12th of Spring, 515 A.V.
East Street
East Street
Couriers don't ask questions. That was rule number one to delivering mail.
Okay, maybe the first rule was to actually deliver the mail on a timely manner, but the second rule was to not as questions. You don't ask what it's for, you don't ask what it is or what it says, and you certainly don't ever, ever open it. Couriers aren't meant to ask questions about their deliveries. They were the mindless zombies of communication. They merely went in, got he package, went out and delivered it. Rinse repeat. That's it.
So what was a courier supposed to do when they got a package like... this?
As Gale slowly made his way down the street, he eyed the hefty letter with a quirk in his brow. The man claimed it was a mere letter with some jewelry inside. It was to be delivered to his daughter's fiance who was apparently 'a large man with a black beard'. Like there weren't plenty of other large men with beards in this town. But wait, he said he was 'a large man with a black beard who isn't wearing a shirt and has a tattoo on his chest'. It was a little more specific, but there were still plenty of sailors in this town. Plenty of sailors who had tattoos on their chests and liked to show them off. But apparently, you'd 'know him when you see him' so it was all fine and dandy, right?
The blonde man sighed, flicking a golden strand of curly hair out of his face. Not only was the man's lack of description a bit shady, but the wide lump in the package was a bit concerning as well. A few pieces of jewelry didn't fully describe the shape, so if it was jewelry then it must either be melting or a pretty oddly shaped jewels. For one, it was thicker than just a necklace. Even more so than a ring. And it looked like all one big piece. What sort of jewelry was this thick?
Baffled by the conspicuous content of the package and letter, the artist shook his head and carried on. Don't ask questions, Gale. All he had to do was take the irregular package and deliver to the vaguely described man on East street. Simple, right?
"This should be fun."
The streets of Zeltiva were always busy this time of day and today was like any of the others. The streets were filled with people from all walks of life and Gale danced around them all like the wind in which he was named after. He wasn't any good at running and he sure as heck wasn't any good at jumping on the rooftops, but weaving through crowds? That was something he was born to do.
To the naked eye, the vested man didn't appear out of the ordinary at all. His long, unruly locks and emaciated figure blended in nicely with the starving city and nasty looking sailors. A mere glance and you wouldn't think anything of him. But a lingering gaze could catch a hold of his occasional twist and turns. Gale contorted with the crowd and it's flow like a masterful dance. He spun around slow couples, leaned out of the way of flags, signs, and even dodged flailing hands that were all too hasty to to wave their friends over. If one didn't know any better, one could think that he could do it with his eyes closed, but of course, that would take away his majestic ability all together. After all, the only reason in which he was able to maneuver so quickly in the crowd was because he looked ahead.
Gale saw the woman looking aimlessly into the crowd before she raised her hand to wave the other woman over, he saw the man eying the fish stand causing them to slow down, and he saw the small flags and fabrics that waves in the air to tell who was who and what was what. He looked ahead so he knew what to expect.
But scarves were a different story. Scarves were unpredictable.
While Gale was focused on a long, red scarf that flew in the wind behind the gorgeously dressed young lady, he slowed down, trying to depict the pattern of it's random sways. It didn't move too much, and especially not in his direction, which was to her right, but he kept a blue eye or two on it as he stepped beside her to move around. But with the thick hairs on his face and the light hairs on his arms twitching in the breeze, Gale knew the wind was about to pick up a little more. Direction was indecipherable.
The man turned to the scarf, the pretty lady too occupied to notice his stare, and he took a unfortunate step to his right to avoid the uncertain clothe. But with said step came a young girl, running between the skirts and pants of her elders with a sly grin. The sudden movement had caught the corner of his eye, and he suddenly twisted on the balls of his heels to the little girl. But his sharp mannerism had caused him to roughly bump the lady and her scarf. He jolted forward to compensate, but the little girl was there in front of him.
One misplaced step after another took him to his downfall, and it was his downfall that had caused the child to run into his side which had contained his bag of letters. The pack slid off his shoulder and flung onto the street, the letters spraying out like caged birds onto the stop. The impact had caused the little girl to stumble herself, and her stumble turned into a tumble, and like a tumble weed, she ran right into another passerby.
By this time, the traffic in that particular vicinity had all but stopped. The people moved around the large mess like a pebble in a stream, leaving Gale and the little girl to deal with their chaos.