Currency, Currently

by **Madeira Dusk** on July 20th, 2017, 6:34 am

"Do you sell pillows?"

The Pycon in her arms blurted out, cutting the youth off between breaths. And while the boy's dark eyes were furrowed and focused in confusion even after Cabochon repeated himself, Madeira was forced to look up and away to hide the amusement in her eyes. It was very painfully obvious that the boy was selling nothing but sashes. The sneaky little Pycon must have been telling the merchant to piss off politely.

The Pycon ended his skillful avoidance with a hearty 'thank you!’, and at that moment caught Madeira's eye. For a tick the Spiritist was shocked at how much expression the little clay man had. Though there was nothing in his facial features that even hinted at human structure, he looked at her with eyes that were clearly beseeching. He was telling her to get them out of there while saying nothing at all.

"Ma'am? What can I get you Ma'am?" the boy jolted her out of her pondering. He seemed to be taking the Pycon's refusal in stride, and had her pinned with the force of his renewed jolly smile.

"Nothing, thank you." she refused with a polite incline of her head.

"Oh, but I think you would look great in-" he pulled down a sheer gossamer sash printed with stars. But before he could hold it up to Madeira's face, she lifted her unoccupied hand with her pointer finger extended in a shushing gesture.

"Nothing, thank you." she said again with identical inflection, yet this time there was something much more powerfully final in her refusal. The boy went to speak again, only to reconsider and close his mouth. With a nervous bow to both of them he scuttled off into the crowd, where his bizarre pole of sashes bobbed above their heads like the mast of a ship.

Madeira adjusted her arm beneath the Pycon, making sure to hold him more securely. She almost catapulted him out of her arms the last time she was spooked.

"We'd best continue on, or we might end up accosted again”, she commented lightly.

The next few moments were silent as Madeira struggled to find her stride in the crush of people. But eventually her steps lengthened as she figured out the ebb and current of the crowd. It was past midday and the shadows were starting to tip east, delivering some much needed shade.

"They're called Myrians." she suddenly spoke after several chimes, as if continuing a conversation she was having in her head. "Not May-reeans. They're known to be cannibals, yes, but they eat sentient flesh. So unless you've been snacking on your fellow Pycons, you're not like them." She paused for a moment as a memory surfaced in her mind, and she smiled wryly. "I met a pair of Myrian women once. They were some of the most intimidating creatures I'd ever met. I don't doubt for a second they would have skinned me if the mood possessed them.” The night she met them, accompanied by the ghost of Hurik a few days into the Illusion Festival, was an absolute disaster from start to finish. What started with a quest to find the ghost's body had ended in a secret gambling ring with some very violent characters. Characters that were not afraid of ghosts or skinny posh girls.

by **Cabochon** on July 23rd, 2017, 1:24 am

Her arm had become comfy to him, and as they walked on, the bustle of the crowd began to lull him to sleep. It was the perfect time, after all; a midday nap was something he was always used to. He almost seemed to shimmy down further into the crook of her arm, and he felt his eyelids droop with heaviness. Before he could really sink into sleep, Madeira had responded to his earlier prompt, and he adjusted himself to wake himself up.

"They're called Myrians." His gaping mouth of anticipation was shut with her correction. Well, at least he knew now. His thoughts were permeated when Madeira added further commentary. "Not May-reeans," she even used his initial pronunciation. It wasn't mockery, he knew that. She was merely making a distinction. "They're known to be cannibals, yes, but they eat sentient flesh. So unless you've been snacking on your fellow Pycons, you're not like them."

This statement further confused Cabochon. How was that any different than what she said prior? Was there a difference between flesh eating men and clay eating Pycons? Then, something else came to mind, and it worried him dearly. Did Myrians eat their prey live? They didn't bother to kill them before ripping into their skin? His worry soon turned to disgust, and his mouth twisted downward subconsciously. That was absolutely terrible! He began to imagine the screams and the moans of agony that would pierce the sky, and how awfully painful that must have been! Disgust further shifted to dread, and for the first time he hoped he'd never cross paths with one of those fiends. It was uncanny how quickly he came to that thought, for Madeira spoke his mind moments later.

"I met a pair of Myrian women once. They were some of the most intimidating creatures I'd ever met. I don't doubt for a second they would have skinned me if the mood possessed them."

What a way for fears to be confirmed. His body shuddered at hearing those words. So much for sleeping. He was fully awake now, ready and alert. Attempting to change the conversation, he prompted Mrs. Craven with small talk.

"So, what is it that you do? Are you married? Do you have children?" He slowed himself down, noticing he'd begun to act like a child. Where was his decency! And they were quite personal, at that! Then again, she never mentioned anything of the sort, no less hint at it. He quickly apologized, "I'm sorry if that was too invasive. I'm simply trying to get the thoughts of those Myrians off my mind. Eating prey while it's alive is something I'd rather not ruminate on."

OOCI'm not really sure how to continue from here, that's why it's shorter than normal. I trust your story-telling skills.

by **Madeira Dusk** on July 25th, 2017, 3:14 am

Madeira blinked, struck dumb by the sudden barrage of personal questions. But before she could think too deeply about how the conversation had taken a drastic turn, the Pycon quickly apologized. It seemed she had delved too deep into the topic of Myrians and the poor man had been spooked. She would indulge him in the small talk, though. She was curious about her first ever Pycon, and wanted to know him better.

"No, I'm not married. I don't have children." She would be expected to find herself an appropriate human man and continue the line one day, but thankfully she had another couple years before that particular axe fell.

"And I'm a Craven." She said this the same way one might say Cobbler or Fisherman, a title rather than a name. "You know," she continued awkwardly, "Spiritist, Exorcist, Witch-" she let her left hand trace through the air in a rolling motion of infinity. She had never had to explain her profession before, and she found the experience was more
uncomfortable than she expected. Though the Avalad law against magic didn't extend to the very necessary art of Spiritism, she was aware that it came with a dose of that particular brand of fear. A fear that her powerful, influential family did nothing to discourage.

"How about you, Cabochon? An articulate gentleman like yourself must be..." She tried to puzzle out what kind of jobs the little clay man could do. Nothing too physical, considering his race. He was a kind, thoughtful and well mannered creature that she imagined would be good working with people. "...A Scribe, maybe? Or a Clerk? And I imagine you grew up here. You have the accent." An accent and that particular madness that everyone born and raised in the city of illusions had. She was sure that she would be able to spot an Avalad in any city in the world by that spark in their eye.

The crowd began to thin as the two moved along. Slowly the heavy, discordant scents of spices, leather, soap and clay began to fade from their noses, though it stuck stubbornly to Madeira's clothes. And the barking of the Hawkers (one of whom was actually barking, she was amused to see) faded one by one. Until finally the two new acquaintances broke through the other side of the Bazaar like swimmers coming up for air.

The street opened before them with a sight you'd only see in Alvadas. Thick flocks of butterflies had taken to the sky, throwing spastic shadows across the street. Madeira had to shield her eyes and squint before she could say for sure, but it appeared every one of the flapping creatures was made of bread. There was a black rye bread, a fluffy white sourdough, a yellowish buttermilk...

The window of the shop beside them suddenly burst open, and a baker in a flour smeared apron nearly fell bodily out of the sill. Clutched tightly in his powerful baker arms was a baguette that appeared to be rapidly dissolving into more butterflies. With a roar of dismay the baker lost his strange tug-o'-war with the bread, and the butterflies took flight to join their freshly baked brethren.

OOCThis is what happens when you leave me to my own devices.

by **Cabochon** on July 26th, 2017, 2:22 pm

With the answering of her questions, Cabochon nodded and arched his head to watch her gestures and facial expressions. For as tired a thing as she looked, she was quite lively when she wanted to be. Her mannerisms reminded him of his father, who was just as visual a speaker. That aspect of her character brought a homely satisfaction to the Pycon, and the nostalgic feelings it harbored resonated well with him. It was the explanation of her profession, however, that warped her fluidity. The protruding layer of clay over his eyes narrowed in curiosity when she began to talk about the practice. Her own eyebrows would crinkle, stretch, furrow and such until the proper words escaped from her lips. Even her mouth at times would pause, formulating her words carefully before speaking them. She did have some class, he thought, at least in certain situations. While she didn't speak many words, the ones she did speak were careful and specific.

On the subject of her job, she had difficulty explaining exactly what a Spiritist was and what they did. A witch? An exorcist? He'd heard of magics of all sorts. His uncle was a reimancer, after all. When the Pycon finally stopped to think about it, the situation was rather an odd one. A Pycon that deals with fire. What in the world was he thinking? Maybe that was why his mother disapproved of her brother's actions, and maybe, even, magic in general. Then again, he had a right, didn't he? If he wished to go off and put his life in danger, so be it. He was grown; he should have had a notion of how threatening it was. Maybe that was why his mother asked him to abstain from those things. Madeira pulled Cabochon out of his train of thought by asking her own questions.

"How about you, Cabochon? An articulate gentleman like yourself must be..." Be what? Be a what? Was that a good thing? What did articulate mean? He'd never heard that word before. "...A Scribe, maybe? Or a Clerk? And I imagine you grew up here. You have the accent."

Her last comment struck a chord of familiarity. Yes, she was correct. Alvads did have a sort of accent. An amalgamation of past heritages and ancestries all underlined by a stroke of irritation. No, not irritation... Weariness, maybe? The constant shift and change of a city on a daily basis makes things complicated, no matter the level of optimism. But back to her question. Articulate must've meant something good, for the jobs she prompted were good jobs for hardworking individuals. He felt just as odd as she did when he answered negatively.

"I am currently unemployed. I only started living on my own towards the end of Winter. That was when my parents left to return to their old lifestyles. Ever the adventurers."

A strained laugh made its way out, but it hinted at sadness. As much as he was supposed to independent, he still wished to spend time with them. They were his, blood? No; clay? That didn't sound right, either. Nonetheless, they were family, and he cared about them. He often turned the idea over in his head when he was left alone to think. Wasn't he supposed to be the one who went off an explored? The one who was supposed to find his way in the world? But how could he get out of the city if the Isur controlled the roads? His parents must've had some kind of reputation with them if they could have entered and left so easily. If that was the case, the credibility his parents had wouldn't carry over to him. He had to forge his own way and he knew that.

The continued silence eventually brought them out of the bustle of the crowd. He felt Madeira's arm shift suddenly, and he looked up to see what caused her to shift her weight. Her eyes were closed as she took in some scents the city released into the air, and they were pleasant. He could tell by the faint smile on her face and the relaxed nature of her eyelids. He, however, was put off by this action. He'd never caught a "scent" before, and he always wondered what was so important about them. Were they a natural function that he'd neglected to implement? Was that something he should've invested in?

Suddenly, the air in front of them burst into a flurry of butterflies! Cabochon's eyes widened and a smile appeared on his face as they circled around themselves! Then, almost with a wave of the wind, they dissipated into the sky, shifting to random slices of bread, and Cabochon's smile faded to a gaping disappointment. Ionu did have a sense of humor, he guessed.

Their disappearance into the sky drew his gaze towards the sun, seeing it was beginning to point westward. He had everything he needed, at that point.

"If you want, you can let me down. I'm good from here," he prompted.

He didn't wish to be so sudden, but he wasn't sure what else to talk about. Besides, she probably had a lot of important work to do, and he didn't want to take away from that. Spiritist rang with a heavy kind of duty, and he understood the importance of making a living. He, inevitably, would do the same himself one day. Hobbling forward a little bit, he turned his body around to her and bowed his head respectfully.

"Well, it was very nice to meet you. If you're busy, I really don't want to take that time away from you. Besides, I have everything I need." His head rolled into his traveling hand's shoulder with a sort of awkward disposition. What a way to end a pleasant conversation.

by **Madeira Dusk** on July 27th, 2017, 12:17 am

The sliced-bread-butterflies seemed to almost evaporate as soon as the two were in their midst. They carried off into the sky leaving every cook and baker on the street to cautiously lean out their windows and balconies with wary suspicion. Madeira was still looking after the freshly baked illusion when the Pycon in her arm stirred restlessly and asked to be put down.

"Oh, of course! I apologize."

She knelt in the street and let the lopsided creature slide out of his perch. Even with the strange chest piece and lopsided limbs, the man had an almost Kelvic grace to him. Perhaps it came with having designed his own body, and thus he knew exactly how it worked. She wondered if all Pycon were the same that way.

He gave a pleasant, if slightly awkward, goodbye. His head rolled onto his shoulder bashfully at the end, in a way she would never admit she found unbearably cute. Still on her knees she extended two fingers to the man to shake.

"It was a pleasure to meet you too, Cabochon. You make a lovely introduction to the Pycon race", her thin lips quirked into a smile. "If you ever want to look me up, I live in a cottage with this symbol here-“ she took his shorter arm between her fingers and shallowly carved a sixteen point star into the back of his hand with her nail. “-scratched into a blue door. Have a good evening, now."

The Spiritist got to her feet and, with a parting wave to her new friend, she continued down the cobble road. All the while wishing that all her shopping trips could have such interesting company.

by **Yisanareysin** on August 11th, 2017, 9:14 am

The ssssssnake hassss your gradesssss...

Madeira

Skills

Lores

Rewards & Retribution

Comments
Madeira's gonna have to live with having given Cabochon a complex about his food forever. Great thread, you guys :3

Cabochon

Skills

Lores

Rewards & Retribution

Comments
Just so you know, Kalea's Kiln is actually the name of a shop in Alvadas, not a stall in the Bizarre. Just for future reference. I loved reading about Cabochon's mini crisis about his food source, and his wonder at being able to see top shelves was great XD

Don't forget to delete your post in the grading queue, and if you have any questions or concerns, feel free to PM me about your grade!

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