open log :: time made me soft around the edges

[synergismus]

Who: Everyone.
What: The Harvest Festival!
Where: Howl Barrow outdoor park
When: Through the weekend.
Notes: The companion OOC post for this log is here if you have any questions or concerns!
Warnings: Please give me a head's up if a thread contains something that should be edited into this section.

Locations: COSTUME PARTY, COSTUME PARTY - VIP, MARKET STREET, CARNIVAL GAMES, THE PARK.

Comments

[emptychamber]

Emily has been wandering through the market. She's fairly certain that this is too elaborate to be an actual setup by the communists, so she's either been attacked with mind magic, actually gone mad, or it is what it appears to be. None of them are very comforting options, but on the other hand, she can't do much about any of them by sitting and lamenting her fate, either. For now, she's progressing as if it's door number three, because there's no help for the first two.

It's the forge that catches her eye first, the shirtless man second. She gives both him and his work appreciative looks, though the work gets a longer and closer inspection.

"I suppose custom work's damned expensive, isn't it?" she says, wistfully - it should be, if it's good work, but she hasn't found a job yet. Still, she'd like more ammunition than she has, and she'd dearly love a small grappling hook.

She's new to Baedal and looks it, but only a truly dull observer would mistake her for an innocent abroad.

[serjeant]

Seoraj is many things, but 'a dull observer' is not among them; he's the object lesson that the man who calls himself simple with that sort of open-handed ease never is. He favours her with a bit of friendliness, turning to speak to her and not in the vague direction of her, assessing her with more subtlety than he's generally credited with at a glance. “Can be,” he says, because he's worth the price and knows it, “'tisn't always. Did you have a thing in mind?”

Maybe he can give her a quote, and she'll come back another time. Work isn't hard to find in this city. (Something he's had occasion to wonder at, lately. Maybe it's nothing- maybe it isn't.)

[emptychamber]

She weighs her options, then says, "A small hook, but sturdy. For climbing, so it would need to bear a rope plus my weight." If he can quote her a price, at least she'll have it in mind for the future, and craftsmanship is good. She can see, but more, she can feel, the metal humming solid and well-forged. She resisted the urge to touch things she couldn't yet purchase.

Bullets are more disposable, and she's certain he can handle them if she gives him an original to cast off of. The hook would take a finer hand.

[serjeant]

“I've a few of those made already,” he says, thoughtfully. “You'd be looking at four marks or thereabouts, usually.” The equivalent of a little less than fifty dollars; not too steep. “Rope, you'll have to get on your own.”

[emptychamber]

"I think I can manage that. May I see what I'm hoarding my flags toward?" she asks with a smile, "or none with you?"

All the more incentive to find some sort of work.