The doorman inclines his head and through the thin lipped smile there is a flash of white teeth, or is it fangs? He then moves back to lean back against a buttressed pillar.
"Thanks, Lurch," Sal chirps, smiling at the tall dude as if he were the friendliest thing on Earth and slipping past him into the market with the others.
She grins at the clothing woman who accosts them. "Do I look like I need more clothing?" she asks rhetorically, sweeping a hand past her midriff shirt and short-shorts at the vast expanse of skin showing beneath. "Nah. I'm looking for food and some news. Know where I can get either?"
"Everyone always needs more clothing, my dear." she rummage about the massive pile of clothing that virtually spills off the 2 meter long table, over a foot high. She produces a leather jacket, a mesh top and an old The Clash shirt.
"That's a genuine shirt and the jacket was worn by Jim Morrison. But if you want some food, there's a couple of stalls that sells food. Peter has a pie stall, there's Romesh's stall and a couple of others. As for news, we'll we all like a good natter, I'm Joan by the way." she puts out a hand, moving the clothes to the top of the pile.
"Sal." She clasps the woman's hand briefly, then rummages a bit through the offerings, holding them up against her front. She sniffs the jacket gingerly. "Morrison didn't die in this, did he?"
I bet there are moon rocks around here, too, and maybe the True Cross, Sal thinks wryly.
Kenneth whistles at the display, "Autumn stars... At equinox... In other words, they've deliberately set Summer and Winter in balance..."
The bard calls out to the oversized doorman, "Say, Jeeves, is the market Accorded Neutral Territory? I wouldnae want tae draw a blade in response tae something and break the Accords. My Lady wouldnae be pleased with such an act."
[dice=Lore]5+4d3-8
Kenneth whistles at the display, "Autumn stars... At equinox... In other words, they've deliberately set Summer and Winter in balance..."
"Huh? What? Where?" Danny pipes up, clearly lost. Then he follows Kenneth's outstretched arm to the ceiling, And 'ah-hah's' in a glimmer of understanding.
"Well, that's definitely a balancing act. Trust me. I wonder if it has a meaning? I mean other than the obvious. For the Fae, THAT'S a pretty blatant 'We're not favoring one over the other, so everybody play nice.' Sign."
Sal, still holding the jacket, looks at Kenneth, then Danny, then up to the ceiling at the pretty lights, then back to Kenneth, then to Jeeves/Lurch.
Of everything said, she understands the part about not drawing blades in a treaty situation and waits to hear the Slender Man's answer. She feels like her weapons are blatantly obvious to everyone, hidden though they might be.
For lack of a hat to tip, Edwyn merely nods his head as he walks past the Slender Man, who may or may not be the genuine article. The way things were going so far, he would not be very surprised. Almost immediately his eyes start to wander, those old detective instincts kicking in. This time around, they were having a hard time reconciling where they were with what they were seeing.
"Fairy politics?" Edwyn asks, hazarding a guess at what the hell Kenneth was talking about.
Sounding like James Earl Jones, with soft tones of molasses the gangilly bouncer softly says; "No, the market is not universally protected." he glances from Kenneth to Edwyn, to make a new point. "However bad behaviour is still subject to appropriate recompense.... so take care."
Joan replies to Sal, just inside the doorway to the right; "Oh no! I think Claire has that. This was worn during his tour of Germany in '68; I'd suit you, my dear."
Sal registers the Slender Man's warning and nods, then holds up the jacket. She measures the 60's-thin shoulders against Kenneth's build, then turns to Danny.
"Hey, Danny, interested in Jim Morrison's jacket from the '68 tour? Seems more appropriate for you than for me." She offers the supple garment with one hand.
"These guys are the musicians, not me. I'm just a fan," she explains softly to Joan.
"Yep. Fairy Politics. The REAL deal. The ones that started it all. Makes everything else you've ever seen in 'politics' look like a kindergarten playground. A well-behaved one." Danny murmurs for Edwyn's benefit.
Danny notes and nods to the 'Slender Man' in understanding. Trying not to be too wide-eyed at the not-so-subtle warning. He was suddenly very conflicted, he didn't know whether to be jealous of Sal's pocket full of iron horseshoe, or very glad he DIDN'T have a horseshoe too.
"What? Jim Morrison's jacket? Seriously?" Danny suddenly turns his full attention to Sal and the 'shop' owner. Taking the proffered jacket from Sal, Danny looks at it with the intense gaze that only a fan can look at an object once held by an idol with. Danny turns the jacket over in his arms, admiring the slightly dusty but still supple leather and the wide red lapels. Jim's signature look for the infamous '68 tour.
"Is this for real? Like, for REAL real? How did you ever get it? Wait, do I want to know that?"
Sal smiles at Danny's wide-eyed enthusiasm and slips away from the clothing vendor to join Kenneth and Danny. Leaning in to them, she murmurs quietly, "Is it safe to buy food here? I don't want to eat three pistachios and have to spend all winter here with Lurch," she asks the tall bard, sotto voce.
"The guy we're looking for is Ray de Vos. He may have information about the attack earlier today - who's behind it, with any luck. Should we ask around or just browse and keep our ears open?" Sal conveys this information just as quietly.
Kenneth shakes his head, "A wee bit more than that. Think ay the Unseelie Accords as like the UN Charter ay the world ay magic folk. Pretty much all the powers, from Faerie Court tae the poxy Wizard's Council tae the Vampires are signatory -- as well as a few other Powers. With a capital P. Basically, the Accords set up the rules that more or less ensure that the world isnae flattened by folks having a wee squabble... and since pretty much everyone takes them seriously, breaking them isnae usually a good idea for those who want tae live a long time. 'Acourse, for mose ay the lot ay ye, 'tisnae a big deal, as ye aren't signatories... Though, I'll say a good survival lesson is tae nae start anything in Accorded Neutral Territory...."
He smiles and adds, "Then again, nae starting anything when there be Powers about is pretty much good advice, nae matter where you be..."
He then smiles at Danny's comment, chuckling, "Aye, the lad's got the right ay it. Ye've nae seen politicking until ye've seen the Fae... Nor, for that matter, the ability tae twist the intent ay rules by keeping tae the letter ay them. Also, never accept anything from a fae-folk, unless ye've agreed on what the trade is... or that you've had from their own lips that it's freely given without expectation."
He takes a breath, then says, "Right, now that we're done with the survival tricks, one good thing is that the Fae cannae lie. They can twist their words intae pretzels tae the point ye aren't aware ay what they're saying, but then cannae speak words they know tae be untrue... which can be a plus when shopping in a place like this.... At least, if a body's able tae tell which sellers are fae and which are... something else."
Kenneth looks at the jacket, finding himself stepping toward it, then he stops and sighs exaggeratedly, "Aye, why is it that nae ay the true gods ay rock can be o'er six feet in bloody height?"
Sal laughs. "Poor Kenneth. That's the downside of having a god-like physique, I guess. It must be such a burden."
"I'm going to reconnoiter before asking around for Ray. And maybe get a pie."
Waggling her fingers at Edwyn and Kenneth, Sal meanders away, looking at the various booths, vendors, merchandise, and patrons. She keeps her eyes and ears open and her mouth shut, looking for strangeness and listening for anything having to do with Fomor or fish people or Ray de Vos.
At the pie stand, she introduces herself to Peter, mentions that Joan sent her, and looks for something in the nature of a berry filling.
Kenneth looks at the jacket, finding himself stepping toward it, then he stops and sighs exaggeratedly, "Aye, why is it that nae ay the true gods ay rock can be o'er six feet in bloody height?"
Sal laughs. "Poor Kenneth. That's the downside of having a god-like physique, I guess. It must be such a burden."
Danny nods in obviously mock sympathy as he slides into the supposed collectors item jacket with a smirk. (JUST to try it on!)
"Yeah. Tall. Good Looking. Popular. I never had those problems. I don't know HOW you've survived all these years!"
Danny looks after Sal.
"Pie sounds good. I like pie." he says to no one in particular.
He removes the jacket, and gives the lady a doubtful look.
"OK. Is this the REAL deal? And if so, how much are you asking?" Danny asks the lady.
"Well, my dear. To a true connoisseur like thysenth, I'd place it at a monkey. A hundred, in new money. Since I know you'll appreciate it and if you ever did want rid, we'll hope you'll remember your friend Joan."
She turns to Kenneth, "Ah, a Scot! Well I think I have a true Blackwatch kilt and sporran worn at Waterloo, does that interest you? And you can show off those long legs of yours." She winks.
Then she nods to Edwyn: "Anything you'd like? I'm sure I have something that will suit you good sir and don't you worry, I'm not a fey thus everything is free of obligation."
Peter, is a smiling man of middle age and a wide body that shows he's sampled a few of his own wares: "Oh, Joan she's a good egg. Now what are you looking for, we have some nice meat pies. A venison and cranberry, or a classic porkies." he asks before realising that Sal is American, "Ah, you'll want something sweet then. We have some rhubarb pies, with or without strawberries. Or a quite excellent cherry one, Mr Killing couldn't do better..... Well I would say that, the missus homebakes them all. The next Mary Berry that one, even if I'd prefer a Nigella." he winks from behind his octagonal glasses.
From the corner of her eye, whilst she's looking around and ordering some food, Sal notices the hall extends further into the gloom. In the dim light she sees the scarlet hair of Saraya browsing the tables looking at some trinkets from an older gentleman. She also notices, 'Smith' a blonde lady who has managed to find her certain weapons before.
Peter is a smiling man of middle age and a wide body that shows he's sampled a few of his own wares: "Oh, Joan she's a good egg. Now what are you looking for, we have some nice meat pies. A venison and cranberry, or a classic porkies." he asks before realizing that Sal is American, "Ah, you'll want something sweet then. We have some rhubarb pies, with or without strawberries. Or a quite excellent cherry one, Mr Killing couldn't do better..... Well I would say that, the missus homebakes them all. The next Mary Berry that one, even if I'd prefer a Nigella." he winks from behind his octagonal glasses.
"And who wouldn't?" Sal replies heartily, recognizing the names from that baking program Fothergill always watched when he thought nobody was around, and hoping to confuse the man. "I came for something sweet, but really am hungry. How about the venison and cranberry?"
From the corner of her eye, whilst she's looking around and ordering some food, Sal notices the hall extends further into the gloom. In the dim light she sees the scarlet hair of Saraya browsing the tables looking at some trinkets from an older gentleman. She also notices, 'Smith' a blonde lady who has managed to find her certain weapons before.
What is she up to? Sal watches the sorceress for a bit from a distance, then casually trails around the booths and tables until she can see what kind of trinkets the old gent is selling.
Kenneth chuckles, "Aye, and next you'll be offering me the Wallace Claidheamh-mòr.... or the silver arm of Nuada Airgetlám himself. Nae, I'm more looking for a wee bit ay information... unless ye've happened tae have a certain specific bow, that is."
Joan smiles at Kenneth; "Sorry dearie, I only have clothes. But if I can help you with some information, fire away and I'll see what I can do."
Looking around it seems that although there is plenty of weirdness around, most of the people appear normal or at least they are normal enough to fit in with the mundane world.
--------------
With a wry twinkle in his eye, Peter hands over a ~4 inch pie. "The cranberry nicely offsets the gamey taste of the venison and here a cherry pie for desert." He puts the second pie in a brown paper bag, and takes the coins from Sal in payment.
Keeping an eye upon Saraya, Sal meanders past a few stalls mostly these are either antique trinkets, old jewellery or seemingly obviously stolen electronics (though these are restricted to a couple of out of the way tables). She comes to the tressel table that Saraya had spend a significant time at, it's covered with a sheet of paisley design and upon it are mainly items from India. A Gurkha knife, a couple of nice brass lamps, a trio of boxes, a snuff box that is sealed with a embroidered ribbon, a withered clawed hand.
The book had an example on p 143 of discreet surveillance, so I used those rolls.
To keep Saraya in sight:
To avoid being seen:
Sal is immediately entranced by the crooked knife. "Oooh, a khukuri," she breathes. "Where's it from? Does it have provenance? And will those lamps grant me a wish?" The hand is fascinating in its own right. Is it human?
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Kenneth smiles, "Aye, well, in terms ay the information, I dinnae ken if ye've heard, but there seems tae be some strange...er, folk... about and they seem tae be gathering up other folk that they think be -- wait, is that an original London Calling tour T-shirt?"
Danny rolls his eyes at Kenneth, but he has not, yet, made any move to remove the jacket he is trying on. Even when he heard the price.
"What my friend was saying is that some weirdos seem to be snatching up folks that might have a hint of magic about them. They just got bold enough to hit the fair at the castle. In broad daylight. SOooo,... if anyone has any information about where these 'Fomor' might be hiding, or why they're snatching people, we have some friends who'd love to see that they stop. PAyment in advance is 'your warned'. Seriously, tell everyone to be careful, even during the day. Watch your backs, don't travel alone, etc."
Danny smiles at the lady. "Even if it's just a copy, it is really nice. I like it, Buuut a,.. 'Monkey', is a little steep for me. I'm on a budget." He adds sadly.
Edwyn nods slowly when Kenneth gives him the basics of the Accords, committing the rather important details to memory. Thankfully, once one got past the fact that all of the fairy tale stuff was real, the rest was fairly simple to digest. "That all made entirely too much sense to me. But then again, I suppose I've been mixed up in all of this for far longer than I thought..."
He then turns to Joan's wares, suspicions about where exactly they came from floating around his head. "Hm. I dunno. Do you take credit cards here?" he asks, smiling stiffly. "I think I am good on clothes though, thanks." Plus I'm already wearing a dead guy's suit.
The detective glances around, remembering that Sal has already broken off. To do some investigating of her own, no doubt. Making the licensed investigator look bad. Edwyn sighs. Well, might as well try to look like I belong here.
"Hm. Would you happen to know anyone around here that deals in things like this?" he inquires, pulling out a rather fancy-looking pocket watch.
Joan rifles through the stack of clothes some more before replying to Kenneth. "Of course, it's an original... well sold at the concerts in early '80 down Camden Town. It's a knock-off, but they all were in those days weren't they love." She gives a cheeky wink to Kenneth.
With a soft sigh to Danny, "Aye, budgets are the bane of modern existence, that and twittering. How about I add in a shirt from Northern Oak, a heritage metal band, that friends of my daughter are in before they split." She shakes her head softly, whilst producing a card reader from under the bowed table.
"Certainly, I can do cash-back for loyal customers.... though if you just want a cash-point; well there's one by Cy's table down the way. He's the one with Jet jewellery, but that stuff can get a bit pricey." The lady continues the sell, trying to offer a good deal to the trio of men, however Edwyn's time-piece catches her eye.
"That's an interesting fob-watch, don't know much about it. But if I wanted to learn something, I'd ask the gnomes over there...." she looks a bit guilty; "They don't like to be called that, political correctness and all. Ask amongst the tinkers for Harley. He's a decent sort, if a trifle rough." Joan motions towards the fireplace opposite where all the people were sat on the wooden stools.
Sal
The old gent straightens his cravat and smiles at Sal; "Oh certainly it's got providence, well it belonged to Havildar Hamid of the Queens Gurkha Signals, he took it with him once he retired and settled into a nice little flat in Walthamstow. Of course, as happens to many retired fellows he got a trifle down on his luck." His melodic estuary accent, matches his smooth thick moustache.
"Well that was until he met me Lucky Samuel, thus I made a fair deal for the gent and procured this lovely piece. And I have many other lovely pieces for one such as yourself, the lamps are genuine Indian lamps from the subcontinent. Though they may not grant wishes are capable of illuminating many a fine thing."
"Twitter. You can say that again. I AM the younger generation, and I don't get it!"
Looking downright reluctant to put down the wide collared jacket, Danny slowly pulls out his billfold.
"What the hey. They have to FIND me before they can jail me for delinquent payment, right?" The singer asks aloud with a big smile.
"You got a deal darlin'. Hit me up with a classic T for my new Jacket!" Danny says with a grin.
There is one, brief, moment when the credit card doesn't seem to want to leave Danny's grasp for the woman to swipe it. But Danny winks at the lady to show he's joking. Once the sale is finalized, Danny slips out of his old jacket and into his new.
It fits like a glove. JUST enough room to move comfortably, but fitting him snugly as only 80's-era clothing can do. Danny brushes the wide lapels to smooth them into place.
"Well, whattya think? All I need now is to grow and perm my hair!" Danny asks Kenneth, still grinning like a kid who got what he wanted from the candy store.
Sal snorts with amusement when she sees Danny slip on the jacket, then scrutinizes the shining crooked blade, nose mere inches away from the handle. Her interest in the weapon is rather swamped by the idea of a real, live gurkha living near London. If I'd only known when I lived down there, dammit! "It's a pretty thing," she says aloud.
She lightly taps the withered hand with the flat of the kukri. "Is that thing real? Like, a saint's relic or something? And did I miss any good bargains today, not getting here early?"
Edwyn glances in the direction pointed out to him by Joan, half-expecting to see a group of short, bearded men wearing pointy red hats. His mind strays to an old case file - closed years ago - concerning a string of missing and vandalized garden gnomes. He never did solve that one. Well, if the political correctness angle is anything to go by...
"So these tinkerers... should I assume that they are a kind of fey?" he asks, already thinking of all of the things that could go wrong. "Just want to make sure I don't accidentally sell them my firstborn." Not that that'll ever be a problem... Wincing for more than one good reason, he quickly adds, "Er, sorry. That came off as a bit bigoted."
"No, well they might be some sort of fey. But they are very straight-forwards especially when it comes to machinery, cobbling or beer...." she smiles and ruefully shakes her head, implying that too often has she been drawn into one of their rants about beer and the right sort of hops for brewing.
"That is to say they might be a type of gnome, or something, though say that not to their faces. Anyway, the food is safe and they usually tell you their fees straight-away. I have more trouble with Graeme, my mechanic." she adds warmly, not taking offence to Edwyn.
Sal
Sam smiles, with a twinkle in his eye as if remembering something interesting - the snaps out of it before continuing with his patter; "Well all my stuff is competitively priced, but this is meant to be the hand of a fakir from India, one of the greatest sages. He really knew his onions, until he was stuffed by an Indian Raj - not literally you know. But the relic is said to confer luck and prosperity."
He shrugs and leans in slightly, giving Sal a hint of his cologne; "Well, to come completely clean, I'm not sure what it actually does. But stuff like this sells like wildfire to the magical community, provided the Warden doesn't find out. I think Cy or Red might know stuff like that. Talking of, I did just get rid of a nice trinket from Tibet and a commission for something else from her." He smiles.
"Even if it brings luck, I'm not sure I want to haul that thing around." Sal squints at the fakir hand with disgust. "What was the trinket from Tibet, a dried Yeti paw or something?" She laughs, then waves the kukri around gently, checking the balance.
Edwyn looks in that direction again and nods. "Alright. Thanks for the tip, Joan. I'll stop by again if I have the time. If only for a souvenir," he finishes with a grin.
Having excused himself, he steps away and heads in the direction of the fireplace, searching for the "tinkerers" that he was told of.
"Hello. Would there happen to be someone named Harley around here?" he asks one of the men seated on the stools. "I was told that he could help me out with something."
A man in rough and well worn woollen clothes looks up from his pewter tankard; "Aye, Harley Smith, sit down son and grab a pint." He says pointing to the chair opposite, then with the same motion readjusting his flat cap to get a bit of a better view of Edwyn.
"Now lets see, if it's got owt to do with beer, broads or bits'n'bobs then I'm your man!" The old fellow opposite him lets out a ribald chuckle at the pronouncement, seemingly an old joke between the pair of old men.
-----
Across the room, Sam looks sideways at Sal as if suddenly realising she might be asking out of more than idle curiosity then he shrugs it off. "Well it was a Tibetan Time Top, similar to the Victorian children's toys, though supposedly with more power. Power to slow time, if you believe it." He chuckles then shakes his head clearly not believing it himself, though probably not stopping him for charging extra for the item.
"Anyway it was a wooden top, remarkably similar to the one used in the film, Inception. However I did get a request for some of my special items, by which I mean my expensive stuff. So next time I drop by I'll have a few select very rare relics from the subcontinent, rather than these bargains." he smiles before continuing with his patter.
"Speaking of which this kukri, well it comes in either the official military sheathe, or a custom ceremonial one. That is made from rosewood and ...."
The sound reverberates through the large area, being dulled slightly by the hangings and smoky atmosphere. Seemingly coming from the back area, none of the stall holders pay any attention, a few customers look towards the dimly lit area further in and shrug.
Chatting swift banter with the willing 'vintage clothing' vendor, Danny snaps up and looks around at the sound. His eyes are just a little too wide.
Seems he's maybe still on edge since that last, too-recent attack.
Seeing that others dont seem to be panicking, he relaxes, but still looks for where the sound came from.
"Um, what was that? Is that normal down here?"
Joan looks around, busying herself folding a few angora cardigans before glancing towards the back. "Oh, that... it's probably nothing. I wouldn't worry about it." she mutters softly. "Probably someone getting rambunctious in the lounge."
Danny furrows his brows a bit, his skill at reading audiences does sometimes translate to individuals as well.
"Is everything alright? What was that?" He asks the friendly clothing merchant, his concern genuine.
Joan mumbles whilst still folding; "I'm not sure, probably some disagreement. I try not to ask." She glances to the back with a hint of concern.
Edwyn glances in the direction of the loud sound, but when the atmosphere in the marketplace doesn't fall to panic, he takes the seat offered to him. Not wanting to let perfectly good beer go to waste however, he doesn't take up the pint right away.
"Well met. The name's Edwyn. And I suppose you can say I have a bit," he says, reaching into his coat pocket again for the delicate timepiece. He holds it up to Harley, just close enough for the tinker to take a good look at it, but with a grip that suggests he isn't offering it up. "I was hoping you could tell me about the make of this watch. I received it as a gift of sorts, so I'm not sure where it came from, or who made it."
Joan mumbles whilst still folding; "I'm not sure, probably some disagreement. I try not to ask." She glances to the back with a hint of concern.
Danny looks more confused than concerned now.
"Disagreement? Between who, stone giants? Alchemical explosive experts? Do you worry about, you know,...?" And Danny makes a motion with hands, miming the ceiling collapsing.
"Holy Mother," Sal breathes, crawling out from under the vendor's table, "What was that?"
"Sorry, I went to school in the US. We did these drills all the time," she explains sheepishly to Sam as she dusts herself off, "Thought I'd got away from that kind of thing here."
The tinker leans forwards and hooks a pair of wire glasses over his pointed thick ears, squinting he looks carefully at the watch - not touching it.
Sucking in a deep breath through gritted teeth, he starts mumbling to himself in a low register. He then bites his bulbous knuckle and looks at Edwyn through rheumy eyes, before taking a heavy drag of his drink. "Now me lad, I think I can tell you a bit at what it does." he coughs slightly on his beer.
"Although, you probably know most of it - so the charge can be worked out later. Favours or the like..."
Then he begins; "Well it's got some last-Victorian silver casing, as you can see from the silver mark. 1883, by the numbers, Newcastle made by Thomas Sewell 1.... interesting, that's the latest piece by him, the year he died and his son took over."
"Alright, that's the case - however from the face, I'd say the mechanism was completed a decade later in France - Paris to be exact. So it must have come over especially, definitely as part of the Exposition Universelle de 1889, because see the filigree... well it's designed like that for the Eiffel Tower - created for the exhibition." The man gets very animated and takes another swig of the beer giving himself a foam moustache.
"Well, that's where it was finished and became a pocket watch. Now," he sniffs heavilly; "Yes, it was taken on a long journey - probably, no definitely, The Orient Express. You can smell the soot and a hint of Turkish musk, so after 1888 when the Constantinople route was completed. However...." He sniffs again and shakes his head looking closely at the watch.
"It went North, past Wallachia, Transylvania and the Eastern European Provinces towards Russia. Aye, you can see from the slight staining, the oil was used to light the rooms is from a Russia field. A princely item that." He smiles, glad to have figured the start of it.
"So what else do you want to know? And what would you trade for the knowledge?" He smiles.
"The ceiling? Well this old garage is made after t' last war, so it should be good for a few years." Joan smiles; "If the cathedral can last a millenia, then this should last a few years more. However, if you did want to check it out.... well I'm sure you'll be fine. There's not meant to be much violence around."
"I've no idea, love. Doubt it was an earthquake." he says trying to make sure nothing shakes. "Probably someone in the bar area, private meetings, hah if they make that much noise...." Sam shakes his head at the ruckus disrupting his business.
Danny (& Kenneth?)
"The ceiling? Well this old garage is made after t' last war, so it should be good for a few years." Joan smiles; "If the cathedral can last a millenia, then this should last a few years more. However, if you did want to check it out.... well I'm sure you'll be fine. There's not meant to be much violence around."
Danny remembers the charming door greeter with a slight shiver.
"Yeah, I saw the 'no-violence' sign at the door." He says with a small smirk.
"Yeah,... None of my business,..." Danny glances at Kenneth, his smirk trying not to grow into a smile. Somewhat succeeding.
",... But my curiosity is killing me. I musta been a cat in a previous life. Or something."
Danny flicks his eyes from Ken, to the direction the noise came from, and back again.
"Shall we,...?" He grins.
"Earthquake?" Sal gently lays the weapon back on Sam's table. "No sir, we did active shooter drills in our school. Nice to meet you, Sam. I might be back later. I'll definitely see you at another market."
Sal surveys the room to catch a glimpse of a certain redheaded sorceress, then skitters back to Kenneth and Danny.
"OK, what the heck was that?" she whispers fiercely, "Something magical?"
As for Saraya, well she went towards the backroom, in the direction of the noise.....
Sal then skitters back to Kenneth and Danny.
"OK, what the heck was that?" she whispers fiercely, "Something magical?"
"MAgical? I dunno. I'm hoping the sound was amplified,... because if it was made by someone, or something, NOT amplified, it would have to be filed under the 'Very Large' or 'Very Strong' category. Which is sub-filed under the 'Very Dangerous' category."
Danny glances at Ken's bulging bicep, then at Ken's face.
"Soooo,... You go first?"
"Well, a certain redhead of our acquaintance has gone that way, so we might want to go as well. Unless you don't think you can handle yourself as well as she." Sal grins at Danny.
Danny gives Sal a flat look. No grin, no frown, just,... a look.
Then he turns to Kenneth.
"I've ALWAYS said that redheads are nothing but trouble. Haven't I always said that redheads are nothing but trouble? I'm pretty sure I have,..."
Then Danny gives Sal a sly wink.
"It's not myself I'm worried about handling Sal. It's whatever made that bloody noise." Danny says wryly in his best Workman's English accent.
"You can tell all of that just by looking at it?" Edwyn asks with a raised brow, equal parts amazed and skeptical. There was either magic at work, or Mr. Smith was an excellent yarn spinner. "You would make one hell of a detective."
Contemplating this newfound knowledge, he hums and brushes a thumb over the watch. There was still the matter of looking into the Fomor, but he could not help but to indulge his natural curiosity. Both because of his profession, and because of what the information could do for him. He glances around conspiratorially before speaking again.
"What I really need to know is who owned this piece before I did. But to tell the truth, I don't have much asides from some money and the clothes on my back. What is it that you would want?"
EDWYN
Rubbing the bridge of his prodigious nose; "Well not just by looking at it, but also the smell, the staining and even the tick. As everyone I'm sure has told you, I am a very knowledgeable expert." To which his friends sitting nearby chuckle heartily and there's calls of 'Oh, Mr Expert it's your round!' or 'An expert in arse-scratching.'
"Ahem!" Mr Smith tries to regain some composure from the slightly rowdy drunken stout folk; "Well, you want to know ownership? I do know some people, even amongst the French. And Victorian antiques are pretty easy to find providence, especially those out of Newcastle. Aye, I can do it." He nods his head, sounding confident.
"Payment, well that's a tricky one. Aye, that it is. Gold or cash ain't too much interest, if you see a horse brass - now that I could go for or Toby Jugs." He takes a sip from his tankard, as a barmaid comes over and empties a pint glass into it. "However, you could do me a favour. Next time you are in a house, you know one of those owned by spooky people, if you could collect left shoes - or the left side heels of said shoes; then I could take that as payment. Doesn't have to be many..."
He smiles and nods; "Does that sound alright? Here if you carry this I can contact you." From his pocket he unclips a horse brass, in the shape of a crescent moon.