((The following thread is a general IC thread for participants in the Scales in the Sand plotline. IC discussions and actions performed outside of events can be posted here, as well as small sequences and hints of what's to come. Like so: ))
"Not a chance are you getting that item, ser, begging your pardon. But not a chance all the same."
Weak as his jaw was, Orrick Thatcher set it nevertheless, peering up at the customer from his seated position with a defiant expression. Around him, the sun beat down in the Thanalan noon heat, and with such force that the canopy over his stall seemed to sag. In other circumstances, he would have retired to the shade with a cup of water to wait out the bell, but a crowd of customers had gathered, attracted by the lure of Ishgardian rugs available at below-market prices. There were other trinkets too, to be sure, and it was one of those that had the interest of the buyer in question.
The man gestured towards it with a hand clad in a black, silken glove, spread out for display amidst a few smaller swatches of carpet that had been laid out for samples. It was a small thing, a necklace apparently made out of a simple brass and with a pendant designed in an abstract pattern. "Why not?" he asked, his voice the kind of smooth and deep tone that could make the average Miqo'te street dancer - and if pressed and deep in his cups, Orrick himself - shiver in their smallclothes. "My gil is as good as the next man's."
Save for a vague impression that he was looking at wings, Orrick had never known what to make of the necklace. It had fallen out of one of the rugs when he'd purchased them in bulk out of Pearl Lane, an unexpected bonus coming along with luxury goods bought at cut-rate prices. He'd mentally tagged it at about twenty gil and forgotten about it, never even considering taking it to the Goldsmiths for appraisal. There was no real reason not to sell it. But still - .
"I'll tell you why," said Orrick, rising up from his knees to his full height of five-fulm-six-ilm, and finding he still had to peer up at the customer, a Highlander by the look of it, if a bit on the short side for his kind. "You're too damned suspicious, that's why."
The man appeared taken aback. "I beg your pardon?"
"Here, look at you. It's the midday bell, the sun's beating down on the lot of us, and you're all in black - "
"I can manage the sweat."
"And you have a black eyepatch. And a scar over the other eye! Whyn't you have two?"
"The right eye healed!"
"And don't think I didn't hear you when you were looking at it, that chuckle. And you murmured something. It was very ominous. Had a bit of the omen to it. What was it you said?" Orrick furrowed thick brows together as he tried to recall. "At last, something-or-something."
"'At last, after all these years,'" the man provided.
"Yes, exactly that! Too suspicious by far. For all I know this's the trinket that'll lead to completing some ritual to drop another moon down on us. No chance you're getting it."
The customer appeared affronted, placing one black-clad glove to his chest. Following it, Orrick noted that underneath his long black trenchcoat, everything on his person appeared to be made of buckles. That settled the matter. He started glancing about the other customers as the man began to prattle about discrimination. His eye landed on a bespectacled elezen in shabby formal wear, apparently distracted by the weave in one sample illustrating the sigils of the great Ishgardian Houses. "Here! You!"
The man glanced up from his appraisal with an owlish blink, only to find the necklace flung in his direction. "Complimentary with your purchase," said Orrick as the man fumbled to catch it by its chain. It was a gamble - but better for the elezen to get a free necklace and not buy anything than to let this man get it for himself. He turned towards the black-clad man with a smug, "So there" look. "You want to buy it, get it from him. You'll not see it from me."
He huffed. Nearly puffed. He did not stamp his foot, much to Orrick's dissatisfaction. But he did leave, turning with a dramatic swish of his heel that sent the tails of a black coat billowing behind him as he stalked away from the market.
Pleased, Orrick settled back in his stall to attend to the rest of his customers. The elezen, thank the Twelve, paid for a small throw rug, and Orrick flattered himself to think the incentive of the trinket had been the tipping point. The matter settled, he turned to tend to his other customers.
If he noticed, between the crowd of buyers and the general din of the Exchange, the elezen and the black-clad man meeting further down the street, he thought nothing of it. If he saw the elezen hand the man a small handful of gil, he didn't comment. Once the item left his stall, it was no longer his business, and making the rent was a far greater concern.
"Not a chance are you getting that item, ser, begging your pardon. But not a chance all the same."
Weak as his jaw was, Orrick Thatcher set it nevertheless, peering up at the customer from his seated position with a defiant expression. Around him, the sun beat down in the Thanalan noon heat, and with such force that the canopy over his stall seemed to sag. In other circumstances, he would have retired to the shade with a cup of water to wait out the bell, but a crowd of customers had gathered, attracted by the lure of Ishgardian rugs available at below-market prices. There were other trinkets too, to be sure, and it was one of those that had the interest of the buyer in question.
The man gestured towards it with a hand clad in a black, silken glove, spread out for display amidst a few smaller swatches of carpet that had been laid out for samples. It was a small thing, a necklace apparently made out of a simple brass and with a pendant designed in an abstract pattern. "Why not?" he asked, his voice the kind of smooth and deep tone that could make the average Miqo'te street dancer - and if pressed and deep in his cups, Orrick himself - shiver in their smallclothes. "My gil is as good as the next man's."
Save for a vague impression that he was looking at wings, Orrick had never known what to make of the necklace. It had fallen out of one of the rugs when he'd purchased them in bulk out of Pearl Lane, an unexpected bonus coming along with luxury goods bought at cut-rate prices. He'd mentally tagged it at about twenty gil and forgotten about it, never even considering taking it to the Goldsmiths for appraisal. There was no real reason not to sell it. But still - .
"I'll tell you why," said Orrick, rising up from his knees to his full height of five-fulm-six-ilm, and finding he still had to peer up at the customer, a Highlander by the look of it, if a bit on the short side for his kind. "You're too damned suspicious, that's why."
The man appeared taken aback. "I beg your pardon?"
"Here, look at you. It's the midday bell, the sun's beating down on the lot of us, and you're all in black - "
"I can manage the sweat."
"And you have a black eyepatch. And a scar over the other eye! Whyn't you have two?"
"The right eye healed!"
"And don't think I didn't hear you when you were looking at it, that chuckle. And you murmured something. It was very ominous. Had a bit of the omen to it. What was it you said?" Orrick furrowed thick brows together as he tried to recall. "At last, something-or-something."
"'At last, after all these years,'" the man provided.
"Yes, exactly that! Too suspicious by far. For all I know this's the trinket that'll lead to completing some ritual to drop another moon down on us. No chance you're getting it."
The customer appeared affronted, placing one black-clad glove to his chest. Following it, Orrick noted that underneath his long black trenchcoat, everything on his person appeared to be made of buckles. That settled the matter. He started glancing about the other customers as the man began to prattle about discrimination. His eye landed on a bespectacled elezen in shabby formal wear, apparently distracted by the weave in one sample illustrating the sigils of the great Ishgardian Houses. "Here! You!"
The man glanced up from his appraisal with an owlish blink, only to find the necklace flung in his direction. "Complimentary with your purchase," said Orrick as the man fumbled to catch it by its chain. It was a gamble - but better for the elezen to get a free necklace and not buy anything than to let this man get it for himself. He turned towards the black-clad man with a smug, "So there" look. "You want to buy it, get it from him. You'll not see it from me."
He huffed. Nearly puffed. He did not stamp his foot, much to Orrick's dissatisfaction. But he did leave, turning with a dramatic swish of his heel that sent the tails of a black coat billowing behind him as he stalked away from the market.
Pleased, Orrick settled back in his stall to attend to the rest of his customers. The elezen, thank the Twelve, paid for a small throw rug, and Orrick flattered himself to think the incentive of the trinket had been the tipping point. The matter settled, he turned to tend to his other customers.
If he noticed, between the crowd of buyers and the general din of the Exchange, the elezen and the black-clad man meeting further down the street, he thought nothing of it. If he saw the elezen hand the man a small handful of gil, he didn't comment. Once the item left his stall, it was no longer his business, and making the rent was a far greater concern.
Verad Bellveil's Profile | The Case of the Ransacked Rug | Verad's Fate Sheet
Current Fate-14 Storyline:Â Merchant, Marine
Current Fate-14 Storyline:Â Merchant, Marine
