuco manages a smile, even if (as predicted) the pizza sat in his mouth feels like it's searing a hole through his tongue. In an effort to avoid drawing attention to the fact, he lifts his glass like he's making a toast.]

You and me, it sounds like we have the same kind of luck. [He takes a second gulp and quickly sets the glass down again, scrubbing his mouth. He's giving Niko a funny kind of look. An evaluating look, to be precise.]

I don't know, what kind of luck you got? [He sounds genuinely interested, and hot or not it seems like Niko is hungry enough that he doesn't care and is just downing this stuff in a few bites.]

[When he realizes he's being evaluated, he stops chewing. And sits. Like a cow with its cud. Then he swallows it.]

[Great impression he's making.]

[Even years down the line, it's easy to see a rough life. Scars from fights, explosions. In some ways, even if he's cleaned, it looks as though the dirt ground into his skin. His fingers poking out from his gloves are calloused, and no horrible life circumstance but plain good old misfortune gave him ears that stick out like that. Despite looking ridiculous at that moment, he's not had it easy.]

The not so good kind, [he says simply, letting his gaze drop again. Whatever information all that staring got him, it's not noteworthy enough to stop him from eating. It takes him another few seconds of chewing and the beat of a fist against his chest (accompanied by a noisy throat clearing) for him to continue.] Let's just say I learned a few lessons the hard way, okay?

[Maybe he'd have said more were it not for one ugly fact: he doesn't trust Niko. Not remotely. Bounty hunters can come just as scarred as bandits, after all.]

Who knows, [he adds, shrugging,] maybe I spoke too soon.

I think we all have there, man. [He finally washes down that finished slice with a large drink of soda and an impressive burp. He's not particularly suspicious by nature- it's almost funny. The degree to which he's been dicked over, you think they would be. But he doesn't have anything particular against Tuco and as far as he's concerned, is probably just another guy that was forced into the way of life he was.]

I got fucked over by one of my good friends. One I grew up with. He dicked over a lot of us, actually, but I am the one who survived it. The others did not. [Well, technically Bernie/Florian did, but he came out of it an entirely different man.] And this other guy I used to work for. But I got him back for it.

[And with that little confession, he's left smiling again—and against his better judgement, too. After spending months around Blondie, having a guy confide in you like that feels... almost flattering, really.]

No hay que echarse alacranes al seno, [he says, waggling a finger and raising the pitch of his voice like he's doing an impression of someone.] Or do, as long as you able to sting them harder, huh? [He shakes his head and reaches for his glass. Then, raising it:] To better luck, and fewer bastards!

[Except Niko is almost dismissive of the story at this point. It's an open secret- he only guards his conversation around employers.]

To better luck and fewer bastards, my friend. [He raises his soda with a weird smile.]

The Market

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