22nd of Ashan, 717
Noon
Two breaks after leaving the Inn, the Mortalborn found himself in the thick of the crowd, surfing left and right with the movement of customers storming the Ctizen’s Market stalls. A cold sun blazed from above intermittently, sometimes hidden behind thick grey clouds that flew by the Etzori skyline towards the Southeast. With the blow of the breeze came the fresh scent of recently dug up soil, proof of the return of farming onto the daily works of the citizenry. Amidst those breezes were also other scents, however, like the smell of armpits, tobacco, hot meals, and the occasional mouth that breathed within the teacher’s face. Noon
Paplo Ynush minded not the crowds, for like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, the local populace guaranteed the succeed of his disguise. A wolf wouldn’t quite fit in were it to mingle with wolves or vulture. As the wolf, Paplo sometimes felt the frustration of being away from his hypothetical pack, which never existed, or being stuck with these inferior creatures. Nonetheless, and ever since his arrival in Etzos, he had found quite the pleasure of playing a sheep. It is in this city where he had pushed himself harder into a respectable social position, and where he had learned to envision just how simplistic the Etzori mind was. How it worked and how it through were mysteries no longer, at least not as how unknown they were when he first arrived. Now, everything could be analyzed, calculated and predicted, and it made it somewhat boring.
The teacher arrived by the clothing stands, which were quite popular in this time of the arc. He passed on the browsing of work-related attire he didn’t quite need. Instead, he focused on the not so visited stands, where the fine and beautiful clothing laid. Not many people dared approach those isolated parts of the market, for the prices escaped their range, and the owners had grown wise, not allowing any commoner to try on the clothing. No; this was a nice section of the market, for nice and economically solvent people, respectable members of society, and, above all else, individuals with good taste. Were it not for the licenses required to open a store in the Commercial Ring, these stall owners would’ve hidden inside the Etzori walls long ago.
“Good morning, Luca,” greeted Paplo as he reached the stall, receiving a gentle nod. His hands started browsing the available goods. “No new batch?”
“What you see is what I have,” he’d say.
Paplo glanced towards the male, arching an eyebrow. “Frontier problems?”
“Of course it’s frontier problems. It’s always frontier problems,” the male would whine. “My whole business is flying out the window because of these frontier problems. Damn it all!”
Paplo continued to browse, taking special dedication to the ties. He found them impractical and costly, but he liked them. They suited him, just like they suited his beard and his suit.
“I tell you, one day I’ll buy myself a sword, go to that damned town and hack every one of those pigs. I tell you!” Luca said, still insisting on expressing his rage about the matter. “I can get away with it, too! Not even mountains could stop me from breaking those---“
“Calm down, please,” asked Paplo, who not fidgeted with a red and blue tie, looking in the poor mirror Luca had installed. After finding a small stain on said tie, it was returned to the pile. “Weren’t you going to do something about it the other day?”
“And I did. A hundred nel I sent them, and paid another twenty for the delivery, but my shipment was still denied and sent back,” explained Luca. “This morning, I wake up to no shipment and their usual letter full of bullshit, explaining me as if I was a child.”
“Did you think they cheated you?” asked Paplo, as he browsed the available dressing shoes. Not of his size, ugly, or damaged is how they found them. He was already reluctant to ever return to this stall.
“They sure have. I’m through with this, really. I don’t know what to do. I’ll probably have to close now. I can’t send the money again because otherwise I can’t pay for the shipment. I can’t ask for another loan, and I can’t sell a thing.” A funerary pause. “I think this is the end.”
“Well, it was a pleasure to purchase my clothing from you,” said Paplo, quite unceremoniously. His eyes began looking onto the other stalls of this style of wares, wondering if to go eat already or keep browsing for more clothing. “Also, make sure you check that courier. I’d trust him less than I’d trust the Army, no matter if corrupt.”
With that, Paplo moved on, eager to see what wares the Market had in store for him.
