#bolframmon

Not all of which he'd allowed, a few had taken their leave over it — something he didn't particularly mind. No need to conform to rules they couldn't abide by nor would he put the comfort or safety of his own crew in jeopardy over a single entity.

As of that morning he'd put his mind to those who'd figured they could lose themselves into the crowd, dissolve without ever being known or simply those used to a different type of settlement. It didn't matter, he'd learn each individual by face, name and capabilities eventually and he would seek them out if they wouldn't come before him.

It's one such individual that had brought him before one of the tents. Jangles enters without much ceremony, the flap of fabric thrust to the side as he steps inside.

There is a lantern mere inches from his face that makes him recoil briefly, an unnatural greenish light twirls almost invisibly behind the foggy glass. One of his metal fingers taps against the crystal, the light flares. Deep-set eyes narrow before he ducks under it, continuing his way towards the counter.

There doesn't seem to be a salesman, either hidden behind wares, some other compartment of the tent or simply just out of his line of sight.

[Jangles] Y'surely got wares.

Bolframmon appears from out the corner of the tent, his gear and collection scattered about the place and certain spells and barriers have not been set up, bar the dangling lantern of an unusual flame you could be convinced it is just another tent. He is surprised to have a visitor so soon as he has not even put up a sign saying what this place is. He studies the man briefly, clearly seeing from his attire he’s a Dreglander and must be one of the few running this new town. Either that or he’s just a really nosey one who came to see what was about.

[Bolframmon] *he coughs to announce his presence before approaching* I do indeed have wares, sir! Although I must apologise for the state of the place, I was not expecting customer or company anytime soon.

The sound catches Jangles' attention, he turns from the multitude of odd looking wares over to the owner of the place. The Dreglander doesn't hide his brief inspection, his eyes flicking from head to toes and back. He cocks his head briefly, his brow raises just enough to light up his eyes by the reflection of the flame, they flick over to the rest of the tent, his mouth purses slightly making a 'not-bad'-expression.

[Jangles] Tidiness ain't a thing y'gotta fear with me about. Y'do yer business as y'see it.

He steps away from the counter, turning more towards Bolframmon, the glint of the lantern showing his shabby outfit consisting out of a sleeveless vest and a pair of slacks. They might be a desert-camo, though it's difficult to determine whether the plethora of stains is a design choice or the result of wear-and-tear.

[Jangles] It's Jangles, by the way. Ain't here for y'wares. Got nothin' missin' from m'life. Nothing that y'can find in a random tent anyway. Real reason I'm here's t'see if y'got anything missin' on yer own end. Is my job t'see everyone happy an' dandy an' fantastic. Ain't gonna have a sit down and a sob, tho. Just lookin' t'see if yer needin' a supply-a-power or water, really.

Bolf’s faced changes to a surprised expression at Jangles’ offer, he wasn’t too sure what to expect here but the offer of help certainly wasn’t on that list. He smiles as he extends his hand towards Jangles.

[Bolframmon] A pleasure to meet you Jangles, my name is Bolframmon. I appreciate the offer for power and water, but I will be quite fine, I’ve come prepared already. *He looks about his tent again.* Although once this mess is organised and the rest of the tent is set up, I think a drink might be desperately needed.

[Jangles] Basically Bolf then.

He eyes the hand that's inching towards him, he raises his corresponding hand, the metal glinting in the low light of a few lanterns. There is a hesitance in his action as he extends his, a split-second of doubt before he allows the other man to take it.

[Jangles] Ain't a scam that I'm runnin'. Won't mess with y'things and only askin' what's fair in 'xchange. But if y'got it down all's the better for it, 'suppose. Just lettin' y'know it's on the table. We've also got decent tradin' routes outside adda settlement so if yer needin' fer something specific y'can let me settle up arrangements.

A sly grin snakes onto his face as he hears Bolf, his body language becomes a bit more open, stiff muscles in a defensive posture slacking ever so slightly. A satisfied grin ending in a gentle chuckle.

[Jangles] Ain't that what anyone's needin'? We've got a nice diner 'round here somewhere. Good prices, great patron. Or else I'm sure y'can find someone willin' t'trade a decent bottle fer onna y'wares. Just outta curiosities sake… Whadda y'dealin' anyway?

[Bolframmon] A diner? Well, I could use a good meal too, I’ll go have a nose later. As to your other question…

He steps away and gestures towards the various items scattered about, upon looking books of various sizes can be seen, necklaces and earrings are gently hanging of a stand, and some sort of weapon can also be seen sticking out of a barrel.

[Bolframmon] Without the long winded explanation, you can call me a merchant who specialises in magical wares. Relics, spellbooks, enchantments and potions etc. Basically if you need something magic based or need something removed, I’m your man.

Jangles' mouth twitches, like he'd just bitten down on a lemon or set his teeth into something rotten. His hand is quick to retreat to his body, fingers coiling back into his icy palm.

[Jangles]  Fuckin' Benign ain't guidin' shit today! Haddan inkling, yeah.

The curse dies off into a weak sigh. It's a weak lie, an attempt to save face if only for himself. He'd been suspicious of Bolf but for the same reason he is suspicious of anyone not from the Dreglanders. Anyone he couldn't pinpoint with one look.

His gaze goes over the tent and the wares on display again, as if he could see the corruption dripping off of it now, he couldn't. Boxes don't act suspicious when they're different. They might glow or groan but installing a few LEDs or throwing your voice could give you the same effects. Pretend magic was more common in the Dreglands, pretend magic was a niceness, an escape… Real magic was something people would escape from.

[Jangles] Cannai ask y'the keep this on the down-low? Ain't lookin' t'make a big deal outta this… But y'chose a peculiar place t'set up shop. Dreglanders ain't fonda things that ain't… regular. Gotta bad history. If y'gotta sell dancin' candles or self-readin' books don't put them out on the curb 't catch attention. We've gotta rule that keeps us happy: If it don't have t'magic it shouldn't. I don't givva shit what y'do behind these here curtains. I givva shit that my people ain't comfortable. Y'do yer business behind this here cloth and we're all happy an' dandy. That business bleeds out onto the streets and I end up comfortin' a sweet thing and explainin' that there ain't corruption nibbling at their home our bussiness-relations might end up a tad strained. I tend t'snap when I'm put under strain…

Bolframmon raises an eyebrow at the sudden reaction and request, was he afraid of magic? It had been a long time since Bolframmon had been in the west but he swears that they handled the realisation of the arcane better than this. But this man has been polite and he has no intention of causing any trouble yet.

[Bolframmon] *raises his hands in a mock surrender pose smiling at Jangles.* You have my word, sir. My business will only take place in this tent! Your people need not fear me and my wares and it will never get out... Unless you guys want a magic show? I still have the top hat and magic wand somewhere…

[Jangles] Good.

There is a timbre to his voice, a low growl akin to a threatened animal. A defence installed in him from a young age. Something feral that many of his countrymen share with him. His arms twitch, the loose bolts rattle against the metal rods. If he'd still have skin he would have goosebumps by now, how fortunate that metal has difficulties displaying the more minute details of interactions.

[Jangles] No need ferra sharp, condescending tongue. Things don't need 't get hostile neither. Just a word-a-warning… real friendly-like. Things get… uncomfortable when y've only gotta blade and y'know opposite you's a guy that can melt ya with the flick of his eyes. It's better not to let the general people think 'bout such things. Fear tends t'breed stupidity… Ain't nobody served with stupidity.

A deadpan look, almost serious haunts Jangles' face for a brief moment, his eyes crawl up from a point of nowhere and back to Bolf. Upon seeing the man's face his familiar grin places itself on his face once more.

[Jangles] Don't mean drinks're off the table… Might just not let ya get 'm fer me.

At that final sentence Bolframmon does a mock gasp and puts his hand on his heart, but behind the act the gears turn in his mind as he puts together what kind of situation he’s now in.

In short these folk aren’t the biggest fan of magic and sound prone to turn into an angry mob at a moments notice, for now he’ll have to bite his tongue and play nice with the other children.

[Bolframmon] *still on mock gasp stance* Why Jangles! We’ve only met and yet your words hurt me so, *He grins and chuckles.* but your rules and advice are accepted and heard loud and clear, if anyone should ask about me just tell them I sell remedies and random antiques. Would that make you easier, my friend?

Bolframmon's words roll around in Jangles’ head for a brief moment.

[Jangles] I can be a right bastard without even tryin', Bolf.

His grin stands fast on his face, faltering slightly as the topic switches.

[Jangles] Can live with that. I'm sure there's mora yer type skulkin' 'round. These typa places tend t' attract 'em. Y'can deal with 'em, no problem. Y'can sell old shit to Dreglanders if they're into it but if y'know it's magic and they don't… I'm gonna trust y'not to sell it t'them. I don't wanna stick my arm in another wasp nest knownin' 't can be avoided. Dreggies point 'emselves out. If I know of others like yerself I'll let 'em know yer a good one t'interact with.

There is a pause, Jangles fills it the only way he knows how; making odd noises with his arms or clearing his throat. He still feels the dread creep around him, what few and short hairs he has on the back of his neck stand upright.

[Jangles] Gonna wish ya good luck with yer wares then… Suppose I came to say what I hadta… If ya got more questions y'can find me at the general store… The little tent with the hairy elephant in front of it. Y'll find either me or Roan there. Roan always knows where I am.

[Bolframmon] *He bows politely* Thank you, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, no doubt I’ll be around soon to invite you for a drink. *He starts to head back to the far corner of the tent before turning back and smiling at Jangles* And thank you for your warm welcome.

Jangles sets a foot back, his other is quick to follow.

[Jangles] I ain't goin' nowhere. I'll be seein' y'round.

The inside of Bolframmon’s tent is lit with gently guttering points of multicoloured light, contained in strange lanterns of smoked glass. Arabesque shadows are cast around the wares laid out for sale, and saffron incenses smokes on the dark wooden shelves. Books of every colour of ancient leather are stacked in leaning piles, amongst rolled parchments and boxes of carved yew wood. The door, of draped cloth, is pulled back shyly, curiously, and a young woman steps wide-eyed into the tent.

Finding no attendant, Isabel approaches the little table, where several daggers of beautiful, scintillating alloy are arrayed for inspection on a cloth of silk. Below them, a sword, inscribed with unknown runes and inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Isabel carries a simple cage of rain-rusted brass. Inside, a few subdued songbirds chirrup. Bundled over her shoulder are rolls of linen, calico, embroidered taffeta, and held in the crook of her elbow, oddly iridescent hand woven lace in guipure style. The young woman looks weary, and her hair has been made untidy by the recent rain. [Isabel] … Hello? Sir? Madam?

[Bolframmon] *heard in the distance* One moment!..

Bolframmon appears out from behind the counter, almost out of nowhere, the lanterns about the tent change colour to a bright blue upon his arrival. He smiles at his guest although his eyes show a brief moment of surprise. His customers were of varying ages and cultures but it had been a while since someone had entered his tent so young. But there was something else about her that he couldn’t put his finger on, it's almost as if there was an air of familiarity about her, it almost reminded him of home.

[Bolframmon] Good Afternoon my dear! How can I be of help?

Her voice is watery with nervousness. But she smiles and bows slightly.

[Isabel] … I have birds for sale, Sir, and fabrics too; none salvaged nor burned! Threads, too, pins, nothing State, no substitutes. The lace is good Sir, hand made… Now, a man of stature ought to have some embellishment… Customers don’t like to see a threadbare merchant … Shall we try this?

The young woman hefts the fabrics onto his small table and places the cage on the floor. The birds cheep and flutter anxiously. She lifts a portion of silk, dyed in a gradients of blue and presses it against Bolf’s shoulder.

[Isabel] Oh how it suits you! You’ll be the envy of all others! And how about a plump little bird or two for supper? Why, they’re delicious soaked in Armagnac…

Bolframmon raises an eyebrow at the young lady and smiles, she’d almost make a fantastic saleswomen if she didn’t sound so nervous. But why is she nervous? I’ve done nothing to make her that way... He takes the fine silk into his hands, making sure to keep eye contact with the seamstress

[Bolframmon] No doubt your wares are lovely and this is all well and good, but you’ve yet to answer my question; how can I help you? What exactly are you after miss?

She meets his strange eyes. Her own are a shade mismatched and her hands, against him, are gloved.

[Isabel] … Honest trade Sir - Shoes for the horse, tabac… The road is hard… And you can’t sell anything to these State-ones, they’d rather die from the cold than trade for a woollen cloak… Foul men. There. Now this seam should lie flat. A man should dress every day as if he might meet his bride, or his worst enemy!

He chuckles at the last statement His Bride or his Worst Enemy, last time he was well dressed she turned out to be both. He still felt like she was after something else, but he decided to play along. At the minimum he was getting some additions to his robes.

[Bolframmon] Very well then, let us trade! I have some fine tabac from down south that I’ll exchange for this lovely silk you’ve bestowed upon me! And that black songbird *He hears the songbird chirp, it sounds worried* and no I’m not going to eat you little one.

She makes a sound of discontent, moving around him to bunch the silk into dramatic drapes.

[Isabel] Well, how much tobacco? Silk is expensive Sir. Very. And this is almost certainly dyed with real lapis. It would be an injustice to let it go for nothing, and my Father, he’s a good man Sir, but he would be terribly angry, you see. You must get a good price Isabel, fifille, if we’re to eat! Yes, and the black one - well, you’ve excellent taste Sir, he has the finest voice of all! Only, the blacksmith has already offered me a pretty penny for him… I suppose I’d take a dagger, the tobacco, perhaps some oil for my lamps Sir, if you can spare it for a young lady? And a handful of your coin of course - for the lot.

She steps back, admiringly.

[Isabel] No brass of course. Now doesn’t that look handsome. Dazzling! You look clad in evening itself.

[Bolframmon] *he looks at the adjustments she has made to his robes, he grins at the handiwork* Well well, the young lady has beauty and brains it seems! I have plenty of tobacco to trade and you raise a hard bargain! But on consideration this is exceptional craftsmanship so I accept! But on one condition…

He places a hand on one of the ornate daggers, its handle decorated with runes and its blade intricate but clearly deadly.

[Bolframmon] What does one as lovely as yourself need a dagger for?

She looks aside. Her voice becomes a murmur.

[Isabel] Well... In case I meet my worst enemy of course... Since I am already dressed for him.

She bows in her blood red cloak.

Bolframmon looks at the young girl, finally understanding her nerves. Who is going after a young girl? Then he remembered how disgusting humanity can be, and they call him the monster.

[Bolframmon] Very well… then we must arm you with something that matches your attire my dear.

He reaches underneath the stall and pulls out a small blade, its blade straight on one side but curved at another, foreign symbols etched upon its bottom. It’s handle is leather leaving diamond patterns up to the guard and on its sheath, a  a small charm hangs from it. Both handle and sheath almost matching the red of the young ladies cloak.

[Bolframmon] I received this on my journeys through the east, the little charm there is one of protection, may it serve you well… *he places the sealed weapon in both hands and presents it to girl*

Isabel takes the blade. Her careful, merchant eyes take stock of the item, the weight, and finish, all in a polite, but thorough manner. She thumbs the blade from its sheath.

[Isabel] … I’ll show him my blade is just as sharp as my wit and my tongue.

She lays the blade down on her bolts of fabric, and lifts the cage where the little wild birds flutter.

[Isabel] Well, come out, little fascienne. Shhh.

She eases open the little rusted door. The birds panic, but her quick, gloved hands seize the blackbird securely. She brings it from the cage, oddly subdued in her hands. A few threads of spider web cling to the feathers of the bird, and she picks them off.  Bringing it close to her lips she whispers a few lulling words. It’s cheeps soften, until the bird’s eyes are blank and it is unmoving. Isabel brings up her other hand to close around its little neck. She pauses, eyes narrowing.

[Isabel] Are you certain you won’t have him for supper, chou? I will pluck ‘im for you.

Bolframmon raises his hand to halt her and shakes his head

[Bolframmon] No no, the bird won’t be eaten, it's much more useful as it is right now, more entertaining too.

He walks around the corner, returning with a black steel bird cage, its frame decorated with wires looking like vines and flowers. He props it on the counter before pulling out a small bag out of his robe sleeve. The bag is made of a similar material to his robes and looks somewhat full, it jingles as he places it down and opening it reveals a large variety of currencies. He takes out a few gold coins and slides them over to his customer.

Isabel looks over the transaction and the markings in the coins of soft, old gold. Bolf has been generous, and she gives a nod of thanks, before laying down the fragile, seemingly sleeping bird beside the coin. [Isabel] One less for the pot! He will wake up. Take him. She watches as Bolf also prepares a bundle of dried tobacco leaves, and she places the coin in her needleworked leather satchel as he does so, tucking the sword under her arm and the bundle of tobacco in the crux of her elbow. Isabel turns, shouldering her burden of silks, rags, and fabrics, and lifting her cage again. [Isabel] If I catch ‘im a Mrs. Blackbird, Sir, I will come back. They will duet.

[Bolframmon] *he smiles at her as he places the bird in his new cage* And I’m sure a lovely duet it will be *he bows* A pleasure doing business miss.

Isabel departs his tent, laden with her goods, returning his smile with a wink.

Bolframmon turns his attention to the bird, gently stroking its wing as it awakens. A brief tingling sensation flows through the tip of his fingers, a sign of magic.

A sweet aroma fills the air, the rich smell of chocolate, almost strong enough to be smelled outside the small merchant tent, comes flying from the door behind the stall.

A happy whistle can be heard, also coming from the back, as Bolf strides into the store with a tray of cookies.

[Bolframmon] Aaaah, just like mother used to make... delightful! *He swipes one of the cookies and takes a huge bite out of it.* Yep…I’ve missed having a place to bake… Wonder if I could sell these?

They decide to take some time from their own stall to look around the settlement and see if there is anything worth seeing. Cassius for his want to silently collect information on those around them, and Amor for his inability to stay still for more than five minutes.

The former is a mountain of a man. Tall and broad with facial features that can be deemed feminine if not for the strong jaw and two days worth of stubble adorning olive skin. Chestnut hair that normally falls to his waist gathered up into a neat bun at the base of his head. The sides of his head neatly shaved to show the tattooed letters 'C.S.'. Dressed all in black from shirt to tie to a tailored suit that has seen better days. Carefully cut out windows on the backs of black leather gloves to show intricate tattooed symbols that will give him away to those who know what they are looking for. Similar windows cut over his bulging biceps to show black ink detailing Furtherances.

The man trotting by his side is stark in contrast.

Shorter than his companion, but by no means frail. Lithe muscle and crude, amateur tattoos are on display as he has chosen to wear no shirt. Only a large leopard print fur coat draped over his shoulders and gold chains upon his chest. Handmade trousers put together by scraps of leather each from a different hide and mismatched army boots completed this frayed and ratted outfit. The hair on his head a shocking shade of white-blonde and standing mostly on end. The owner has long given up on trying to style it. This is hair that did exactly what it wanted.

Amor scratches at his barely groomed beard as the pair wanders up to the first stall. The scent of baking making his stomach growl and a slow grin begins to creep across his face. There is a low hum of warning from Cassius, but Amor is certain that Big J wouldn’t dream of letting anyone dangerous enter his settlement, so going over and saying hello and trying to get a bit of grub isn't going to do any harm.

[Amor] Ey! Y’handin’ those out? Cause, don’t see a fer sale sign or prices an’ shit. This mean they’re open fer grabbin’? Kinda hungry, y’see. Been hard an’ busy work, ya know? Name’s Amor, an’ the big guy ‘ere is Cass.

Cassius stays silent.

Bolf is mid-cookie when his guests enter the tent, looking at their attire he assumes they aren't of a magical profession, although one of the two has a faint air of magic about them. He swallows, smiles at the gentleman and gestures towards the cookies.

[Bolframmon] By all means my friends, come and help yourself! I’ve always thought food tastes better with company anyway, much like drink, wouldn’t you agree? *He stays seated, resting his arms on the stall.*

There is the slightest look exchanged between the two men. Eyes slipping to corners to glance at each other before Amor is moving. Hand reaching out and greedily grabbing three of the cookies in his paw. The slightest huff from Cassius was all the utterance he makes. More a sound of displeasure than a warning. The taller man slowly reaching out and primly plucks a cookie from the plate between his thumb and forefinger. The biscuit scrutinised for a moment before being broken in half. It certainly seems like there was chocolate in there, and a careful bite confirms it. A wary, yet pointed look is sent to the man beside him; who is in the process of shoving the cookies whole into his mouth.

Chocolate. How has this man managed to get hold of chocolate? From the careful exploration of his tongue, he determines either it was a very very good replacement or this man was richer than he seems. Either that or has smuggling connections far out of reach of those of the Dreglands. Cassius carefully considers how he is going to bring this up. Not a man of many words but he listens and pays attention. This is something that would be of use and interest to his companion. And perhaps to Jangles as well. Always know where the money is. It usually leads to the clutch of power.

However, it seems that Amor has been thinking the same thing. Around the prickle of magic his ever rushing mind is trying to ignore and avoid, he has noticed the sweet treat embedded in the cookies. Sugar isn't exactly easy to get hold of, but if you know the right people, say the right thing, have a certain something something to trade… You can get it. Chocolate on the other hand… Hell, he hasn't had chocolate in near enough a year and he was good at what he did.

[Amor] So… Y’loaded or sumink? Cause… Yer standin’ ‘ere handin’ out chocolate like it were jus’ fallin’ from the sky. Gotta understand, friendo, looks mighty suspish. ‘Specially since ya ain’t even had the politeness to offer yer name when I had the common curtus to do it right away.

[Bolframmon] Oh, I do apologise Gentlemen! Where are my manners? *He stands up from his chair, dusting off his robes of crumbs before addressing the two men.* My name is Bolframmon! Travelling merchant and expert in all magical goods, at your service! *He bows politely.* The chocolate you’re enjoying I got from a trade on my way here, I’ve a bit of a sweet tooth so I couldn’t help myself.

Bolf studies the men properly now as he stands up. This 'Amor' is clearly a man of action, and has some strength underneath that giant fur coat, that can prove useful later down the line. Looking at Cassius he locks eyes with him briefly, he can see the man questioning everything about this situation, gears turning and analysing Bolf to his best degree. I guess these are some of the head Dredglanders men, that 'Jangles',  he thinks. He smiles as the men continue to eat his treats, at least his baking is still approved by others

[Amor] Bol...fra...framinnon...faaam… I’ll call ya Bolly. Y’look like a Bolly. Don’ really go wi’ those fancy names. Too many airs an’ graces, y’ get me? As fer that chocolate trader o’yours… Guessin’ ya got the brass then? Wanna share the knowledge? Cause… Sure ya know… Chocolate kinda vanished after the ol’ Staties fucked it all up fer the rest of us. Well… I say vanished… Jus’ fuckin’ hard t’find it anywheres, ya know? Whole world seems like the fuckin’ wastes these days. Yer not from the State are ya…?

Cassius moves a little away from his companion to look at the range of items for sale. He can't really identify if things are actually magical or not, but he has a good feeling that they are a damn sight more legit than the bits of shell and bone that Amor has for sale. Granted, his friend put a lot of work into his charms, and the aesthetic ranged from pretty to verging on voodoo. But nothing that actually works. Amor doesn't work with that kind of magic. His is a raw power he tries to repress. Too much fear of being found out. Of being dragged to the Drowning.

[Amor] Not that I’d judge yer too -harshly- for bein’ a Statie, but…. Well…. Root of all evil an’ all that.

Amor pauses.

[Amor] Hang on… Hang on… Magical goods? So like… Tricks and shit? I do that. Yanno, find the lady, what’s your card. Hopefully there’s punters comin’ through who believe that junk. We both know magic ain’t shit, right Bolly?

Bolframmon raises an eyebrow and chuckles at his new name. He’d been called many things over time, Bolframmon, Lord Bolf and something that rhymes with Passive Stunt all came to mind. Another title for another social circle it seems.

He also couldn’t help but grin at the last statement, Root of all evil, bless these mortals.

[Bolframmon] Bolly will do my friend, and indeed! Magic is indeed a thing of wonder and intrigue, hence my passion for collecting and distributing it as such. Also to answer your question, no, I am not part of this State you speak of…*He looks towards Cassius as he's looking through Bolf’s wares.* See anything of interest? I can explain what it is if so?

[Cassius] No.

His voice is monotone but soft. Cassius feels no need to make any effort for someone they will be leaving behind in a few weeks. Bolf doesn't run the place and he as of yet hadn’t offered any help in trade. He isn't his… Thoughts pause as the word swirls in his head, one that hasn't sit right for a while now. Owner. It has been a long time since he considers himself to have one of those. A long time of Amor telling him over and over not to call him that. Because really, it is damn weird. He hadn’t bought him, he’d saved him. Big difference.

Bolf doesn't own him, doesn't run the trade-post, and so unless Amor demands he play nice, Cassius doesn't owe him shit.

But perhaps he is making excuses for his own prejudices. Old State life still ingrained in his bones. Amor can't help what he is, but this man seems to revel in it. Seems proud of it. Of magic and all that it can bring. Cassius is still afraid of Magic. He trusts Amor. He trusts the power thrumming through the man’s veins. But anyone else? He has to force himself to stop his upper lip from curling at the word Aberrant that slips into his mind. This is one prejudice that was hard to shake.

Amor on the other hand seems undeterred, although Cassius can see the slight tightening of his shoulders. The straightening of his spine. The slightest twitch at the corners of his eyes. The fact that his grin widens and his voice simply gets louder. There is fear around other magic users. A fear of being found out. And for Cassius, the fear that this time he won't be able to save him.

[Amor] So… Ya don’t wanna share knowledge then? Bit of a piss poor way t’start our lil' relationship, but whatever, friend. We all ‘ave our trade secrets I guess.

He peers over at the trinkets and charms set out on the stall. Narrowing his eyes a little as he watches Cassius’ long, nimble fingers delicately feather over one or two of the items. Amor doesn't know what any of it is for. Doesn't know what it means. And for that alone, he doesn't trust it.

[Amor] Yeah, but it’s a loada bollocks ain’t it? Magic an’ shit. Somethin’ t’impress the masses, all smoke an’ fireworks, innit? Good way o’making a living, an’ there ain’t no shame in trickin’ the stupid.

He forces the smile to stay even though he suddenly clocks onto what Amor meant. He actually thinks this is all fake? That I’m some sort of fraud? It has certainly been awhile since a mortal has disreputed the idea of magic, even longer since someone had insulted his trade. Relax, he means no ill intent, he’s just ill informed, the less he knows probably the better.

[Bolframmon] *laughs heartily?* Yes, but of course Amor! You’re a clever man. This stuff works very similar to faith, pull the strings in the background, put on a show and voila! *He snaps his fingers* Customers and opportunities arise! *He gestures towards the inventory on show.* I’ll have to put on a act for you all sometime.

[Amor] Yeah, I’m right clever, me.

The soft snort that comes from Cassius is pointedly ignored.

[Amor] Seem like a smart kinda guy yerself. Got a nice lil' set up here. How long it take ya t’make alla this shit? Takes me a while t’make alla my trinkets, but worth it in the end, yeah? Folks eat it up. ‘Specially the… Whaddaya call ‘em… Citizen types. Got a fucking hard on for even a sniff of magic. Pay out of pocket for a bit o’rock wi’ some string and paint on it.

He barks out a quick shot of laughter to hide the way his eyes nervously flicker across the wares that the other man is selling. His eyes lock with his companion briefly and Cassius gives him a knowing little look. Neither have the ability to gauge someone’s power, but pushing their luck isn't on the cards. Just because Cassius has seen Amor destroy a wall with a wave of his hand doesn't mean that this person couldn’t do much worse.

However, Amor’s need to squash down any admittance that magic is real is too strong. A shield and sword he’d used many times before to deflect any thoughts that he himself might be magic. The unbeliever can't possibly hold any power himself. Keep shouting that gospel over and over again and hopefully he won’t end up being marched to the Drowning.

[Amor] Faith… Sure. Call it whatever ya like, Bolls. It’s still sleight of hand an’ fuckin’ magnets.

Why is this man so adamant on magic not existing? Bolframmon thinks, humans have always longed for these abilities, for fame, power or just for ease of life. Yet here this man is trying to reject every aspect of it. The notion confuses Bolf even more seeing as he could feel the dormant magic within him. Very well, if a simple magician he wants, a simple magician I’ll be.

[Bolframmon] Indeed, but we can’t deny, it's certainly some pretty magnets to the untrained eye. *He pulls out a coin from his robe, the copper shines in the light revealing its foreign designs on its body. Dipping it into a nearby lantern the coin starts to melt in his hands, Bolf then claps the coin into his hands, he opens them to reveal the coin has disappeared.* Cassius my friend, check your left pocket.

Amor’s eyes glitter at the sight of the coin. It has been a long time since he’d seen any kind of currency. He works mainly in trading. Kick the shit out of a guy for food and board. Do some tricks for some leather and fur. Couple of weeks of bodyguarding for jewels and a tiara. Actual money on the other hand…? Hard to come by. And his gaze is fixed on the coin as images of riches dance in his head.

The little squark of objection he makes as the coin is melted down is almost enough to make Cassius smirk. Although, the much bigger man’s expression becomes vacant the second that Bolf speaks his name. There is a stillness to the man that verges on unnatural. A beautiful marble statue stands poised in the light of Bolf’s lanterns. A bird-like cock of his head as he looks to Amor as if for orders. The shorter man merely nods.

Cassius dips his thumb and forefinger into his pocket and brings out the coin. Delicately gripped between his fingertips with a look of disgust on his face, as one might hold a dead shrew.

[Cassius] Huh.

The coin is tossed over to Amor who greedily snatches it out of the air and shoves it down the front of his trousers. If Bolf is happy for coins to leave his hands then he is happy not to see them again. Cassius wipes his hands primly down the front of his suit jacket as if he’d touched something dirty. Subtly giving Bolf the updown with eyes that relay his prejudice.

[Amor] Neat lil' trick ya got there, Bolly. Might hafta teach it t’me sometime!

He picks up the plate which holds the remaining cookies and salutes the man behind the stall.

[Amor] Was good makin’ aquis-i-tions wi’ ya. Might see ya again, friendo!

A wave over his shoulder as he turns on his heel. Swaggering away as if he’d won some kind of great battle. In his head, he’s done good. Made a connection with someone rich. Someone to either befriend or rob blind before they leave. Cassius gives Bolf a long, thoughtful look before nodding his goodbye and following silently after his friend.

Bolframmon bows his head before waving to the two gentlemen as they leave his tent, a smirk on his face as they leave, whether they'll become friend or foe… He can tell from this first meeting alone that he had made the right call coming to this settlement.