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Cabochon and Madeira meet in the Bizarre

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Considered one of the most mysterious cities in Mizahar, Alvadas is called The City of Illusions. It is the home of Ionu and the notorious Inverted. This city sits on one of the main crossroads through The Region of Kalea.

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Postby Madeira Dusk on June 19th, 2017, 3:34 am

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38th of Spring, 517
13th Bell


"And this," the Isurian weapon smith was explaining, as he turned the bracer crossbow in his hand, "is the catch. You brace it with your wrist and pull the sting back with two fingers, like so."

Madeira watched with fascination as his thick, hoary fingers worked the small mechanism with a delicate grace she could not have fathomed from such a man. He picked up a black five inch bolt and fitted it neatly in the barrel.

"Other than that it's much the same as a regular two-handed crossbow. You wont get the same distance, but the accuracy is better and it packs a comparable punch."

"Well, distance would have been nice. But you tend to need both hands and the ability to run with what I'm hunting. My old crossbow was a touch too unwieldy."

"What are you hunting?"

"Dead people."

"Huh."

The bustle of the Bizarre pushed in close around the haven of the smith shop. It was one of the very few stalls without any added flair. The walls and racks were all naked wood, the floor was half sawdust, half metal fillings, and there was a pedal whetstone in the back. Even the Smith himself was two hundred pounds of burly muscle packed into a no-nonsense frown and a five foot frame. Yet what the store and owner lacked in colour was more than made up with workmanship. There were axes and bows, daggers and swords, and they were all works of deadly art.

The Isur asked if she would like to try it on, and Madeira enthusiastically agreed. The soft black leather wrapped around her forearm from just above her wrist to just below her elbow, and was stitched with silver thread in beautiful patterns. The bow welded on top was a confection of ebony and steel that glittered with a cruel sort of beauty. The whole contraption was lighter than she was expecting. She lifted and twisted her arm to test it's mobility and made a satisfied sound. It would even fit inconspicuously under her cloaks or inside a loose sleeve.

"I'll take it. How much?"

"Eighty five gold. The bolts will be another gold."

Madeira was expecting as much, but she rolled her eyes as if he had offended her.

"That's insane. I'll give you seventy gold and my gratitude."

"Eighty six for the lot. My prices are fair and my work is good."

"Seventy five, but you're pushing it."

"Eighty six."

The Isur was standing with his arms crossed and his gaze bored under the hard ridge of his brow. He looked about as unmovable as the mountain he came from. She wouldn't be able to negotiate with him, she decided. But some persuasive wheedling might do the trick.

"Look, this is a magnificent weapon and just what I need to keep me safe. To keep this city safe. It's my job to make sure the dead don’t hurt the living and this will really help me do my job. So please..."

The Isur raised one thick eyebrow on his otherwise stone face.

"Ninety gold.”

Her words failing her, Madeira opened her arms in a wide gesture that was both an expression of her exasperation and possibly an invitation for Ionu to strike the man down. A couple people walking by ducked nervously as they noticed the loaded weapon still attached to her wrist.
Last edited by Madeira Dusk on August 10th, 2017, 1:40 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Cabochon on June 19th, 2017, 6:40 pm

He would be the first to admit that the Bizarre was just that. An amalgamation of races, professions, prices, events and the like constantly grasping for attention. His eyes would dart back and forth, up and down, but his neck was constantly craned with excitement and curiosity. What an interesting place, full of the odd and unusual, but also the familiar and friendly! He couldn't help the childish smile on his face, a toothless smile all enveloped with wonder and amazement.
People briskly walked about him, when they noticed him. The little foot tall Pycon didn't draw much attention. When he did, it was often a little late, and both parties would apologize for their share in the collision. A polite nod from the disfigured creature would reach the receiving eyes of the (often taller) race, and they would return their own form of appreciation. Nonetheless, it was a cordial day. The weather was windy, fair, delightful in its own simple way. The heat of the summer didn't burn that day. Clouds had overhung just enough to ward off the blazing temperatures. Not overcast, but not clear, either. Simply, in just the right amount of words, gorgeous and inviting.

As Cabochon hobbled along, he studied the items on sale and the faces behind them. He admired the dedication of their crafts, the age and obvious skill behind their features and their composure. Their hands were worn with familiarity and practice, and their kind faces resonated immediate experience with trade and mercantile negotiation. The Pycon often wondered what inspired them to pursue this sort of lifestyle, and the satisfaction that came from it.
Some seemed newer, fresher in the crowd than others, and it brought him back to the time he first ventured to the Bizarre with his parents. They'd become established in Alvadas for some time, and no later than Cabochon could walk would he be familiarized with the city. It was much different when his parents were around. The world seemed less terrifying and intimidating than when he was on his own. He still had much to understand, and appreciated what knowledge his parents had lent him.

While he was walking, an older woman caught his attention. She had milky, pale skin, few wrinkles beginning to line her face. Her hair was straight, jet black and almost flowed like a river. She stroked it often, pointing to a suppressed vanity. Her eyes were the most fascinating, and the creature seemed to freeze upon watching them. Whenever speaking to someone, her eyes would light up to a bright and energetic orange color. Eventually, they would fade to a deep burgundy as she conversed and promoted her figurines. Whether one was sold or not, she'd cordially thank them for their time, and as she was left to ruminate, her eyes would return to a pale blue. He'd never witnessed something like that before, but he'd heard of it. Stories his mother would tell him about the Vantha fit her description, and Cabochon hobbled towards her in such a way, he seemed entranced.

"Excuse me," he politely began, almost smitten. "I couldn't help but notice the changing qualities of your eyes. Are you what they call a Vantha?" His head slowly tilted as he spoke, melting into his own curiosity. She giggled with near embarrassment as she replied, her eyes fluttering to a bright pink.

"You've guessed correctly." She removed her hand from her mouth, the flush in her cheeks dissipating. "Have you never seen our kind before?"

"No, ma'am, I can't say I have," he willingly admitted. He then asked something he'd later regret, "Can you feel your eyes changing color like that?" He immediately straightened after hearing himself, disgusted with his question. Why would he ask something stupid like that?

"I wouldn't know, I've never stopped to test that before. But now you have my curiosity," she replied. Shaking her head, she let out a small chuckle, before sitting up to grab something. Bending down again, she showed it to the Pycon, "Here, it's on me. It was a little makeshift ring I was practicing with. Don't worry, there's nothing of value on it. Just a shaped piece of bent metal, really. I'm sure it will fit your wrist perfectly."
Completely taken aback, he slowly received it from the Vantha, shock written all over his face. He slipped it over his shorter arm before flashing it with gratitude. Bowing with immense appreciation, he continued along, wishing her a wonderful day and her the same.


As he continued along, he caught onto a conversation between another human and a stocky, short man. He didn't look human, but that wasn't what caught his attention. The two seemed to be arguing or something. Not wishing to be nosy, he hobbled over as quietly as he could. As he made his way over, he quickly dodged to the side, the woman swinging a loaded crossbow around with carelessness. Was she crazy? This was a densely populated area! Unimpressed, the Isur noticed Cabochon's arrival, and with a huff of contempt, he cut off his conversation with the woman.

"Either pay for it or leave it. Someone will appreciate its value far more than you if you won't." Turning to the Pycon, he changed his mannerisms. "Can I help you, sir?"

"I didn't mean to intrude, I can wait!" Cabochon answered quickly. The Isur seemed to beg for a new customer with his eyes.

"No, its fine. This woman is giving me a hard time. I could use a break." Apparently, he was unashamed of his thoughts. A little unnerved, Cabochon inquired further.

"May I ask what it's about?"

"She doesn't want to pay my price. Plain and simple."

"What are you asking for?"

"It was eighty five. However, due to her persistent nature, it's now ninety. Permanently," he leaned towards the woman with those words, obviously spiting her with them. Cabochon took some time to think, his shorter arm clasped to his mouth in thought. Then, he placed his own offer.

"I'll pay the difference."

Last edited by Cabochon on June 22nd, 2017, 10:20 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Madeira Dusk on June 22nd, 2017, 5:34 am

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The Spiritist was still struggling to find a polite way to tell the stubborn Isur where he could shove his offer when he turned away from her to address a Pycon who had slipped unnoticed up to the shop.

Madeira turned to look too, and came face to face (or face to knee, more accurately) with a bizarre little creature. Unlike the more stylized Pycons she had come to expect, this one had an amorphous, lopsided shape and no detailed features she could see. Yet embedded in his red-brown chest was a stone that, upon consideration, she
suspected to be a fossil of some kind. Around his wrist was a cuff of beaten metal.

The Isur's words brought on a slew of eye rolling from Madeira, but she was strangely touched by the stranger's offer to help. Before the shopkeep could speak Madeira cut in.

"No, no, don't do that. This stubborn ox doesn't deserve both of our money." She fished around in her coin purse and counted out the requested ninety gold mizas, which she slapped down on the counter in front of the Isur with venom. "If you ever tangle with a ghost", she told him, "I'm going to make sure it has fun with you before I intervene."

"Then I'll make sure not to tangle with a ghost." Though his expression did not change, and she was beginning to think it never would, the Smith immediately lost the contempt in his voice once the gold was handed over. He passed her the bundle of ten willow arrows and showed her the ten loops of leather on the underside of the bracer where she could store them.

"Alright, then." Madeira herself seemed to have lost her frustration as well, though there was still something miffed about the set of her lips. "Beautiful piece, by the way."

"Thank you. Pleasure doing business."

With that the Isur nodded to the human and the Pycon before ducking to the back of the shop to rearrange his display of projectile weapons. Meanwhile Madeira disarmed the crossbow and turned to face her tiny saviour.

"You know, if you give in so easily to these shopkeepers demands they'll never respect you." she laughed good naturally. "Thank you, though. My name is Madeira Craven." She bent at the waist and offered two fingers to shake. "I'd hate for your kindness to go
unreciprocated. Can I offer you a ride through the Bizzare?" She motioned to her shoulder, and to the fact that it was unoccupied. “I'd hate for you to get run over."
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Postby Cabochon on June 22nd, 2017, 6:10 pm

He silently observed the continued conversation, mentally preparing with several responses should he have been addressed. However, there was no further need of his assistance, as the woman haughtily placed down the aforementioned price and brandished the crossbow with satisfaction.
Cabochon couldn't help his own thoughts as he watched her handle the weapon. An ugly thing, to him, as if an inventor deconstructed a violin and merged its likeness with a bow. It had a base, for proper positioning and holding. Its threads cross-strung on the bending, warped wood, and a crevice perfectly saddled for the setting of an arrow. Metal clippings and leather upholstery also attached to it, giving the ability to both secure it upon the arm and latch the string for perched precision. Nonetheless, however ingeniously it was crafted, he still found it an ugly thing.
Then, his attention transitioned to the whole of the woman instead of her wares. The crossbow, whether intended or not, suit the woman in more ways than the Pycon originally realized. She seemed a sickly thing -small, lightweight (compared to others he saw), and her bright, blue eyes wished for respite. The flushed, red rings around her eyes had maybe come from her lineage, but it seemed unlikely. Her hair was pulled to a messy bun, a scorched blonde bleached with exposure. Despite the cool summer's day, she wore clothing that screamed for a different season. A long, sleeved dress, with some sort of ruffled frame around the wrist cuffs and the skirt's hem. Wasn't she heated, overwhelmed with stuffiness? Did her skin burn and this was her only form of protection? The creature found his mind going both ways.

She then spoke on something that immediately drew on his curiosity. Ghosts? Whatever reason were ghosts a part of this conversation? Why did her intervention have any meaning in the Isur's "tangling" with one? The merchant deflected the statement immediately, and with his own flair of attitude. A few more words exchanged, and they wished each other well. The merchant ducked behind the heavy leather tent to adjust his goods. Meanwhile, the woman fixed her own belongings and turned to the Pycon.

"You know, if you give in so easily to these shopkeeper's demands they'll never respect you," she informed him. "Thank you, though. My name is Madeira Craven." She held out a couple fingers to Cabochon's hand, and he shook it respectfully. It was nice to meet a well-to-do woman, even if her appearance did seem a little out of touch with reality. Nonetheless, he remained silent as she continued, "I'd hate for your kindness to go unreciprocated. Can I offer you a ride through the Bizarre?" -A motioning to her shoulder followed-, "I'd hate for you to get run over." Finally, he could respond.

"Well, I will admit, Mrs. Craven," Cabochon began, "on the note of being "run over", you're a little late; I've had my fair share. However, a ride I will not refuse. Thank you very much for that offer."

Hobbling closer, he motioned for her to bend down a little farther. When she did so, he grabbed onto her shoulder with his shorter hand, bracing himself up onto his back leg and swinging his larger arm around. Scrambling on, he steadied himself as she arose, waiting for her own frame to find balance before he discovered his.
Heavens, what a bony figure she was! Cabochon understood his frailty, but it was entirely different compared to this woman! He felt her collarbone and her scapula with ease as he settled in. The only muscle really there were the triceps, however small they were. He found himself quite appalled! Was she malnourished? Did she ever get enough to eat? He seriously began to worry for her! He hoped his next question wasn't too obvious or invasive.

"It's nearly midday. Would you like to find something to eat?" Cabochon felt his own stomach yearn for food as well. "I'll admit that I myself am ready to devour something..." His words trailed off as he spoke, his mind now becoming fixated on something he often loved to eat, "...Soft..."
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Postby Madeira Dusk on June 24th, 2017, 2:19 am

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Madeira straightened up, balancing herself with her suddenly heavy shoulder. The Pycon was a surprisingly good fit, even with his lopsided limbs. His clay body was soft and cool and settled neatly between her bones. She smoothed the bodice of her green linen dress and continued into the bustling Bizzare.

Her passenger spoke from the perch beside her ear as she slid her way skillfully through the crowd of shoppers, buskers, hawkers and merchants. She did not miss the way his voice dropped from quiet concern to some sort of trailing fantasy as he mentioned food.

"Is it midday already?" she mused, lifting her skirt out of the way of a stampede of illusionary, bejewelled mice. "I'm not hungry at the moment. But what, and pardon me if I'm being rude, do Pycons devour?", she asked, using his phrase. She was not sure she had ever seen a Pycon ingest anything. And assuming they ate human food was ridiculous.

"Wait," she shushed whatever he might have said with a wave of her hand, "let me guess."

As she peered around the shops, making a mental note of wares that his people might eat, she kept up the light conversation.

"You never offered your name, you know", she pointed out, peeking at him out of the corner of her eye with a smile. "You're the first Pycon I've ever been acquainted with. There are not many of you around, are there? I'd like to know your name." A shop selling brightly polished stones briefly caught her eye. But no, he said he'd like to devour something soft. What is soft that a little clay man would eat?

The grinding of a pottery wheel oscillated as a low hum beneath the crowd, and Madeira found herself following the sound. In time she found a tiny store run by an Eypharian woman with gilded skin and a haughty frown, surrounded by pottery of every shape and size. She sat at the petal powered pottery wheel, where all six arms, wielding a variety of wooden tools, whipped a tall pot into beautiful shape and complicated design. The woman looked up as Madeira and the Pycon wandered closer, and her face immediately split into a professional smile.

"Welcome! Welcome. What can I do for you today?"

Well, Madeira had been looking for a bowl to mix soulmist in anyway. Her eyes wandered the shelves with interest while the Eypharian wiped her clay smeared hands with a towel from her workbench.
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Postby Cabochon on June 25th, 2017, 9:49 pm

As she arose from her crouching position, Cabochon's eyes widened with awe. Such a spectacular view this was for him! The panorama he was used to was far outlived by this new experience! His head would whip around energetically, his conscience overwhelmed with the new perspective and sights obtained from this height! Was this what he missed simply due to his race's features? He was exuberant from this revelation! How could anyone could become used to this kind of sight?
He balanced himself as Madeira fixed her dress, fluffing out the crinkles caused by her descent. Then, they were on the move! Cabochon's frame lurched backwards as she stepped forward, and he quickly used his longer arm to steady himself. Weaving back and forth through the crowd was an incredible sensation for him, unbeknownst to her. He settled into her shoulder as she walked, his backside now firmly planted in position. During their meandering, he became greatly inspired and his spirits rose with giddy glee. He waved and chanted "hellos" to passer-by's, and their response would either be of equal joy or amused surprise. He nearly waved and nodded to any face that turned his way, and with every kind response, his smile grew wider and wider until it could stretch no longer.
His eyes would catch men and women at their tents and their workstations, his perspective now entirely changed. He didn't have to wonder how they achieved their craft any longer. Now, he had the same view as any other, taller race. He'd stare with amazement for as long as he could, the dexterity of the people's hands weaving, shaping, forming, hammering, whatever was needed to achieve the needed result. They'd hold up their new creations with a humble pride, satisfied with the work of their hands. Some spectators would swoon or sigh with equal appreciation. He, however, could not get enough of the view, and found himself craning his body around Madeira's bun to see what occurred on the other side. How could anyone get used to this?

"Is it midday already?" she replied, and the Pycon remembered his words from earlier. It must have been; he was watching what shadows he could render from his old view. Double checking his validity, he peered over her shoulder to catch a street sign's shadow. Directly overhead, nearly, so he was correct in his suspicion.

"Yes, it is," he confirmed. Her next question slightly surprised him.

"I'm not hungry at the moment," she admitted, "but what, and pardon me if I'm being rude, do Pycon's devour?" She didn't know? His parents told him they'd come across countless Pycon. But maybe there weren't as many living in Alvadas as in other places. He answered nonetheless.

"Oh, well, we-." He was interrupted by the waving of her hand!

"Wait, let me guess." But an answer never came. She was a delight in her own unique way, he discovered, and the farther they traveled the more endearing she became to him.

Roughly half an hour passed or so, and Cabochon was beginning to slump. He'd forgotten that higher altitude meant less shade from the burning sun, and for a Pycon, that wasn't good news. His mouth began to droop to expel some of the heat from his body, however little it was. His hands became sore from holding himself up for that extended period of time, and his longer arm wasn't used to that kind of stationary endurance. He never mentioned it, simply worked through it. After some time, she spoke up again, and Cabochon began to feel bad for not keeping up the conversation.

"You never offered your name, you know. You're the first Pycon I've ever been acquainted with. There are not many of you around, are there? I'd like to know your name." She eyed him with those words, and his guilt immediately rose.

"Oh, pardon me, I'm terribly sorry!" he began. He gestured to himself with his shorter arm. "My name is Cabochon. It's a pleasure, Mrs. Craven."

She began to look around with intent, and Cabochon wondered what for. Then, he saw it! She happened to be walking towards the one stall he'd have taken all day to find! The elderly Eypharian woman sat there, her many arms working away simultaneously at the potter's wheel.
What a fantastic sight from that view! Not only did the creature see the first and second shelves, but now he saw the third, fourth, and even fifth shelf on occasion! Several types of cups, mugs, bowls, vases, pots, nameless trinkets and other objects littering the shelves. His clay eyes traveled the tent's contents with newfound curiosity and wonder. Then, Madeira ceased walking, and Cabochon caught himself once more! Looking down, they were face to face with the owner of Kalea's Kiln. She, in turn, looked up to them, a professional smile quickly appearing on her face.

"Welcome! Welcome," she invited. "What can I do for you today?"

He glanced over at Madeira, and she was lost in some train of thought. Was she still thinking about what kinds of food Pycon ate, or was her mind fixated on other things? If this was her first guess, it was a damn good one. Leaving her to her thoughts, he addressed his question.

"Yes, actually." Before he could continue, the Eypharian's face changed upon facing him. She knew him.

"Oh, you're that special customer of ours, aren't you? How much do you typically ask for, about three pounds?" She was correct.

"Makes it easy to remember," Cabochon admitted, a smile appearing on his face.

"Just a second, madam," the woman turned to Cabochon's new friend, "and I'll be right back." Standing up from her stool, she made her way to the back of the tent, returning moments later with a clump of soft, dry clay.
"Here you are, dear. That will be three copper mizas." He paid accordingly, and she aided him in fitting it into his backpack, a cloth coin purse. Once it settled in, he dug his fingers into the soft clay, taking small morsels for himself until satisfied. While he settled his cravings, she turned back to Madeira.
"Did you need anything, dear?" she asked, her dominant set of hands folded patiently.

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Postby Madeira Dusk on July 6th, 2017, 4:42 am

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Chabochon was apparently a frequent customer of the little shop. Madeira looked back and forth between her passenger and the Eypharian as they exchanged an easy discourse, and wondered why. Why would a tiny clay man be interested in a shop that especially sells calcified versions of himself?

The lady was back, now with two hands cradling a lump of soft grey clay in a damp cloth. She helped the Pycon fit the clay into his rucksack before giving Madeira her full attention and best polite smile.

"Do you need anything, dear?"

"I..." Cabochon began reaching into his bag to dig out handfuls of clay, which he slotted into his mouth and ate right next to her ear. And while it wasn't particularly loud, she was distracted by the disturbing thought it conjured. She mentally shook herself and tried again.

"I'd like one of your lovely glazed bowls please. Do you have something about this size?" She demonstrated the preferred circumference with her hands.

The shopkeeper led her over to a shelf near the back, where a strategic lantern reflected off the lacquered bowls with a warm golden glow. Madeira tried to pay attention as the woman turned her attention over to the quality of the work, but all she could hear was the squishy, gummy sound of the clay man eating on her shoulder.

Finally, something inside the Craven snapped. She pointed at a bowl almost at random, interrupting the Eypharian in the middle of her long winded monolog about the journey of creating each piece.

"I'll take that one there, please. Could you wrap that up and have it delivered for me? Thank you."

Scandalized by the interruption, but not willing to lose the sale, the lady gave a smooth “of course” under affronted eyes. And while she moved to the back of the shop with the desired bowl, a simple thing with a glazed gradient of black to blue, Madeira rounded on the Pycon.

"Hold on, I'm sorry, but Cabochon isn't this... Isn't this cannibalism? I mean really. Clay? Of all things?"

OOCSorry for the delay! Trying my best to get back into the swing of things.
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Postby Cabochon on July 15th, 2017, 3:08 pm

As he haphazardly chewed away, his eyes wandered the streets once again. Things were much easier to witness once the shade hindered the sun's brightness. Despite the climbing heat, things still looked as jolly and welcoming as ever, and it did him good to see it. He was amused by the fact that the view remained so intriguing and exciting. He'd stayed at this height for a while now, but maybe he was of a simpler mind than he'd believed. Maybe he was the type of person that enjoyed the time given to what was explored. Then if it was so meant to be, when things were meant to move on, he would, satisfying with the time beforehand.

For now, he wouldn't worry about all that nonsense. For now, he focused on the children playing and running through the streets, chasing after a duck resembling burnt parchment. Then he'd find time to look up, watching the hues and saturation of a building's stone bricks flicker and change like a rushing river. Alvadas was a city of the unusual, if ever, and now he witnessed it himself. Eventually, his eyes would turn back to the merchants he'd watched previously, his view switching around constantly and further admiring their work.

When the potter motioned for Madeira to follow, she must have put him in consideration, for her movements glided along the ground with a trained grace. His body only swayed, his transfixed gaze unbroken by the change of position. As she turned and eventually stopped, his body leaned forward, quite loosely, settling back into a hunched state. When the first morsel of clay was devoured, his hands tangibly fumbled around for more. His trance broke when his hand did not find its destination, and his sights returned downward to reconfigure his arm's position. Once he'd found another morsel, he stuck it to his mouth and began to chew.

While he ate, he decided to favor Madeira and turned to her interests. He didn't realize she liked the business either, and he enjoyed the fact that they shared an equal interest. They both looked about, and whenever Cabochon feared his vision would cross hers, he looked away quickly. Sheepish, one would call it, but it felt odd to him for them to cross eyes on such an equal level. The altitude enough threw him off, and being able to glance at another of shared height tickled his insecurities. He was used to looking upward and admiring from below, plain and simple.

As Madeira and the Eypharian conversed, Cabochon found himself in complete awe of the elderly woman's stories. They were nothing like the ones his parents told him; the six-armed woman's stories consisted of vast deserts, ancient ruins of cities and cannibalistic savages. She would motion with her many hands as she explained the story and its impacts on her life and the way in which her pottery told the story. As she explained one anecdote after another, she sometimes would point, indicating which piece the tale inspired or related to. Studying them, Cabochon could now see what the Eypharian meant. Some of the bowls leapt, curled and furrowed with amazing and unique reds, oranges, and subtle greens. Sometimes, the bowls would have paint jobs representing the oases of her land called... What was it called again? The Pycon hadn't heard that part, for he was too caught up in the artwork itself to hear particulars. He didn't bother to interrupt her, though, she was in her world, and as much as he wanted to know which one it was, he didn't wish to stop her innate ability to flow.

During their conversations, his backside was becoming rather damp, as if it was releasing captured moisture. He only began to notice when his sitting position became uncomfortable, and he shifted his legs to adjust himself. Apparently, Madeira wasn't too happy with that either, as the mood of her aura had begun to change. Gulping down the second snack, he pushed his coin purse aside, marginally, to see what was going on. His countenance immediately changed once he did. The area underneath him was a darker hue than the normal color of her dress, and yes, it was a little damp. He felt it with his fingers to be sure, and mentally confirmed himself. Sweat, definitely. It was enough that she wore inappropriate attire for the weather, but he also could have had his own dealings in the matter. His brows scrunched together in concern, and without attempting too much of a scene, he addressed her quietly.

"If your shoulder has become tired, I can switch, or-."

His whispering was cut off by her actions. Suddenly pointing to a bowl at random, she indicatively made her statement.

"I'll take that one there, please. Could you wrap that up and have it delivered for me? Thank you."

He found himself rather abruptly dismayed by her demands. She didn't act like that at all beforehand. Had something changed her mood? Was she in a rush and the stories were taking too long? Was he taking away from things she had to do? Good Ionu, he hoped not! He'd just met her, and the last thing he'd wished to do was waste her time. He had to interrupt himself, because no later than she barked her request did she turn on him and ask more questions.

"Hold on, I'm sorry, but Cabochon, isn't this... Isn't this cannibalism? I mean really - clay? Of all things?"

So that was what bothered her? It wasn't the fact that she was uncomfortable, or that her shoulder was growing wet with perspiration? The Pycon was almost thrown off by her inquiry, and he had to slow down and think. She'd never met a Pycon before - she told him that. That wasn't hard! All he had to do was explain the difference! His face changed with his rumination, and he eagerly turned to her to respond.

"You see, it's not like that!" Cabochon began. He fell into gestures as he explained his reasoning, "As a Pycon, we have to constantly grow and change, but if a Pycon doesn't have any clay to either build upon or alter, they can't. So, in essence we eat clay so that we can do that!"

He would emphasize his words here and there, but he could see that she was still confused. Her eyebrows, already scrunched together, twisted tighter as he talked. He realized that he hadn't really answered her question, so he changed his next statement.

"Think of it this way," he prompted, "Imagine that you are like me, in the case that you have to constantly grow and change your body, but your body can't do it alone. So, to compensate, your diet primarily consists of-!"

He stopped himself immediately. Wait a minute, that was the same thing, wasn't it? Was there a difference between her correlation and his explanation? Was she right? She must have been, and he realized his error. With this revelation, his whole body seemed to slack, a pointed hand lowered and a gaping mouth shut involuntarily. Almost ashamedly, he braced himself onto his backpack, the reality of her question finally hitting him.

"Well..." He couldn't think of what else to say. "Well, then, yes, I guess it is..." His countenance at that point had transfixed to a state of desperation, and it seemed to overtake him entirely.

OOCHey, no problem! Look how long I took, and then some.
Last edited by Cabochon on July 17th, 2017, 12:45 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Madeira Dusk on July 16th, 2017, 1:05 am

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Madeira's forcibly neutral face of inquiry couldn't seem to hold it’s shape. The longer the little Pycon spoke, the harder it was to keep her expression from collapsing into incredibility. Until finally Cabochon sputtered to a stop, having dug himself deeper with every word. With an inward facing kind of desperation he admitted that maybe a clay man eating clay was, in fact, cannibalism. His whole body seemed to go slack to realize it. His mouth struggled to make reasonable sounds before clapping shut.

Did she... Did she just give the little clay man an existential crisis?

“No, no, It’s ok~”

She didn't have time to console the struggling Pycon, as the Eypharian choose that moment to appear from behind the curtain leading to the back room. In several of her hands, neatly wrapped in sturdy brown paper and tied with string, was Madeira's new clay bowl. At the shopekeeps prompting Madeira gave her her full name and a description of her house for her to write down, so the courier could find her in the madness that was Alvadas.

"That will be 9sm, for the bowl and delivery, Ms.Craven."

"Can I persuade you to lower the price of your amazing work?"

"No, Ms.Craven."

Several chimes later, having lost yet another negotiation battle with a craftsman, Madeira and Cabochon left the pottery shop. Madeira was sent off with a polite but frosty "good day", while Cabochon was given a warm smile and told to come back "any time, sir."

Back in the main bustle of the market, Madeira lifted a hand to shield her eyes against the glare of Syna. The market was as busy as ever, and the heat from the collective wave of people seemed to settle over everything as a dense fog. Madeira hooked a finger in her collar to try and coax cooler air into her bodice.

"Cabochon, would you mind if you sat in the crook of my arm, here? My shoulder is getting a little tired." she held her empty left arm at a right angle and stood still so he could climb down and settle himself in; either leaning against her ribs and letting his feet dangle, or else sitting sideways and lounging against her upper arm.

“So, where to next? There are some clothing shops that way, or a very talented jewelsmith around the corner. The herbalist is back the way we came…”

But staying still too long turned out to be a mistake. Out of the tide of people, a boy emerged like a garish and flamboyant shark, having caught sight of the stationary prey.

"Hello!" he boomed from behind the pair, causing Madeira to flinch and give an undignified squeak of surprise.

The boy couldn't have been older than fifteen. A human with nut brown skin and a wide smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. He was dressed well and in the customary kaleidoscope of Alvadas fashion, and in colours that seared any eyeball that dared to look too directly. But perhaps his most unusual accessory was the contraption he was wearing on his back. Strapped to him was a poll nearly two meters long, out of which sprouted branches which hung long strips of cloth in every material, colour, and pattern imaginable.

"Ma'am, and, ah..." his jovial voice faltered as he failed to immediately assign a gender to the amorphous Pycon in her arms. "and Pycon", he recovered quickly. "May I interest you in that latest must-have fashion? As seen on such notable people as the actress Mela Ai'lanara, and catching on everywhere, sashes! The summer craze. Anything catch your eyes? Anything?" The boy did a quick pirouette, and the material on his pole flared out to look like the worlds strangest tree. "And I, of course, have all sizes available." he winked cheekily at Cabochon.
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Postby Cabochon on July 19th, 2017, 8:17 pm

Cabochon was left in a daze of confusion and overwhelming feeling as Madeira returned to the Eypharian. Good Ionu above, how had he never come to notice that? His short arm slapped his hand onto his temple in dismay. Could he really be considered a cannibal? Were all Pycon, in fact, cannibalistic, then? His hand slipped off his face and grew limp again. Everywhere he looked now, his gaze was misted by his revelation. He couldn't keep the ruminating frown off of his face, becoming frustrated when he couldn't smile back after one was thrown his way. They would never know, he thought, about the toil he had just begun to experience. And good for them, on that note. Ignorance truly was bliss.

He stayed silent through the entire mettle between Madeira and the woman. He could only stare on in unbelief as she attempted, yet again, to sway another merchant. Her charm was unsuccessful, and Cabochon only caught flickers of the conversation as they were sent on their way. The Eypharian warmly invited him to return any time, Madeira being shoved along with tense politeness. Almost nonchalantly, the Pycon spoke his mind.

"You're not very good at that," he commented. "You should probably stop. Or, if you're going to continue, consult an expert."

Regardless of her answer, he remained stagnant. Nothing could have possibly bothered him now, at this stage. He compensated for the shift of weight when Madeira lifted a hand to shield her eyes. Maybe she wasn't all he thought her to be. Maybe, for him, this was a lesson in disguise. Whatever this was meant to be, he had to recollect himself and appreciate the time spent with her. They were guests of each other's space, at this point, and manners were always at the forefront of Cabochon's mind.

As their strolling continued, the heat climbed steadily. Cabochon felt his back begin to tighten, a signal that he needed to start moving, or something. Mrs. Craven herself tested the stretch of her collar, fixing its position on her neck and adjusting her shoulders. He was happy when she spoke again, because her prompt fell right in line with his thoughts.

"Cabochon, would you mind if you sat in the crook of my arm, here? My shoulder is getting a little tired."

"I will gladly take you up on that offer," he replied, a look of relief on his face.

His absent-mindedness started fading by then, and he was much more responsive than before. He waited for her arm to stiffen before clambering down, very carefully. After he found a position, he moved his coin purse down as well, his leg dangling off the side of her arm as he rested his backpack on his frame. Once he settled in, she continued walking, and he had to coordinate his body to align with her stride. It was graceful, but heavy, as if weighed down by more than just herself and her possessions. He knew there was weight he'd added on, but the heaviness he felt was different. Maybe, as usual, he was overthinking things again, and it was just his own mind that put those notions in his head. During the silence a thought crept in, and he couldn't keep it to himself.

"I guess that means we're no different than those people the lady talked about," he decided. "What did she call them? May-reeans?"

He sounded out the word carefully, but he had a feeling he'd pronounced it incorrectly. Whatever they were called, it seemed to him that they were all alike now, the only thing separating them being the makeup of their lives. To any person with extensive knowledge of other races, they'd know immediately that was a fallible claim. The curious, wandering, knowledge-thirsty Pycon were nothing close to the vicious, territorial, blood-thirsty Myrians. Sure, there were some shared qualities, but they were so few and far between that they didn't really determine anything other than livelihood. After some more walking, Madeira had stopped, turning about and assessing their surroundings.

"So, where to next? There are some clothing shops that way, or a very talented jewelsmith around the corner. The herbalist is back the way we came…”

He shrugged. He had no need of anything else. He returned to fumbling around with the iron ring he was given earlier. No later than his silent answer, though, did a young and boisterous voice shout out behind them.

"Hello!"

Cabochon was suddenly turned around, the arm that sat solidly underneath him jerked in automatic response. He felt his torso slip through the crevice, and he clutched her limb with his body while grabbing his coin purse with his walking hand. Breathing heavily, he looked up irritably, and the culprit readily revealed himself. An adolescent male dressed up in atrocious fashion stood before them. As soon as he began rambling, Cabochon rolled his eyes. How many times did he have to tell people? Fabric and soft, unrefined clay do not mix. If he wanted clothing, he would have developed it directly onto his body. But he didn't want to be so straightforward with the boy. He was trying to make money, after all. He decided to dissuade him in another fashion.

"Are you selling pillows?" he blurted out. The teenager, completely blindsided by the Pycon's question, took a moment to prepare himself.

"I'm sorry, what?" he asked.

"Are you selling pillows?" he repeated, this time with more emphasis on his words. The adolescent shook his head.

"I'm sorry, but I don't - we're not selling those-."

"Then I am quite alright. Thank you!" With an odd, jovial expression, he pleasantly dissuaded him from a further conversation. He hoped that Madeira would be a little more gentle in her own tactics. He couldn't control her response, but he hoped, by a chance of their eyes meeting, that he could tell her through his pupils to gracefully disengage. He fixed his grasp on his purse as he waited for her response.


OOCSorry I didn't respond yesterday, something came up. But it's here now!
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