Sunflower Festival - Drabble - Gateway Flea Market
🍻-- The market and piqued his interest previously, but he hadn't really gone to take a good look at it yet. Now with all the buzz of stalls and wares from beyond this place (as well as specialties that could only be found at this festival or time of year) he was even more interested. Maybe he could find something from home. Maybe something of his own or something of someone else's. He didn't know how much he trusted those rumors, but, well, it couldn't hurt to take a look. Nothing better to do anyways.
It reminded him a bit of the hawker stalls in Madripoor. At least here he didn't need his Patch persona to get around and haggle. And there was probably less chance of getting caught up in the criminal underbelly of the city. Not that that had meant much in Madripoor considering that the whole island was a criminal haven. In any case the market was full of stalls and tents and wares. It was practically a maze. But far from the lawless concrete jungle of Madripoor.
Logan meandered and peered at things, asking prices here and there as he wandered the tent and maze of stalls and booths. He cautiously sniffed at aromatics and spices. Took a free sample when something seemed especially good. More than once or twice he thought he spotted something he recognized. Some manifesto, a small trinket he knew belonged to someone back home. Hell, he was certain he'd seen some bit of a Sentinel sitting around - that was a little more difficult to tell though. He was also certain that he had seen one of Itsu's combs, One of her kimono's…
As he was inspecting that avenue though and trying to determine if it wasn't just some coincidence, something else got his attention. A little pocket knife, a razor really, that sat nearby.
He recognized that knife… Little engravings. A fancy and worn J.H. along the dark wooden handle. It was nearly faded with the age and use of it, but it was still there. Faintly.
Logan reached out and picked it up slowly, flicked the blade out with a practiced swish of his wrist. It popped open easy enough. A whole hell of a lot easier than he'd thought it would. It also looked used but not… ancient the way he'd expected. It wasn't dull either. Still had a nice shine and seemed almost as if it had been recently taken care of.
Logan found himself scoffing just slightly. Not a bad noise. More mystified. Of all things, he hadn't expected this. He could still remember the way that his father, John Howlett, had used that very blade to cut his cigars. And shave his face. And peel or cut fruit. A real multi-purpose thing this had been. John had always taken good care of it and made a point to tell Logan when he was young that 'a man must to put effort into maintaining the things he cares about'. Appearance and appliances both.
…Fleeing the estate hadn't allowed him time to gather any mementos. Shortly after his memories had blurred and become lost to him as his healing factor wrote over the trauma of it all. It had been long too late by the time he chose to visit the Howlett estate again nearly two centuries later. It had been done away with, rotted and bulldozed to make way for modern land developments as Cold Lake grew.
Logan tucked the razor back in and held it carefully.
"How much for this razor?"
