Back-Alley Bargains [End]

[Callypso]

The first rays of light stretched to touch the furthest side of the grassy field adjacent to the Bazaar’s main square then slowly spread to the empty cobblestone streets. Dawn lazily approached, and for now the square remained quiet and still in the grey of early morning. Light spilled warmly from select coffee houses, bakeries and diners open during the wee hours, though there were few Cards out this early save for religious joggers and shopkeepers setting up for the day. Emery adjusted his scarf to better block the chill air and made his way along a tree-studded path that merged with the wide-network of back alleys concealed by the shop fronts.

Quiet mornings such as these were perfect for the little Ace. His Highlander family was still snug in their beds and few Cards would be out to harass the bi-realm. Always cautious, Emery had pulled a lumpy sweater from the deep recesses of the Master’s closet the night before his excursion. It was a decidedly unattractive garment, the shade a nauseating blend between split pea soup and phlegm, and served as a reminder of the Mistress’s projects long-since-passed.

Once upon a time, the Mistress had fancied being a crochet expert and had proudly revealed the wooly monstrosity during the winter holidays as a gift to her husband. Consequently, the fuzzy mass had only made appearances during special occasions so the Mistress could be honored before friends and family. During the other 360 or so days of the year, it remained buried in the back of the Master’s wardrobe. It had been forgotten this last year, when the Mistress stopped her daily outings and endless (and unsuccessful) crafts projects in favor of a severe laudanum dependency.

The little Ace tugged at the uncomfortably itchy sleeve. He was grateful not only for the warmth it provided, but also for the fact it was an overlarge turtleneck, which perfectly concealed his unfortunate ranking and wouldn’t be questioned on this particularly brisk morning.

He tugged the sleeve again as he rounded the last alley corner to his destination: the back entrance to a second-hand bookstore. To his delight, the store owner hadn’t yet dispensed with all the volumes “unfit” for resale. Emery’s task of the day was to salvage any maps, guidebooks or histories of the various Realms. Of course, Xopek hadn’t asked this of him, but considering they were both riding on Xopek’s inheritance for their travels, he felt it was his duty to help as much as possible in his own way. The owner wouldn’t miss any of the items since he was disposing of them anyway, and neither Emery nor his friend would mind a few dog-eared pages, stains or easily mended tears, which would be bound to occur anyway on their long journey.

Taking one last sweeping look of his surroundings to make sure he wouldn’t have any unexpected visitors, Emery happily began digging through the nearest cardboard box for anything potentially useful.

[Greenie]

Zether was a sucker for potentially nauseating stores. Oh, sure, they advertised themselves as "thrift" and "second-hand" stores, which seemed perfectly white and innocent at first glance, but you never quite knew when you were going to stumble over a book or tome that was storing up a leftover enchantment for some unwary victim and bam! the next thing you knew you were an unsavory character in the middle of the Lowlands, about to be someone's next meal.

The possibilities thrilled him. Not that any such thing had ever happened to him, of course, but that was the point; if you didn't go looking for complicated adventures, surely they would never find you on their own!

The mix cheerfully floated into the bookstore, much to the disdain of the clerk who eyed his ectoplasm with disgust - he probably thought it was going to ruin all of his lovely molded books - and immediately zoomed over to the comics section. He happily perused through some of his childhood heroes until a flash of red and blue in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He shifted slightly to stare through his monocle at the small creature - some sort of bird, with those talons, but those were tiny wings - and eventually just dropped the comic in favor of outright interest. Such pretty swirls and markings, despite the ugly sweater.

He sidled over until he was only a few feet away. "Excuse me!" He said cheerfully, his expression alight with curiosity. "What realms are you? You have some awfully pretty markings, and I've never seen the combination before." It never occurred to the mix that the question might be offensive - but then again, many things failed to occur to Zether.

[Callypso]

His claw paused mid-reach as the unexpected voice addressed him; instead of reaching for another tome, he pushed his mane behind a chipmunk ear as if he’d meant to do that all along. Damn, he thought to himself. Usually Zacharias didn’t open for another hour or two.

Zacharias, the shopkeeper, was sympathetic to Aces (in the same way one was sympathetic to say, lepers, or creatures dying of a debilitating disease), and had convinced himself that Emery couldn’t read anyway, so he was always happy to let Emery dig around the “toss pile”. The least Zacharias could do was let the poor unfortunate creature be surrounded by greater minds, even if he couldn’t participate or understand. Emery figured he must have had more stock than usual and was trying to compensate with longer store hours. He knew he should have pulled the boxes to the back alley.

He turned his head to look at the newcomer, who had somehow slunk his way over from the graphic novel section to the back of the room to stand mere feet away from him. The canine’s exclamation had been eager, and Emery found himself looking in the face of a Card only a few years his junior. An involuntary tug at the sweater reminded Emery that his ranking was safely hidden under the hideous top and allowed himself a bemused smile. It wasn’t often he had an opportunity to chat with his peers, so why not take it?

Why, thank you. Though a Villa/Highlander mix such as myself is ordinary compared with fine specimen such as yourself. Emery attempted to gesture toward the amorphous fluid-like substance swirling about. His smile cracked into a wide grin as the light bounced off the odd Card’s eyewear. Was that a monocle?

Emery, he added, as an afterthought, and offered a claw the man. The grin continued as he silently thanked the Mistress for the itchy, woolen creation. Who knew it would one day allow him to play “normal” for a few minutes?