The night market was a gamble on a good day, and they truly wished with all their heart that it was a good day. Better than a bad day, one didn’t talk about the bad days. They moved through the crowd with as much care as one could, keep a hand on your satchel and pray a pickpocket didn’t slip through your defences. Elbows ever at the ready, the ianthina spotted the table they’d been seeking–jab once here, toss a sneer there; and boom, you’re free!

This had been a monumental task, the kind of thing one really went out of their way to break a sweat over. But, one must never let that be known; best to let it seem like a breeze. That you’re a professional. Not desperate. Never desperate. Just a side hobby–just something you’d like; a curiosity, not a need. They offer a pleasant smile as they approach with one hand firmly on the strap of their bag “Evenin’,” they say by way of greeting “I’ve got a few items here that I thought might be worth your time.”

A few? What a laugh.

Try not to seem too desperate will you?

Something soft, but not fuzzy

• For this was somehow the most difficult hurdle for them to overcome. So they’d left it for last and in the end had been something a little…half-assed. The item in question was round and shaped like a rather tasty red fruit. They squeeze it in one fist, the plush fruit so to say had been run through once upon a time with a fair number of needles and they swore they’d seen something similar on the wrists and desks of the odd tailor and seamstress they’d visited once. The fruit plush was bright red,a tomato they thought it was called. It wobbles where it’s placed. “A small cushion, the fabric is smooth but it squishes in your hand rather nicely–go on, give it a squeeze.”

Something fuzzy, but not soft

• For them, this was a find–spilling out with satisfying splashes from far overhead. They’d tasted one from the handful they’d scooped; truly more precious in their mind than gold. They withdraw the fruit from their bag where they’d carefully wrapped it in a clean slip of cloth; its fuzzy flesh tickling their fingers as they offer it forth “It’s a kiwi,” they say by way of explanation “Fuzzy outside, firm yet tasty inside.”

Something sweet, but not dairy

• Anything liquid under the sea was always a gamble, the viscous liquid within was sweet but not painfully so. In fact it had paired rather nicely with some tea and bread they’d enjoyed for their first meal of the day. This was the last of the small haul they’d lucked upon in what they’d understood to have once been a ship’s kitchen. “Maple syrup,” their smile is softer now, a little self indulgent and maybe a little hesitant as if they truly hated to part with this item in particular placing the little glass bottle on the table “Goes great with many things ya’ know?”

Something with yeast

• Things of such a nature often did not do well at sea. Something about the air but sometimes, one got lucky. The kind of thing one often wanted to be on a hunt for treasure such as they. They pulled them out, the freshest of the batch and offered forth one plain bagel and the second one, a darker brown spotted with pieces of dried fruit–the smell of it was heavenly and as such, they knew to save it for this very transaction. “Bagels,” they grin, a flash of pearly whites in evident joy “The plain one is a classic to have a benchmark but the second, cinnamon raisin. The cinnamon has a lovely aroma and even better taste with the raisins within. If you have butter or perhaps even some of that maple syrup…?”

Something with meat

• Meat. Protein. Tasty. To go fresh and hot, to go with lasting; they mentally hummed and hawed over this one for a while. There was seemingly an even number of pros versus cons to be had, but to dry meat and infuse the strips of beef with rich flavours was truly an art. They offer the pouch forth “Jerky,” another smile maybe in amusement at the name given to such a tasty thing, oftentimes it seems the most tasty things had the silliest names “Fresh meat, sliced, marinated, laid out, and cooked. This flavour in particular is garlicky, sweet with a tang and a hint of smoke.”

Something made of wood, but not large

• Commonplace? Maybe. But, the possibilities were endless–maybe bartering one’s own creations was toeing too close to the line of arrogance. They run their thumb idly over the smooth head of the thing within their bag before they withdraw it to hold in one hand for a moment. Almost hesitation. Again. Are you not desperate? Gently they place the hand carved creature upon the table. It was a carved piece of wood, the finer quality stuff that often times decorated the cabin of a ship’s Captain more than the driftwood or the rotten sorts that made up the many sunken wrecks “It’s a cat,” they say, their voice feeling rather young and small as they say this “Walnut wood.” the little creature had been one they’d spotted on a smaller fishing vessel, it would have been so very easy to steal aboard for a closer look–do away with the humans and spare the thing, the thing called a cat that looked so wonderful–the thing they carved did the creature justice, it’s soft mouth upturned in a slight smile while it’s eyes remained closed in an expression of contentment–with love.

Something made of clay, but not plain

• Many useful things were made of clay. So were many beautiful things. Even plain things. Simple things. Bowls and plates, vases, knick knacks and sculptures. They’d chosen a bowl to offer to the stall owner. To call such an item elegant felt a little silly but the care put into the bowl was evident. The bright whorls of colours blended together with the gentle strips of pure white peeking through. The rim was painted a bright, shining gold. The entire thing glazed without error “Who couldn’t use another bowl?”

Something from the earth

• What around them wasn’t from the earth? They wanted to ask. It was a lovely thing, if they’d wanted to try for that arrogance again–they’d try two birds one stone. A clay pot and within sat a squat little plant. Sharp but…dare they say…cute? “Plants are from the earth are they not?” a half-smile as the place the cactus down and adjust the simple loop of twine around the belly of the pot “A cactus. I…can’t say I know the exact name for it but it’s nice to look at isn’t it?”

Something feathered

• They could be cocky. They could offer forth a seabird and call it a day but they had the feeling that sort of thing wouldn’t, heh, fly with the proprietor. They draw the item out…and out…and out. It’s long and a soft white, many birds had died to make this thing they were certain. “I think it’s a scarf,” they say as the wrap it around their neck and flick it with a flair, offering forth once again, their most dazzling smile before unwinding it and placing it in a neat little pile nearby their other items “It’s clean, and soft and most importantly, made of feathers though the fashion applications are…questionable.” Not that they could comment much one way or another on such things with their plain attire.

Something beautiful

• This item was a classic. The sorts one found in the classic sunken chests that dotted the wrecks. They pull it out by the handle, half covered by their softest cloth. The handle and the larger surface area of the hand mirror was polished silver with intricate carvings spiralling around and upwards like dainty vines, decorated with tiny detailed flowers. The glass remained unshattered. And most importantly? The entire thing remained untarnished. Gingerly they lay it upon the table and step back “The mirror itself is quite lovely,” beautiful “But…forgive me for being so bold to say that the reflection one might find within to be more beautiful than the item itself.”

Looking at the table, at the goods presented forth they feel keenly as though they were on trial. Waiting to be granted passage to...well, best not to think about it. After all, there was only so much one could scavenge and hunt...or steal.