Paige has been to the Market a couple of times. Hard to avoid it when you're a merchant yourself. (Though not a very good one to date.) So at least she knows the route, and knows the general dangers. She's not alone, her falcon flying beside her, though not settling on her shoulder as he tends to do, because of the air swirling around her, protecting her. And she's not visibly armed, but her hands /do/ remain near to her pockets until she makes it into the Market, smiling. "See? That wasn't so bad. Besides, you don't /have/ to come with me everytime I come to the Hedge," she tells Glint, who just squawks at her. "Alright...Let's see if I can remember who to go to..." she murmurs.
Dark though it be beyond the Market's hollow, here where the Wild Roses grow it is always sunny, and it is definitely still in business. Pools of light (sometimes literal, seeing as how a vendor over there has what looks like tubs of congealed sunbeams) provide tempting aids for those who venture out into the dark, however. Upon arrival, Paige is met by a quick inspection from the guards, checking her over for anything rose-coloured, then leaving her be to do her shopping in peace.
Paige just smiles at the guards when they check her, but she's not really a rose person. So it's onward she goes, dispelling the air around her so Hunter can land on her shoulder. "Let's see...I think those siblings might do it," she murmurs absently, heading off to Prickle and Spitz's booth, never losing her smile.
Long-nosed and long-eared, Prickle turns his head when Paige appears to be heading toward their stall, elbowing Spitz out of the shorter hob's contemplation of his own webbed toes. The finny hob jerks his head up, blue eyes wide, then narrows them a trifle in appraisal as the changeling nears, gaze lingering on her knives, then the falcon in avaricious glee. "Welcome, welcome!" Prickle bids the Summer, waving her closer.
Hunter doesn't seem to like how Prickle is eyeing him, letting out a screech and nipping at Paige's ear before leaving Paige's shoulder. hopefully he isn't go too far, but with falcons, especially sentient ones, who knows? Paige rubs at her ear, frowning at the falcon before the smile reappears for Prickle. "Hi there. You're Prickle, right? Heard you might be able to help me, if you are."
Prickle doesn't seem to like how Hunter flies away, himself, and sniffs, large nostrils quivering in hairy distaste. Brown lips part in a toothy grin as Paige speaks his name, however, and the hob ducks his head in a bow just a touch -too- obsequious to truly mean it. "That I am, and if it's a token you're looking for, it's Prickle and Spitz you'll find it from."
Paige brightens. "It is. Well, at least /part/ of what I'm looking for is a token. I'm looking for something that can create sort of phantom weapons. Physical but temporary, and they don't actually /hurt/ anyone they're used on. For training purposes, you know? Practice weapons are all well and good but it's not quite the same, you know?" she explains, never losing her smile. She's too damn cheerful for a Summer.
Spitz eyes Paige, then Prickle, leaning in to whisper something to which Prickle nods, eyes narrowing in thought. His large ears twitch as he tells Paige, "We may have something which will suit, but what do you have for payment..?" While Prickle is speaking, Spitz is disappearing into the warren of odd junk and junk which is actually not-junk behind the stall's counter, reappearing shortly thereafter in spurts and starts, dragging a metal gun safe at least two feet taller than he is.
"Really? It does all of that stuff?" Paige asks, trying to contain her excitement. Sadly she's not a very good actress. "Well let's see...I've got some little magical things..." And she pulls out some gewgaws - tea ball, a whistle, a spicebox. She doesn't seem to consider her knives outright. Maybe she didn't hear what they like for payment? "And I can always potentially do a favor, depending on the favor..." She smiles apologetically. "I'm afraid I don't know waht you guys prefer."
Prickle's eyes dip toward the Summer's knives again, weathered brown fingers lifting from the counter's edge to point their way. "Those. Bring them closer." Spitz, meanwhile, struggles to haul the bulky six foot cabinet closer to the counter, panting, soft pink fingers slipping on the metal now and again.
Paige glances down to her knives, hesitating for a moment. But she steps closer, drawing one of the knives from the sheath, offering it to Prickle hilt first. "They're good knives. Nice balance, sharper than they should be, and lovely beside. They're called Snick and Snack," she offers.
Prickle accepts the knife when it is offered, somewhat impatiently waving for her to show him the second knife as well. He turns the first over in his hand, meanwhile, studying its qualities. "Mmmm yes, yes, these could do..." Spitz gives up on getting the token closer, trudging up to eye the knives himself. His tattered wings briefly catch the light as he leans forward, out from beneath the shade of the stall's canopy, to inspect Paige for any more useful items. "This all you want?" the shorter hob inquires.
The second is drawn out and looks essentially identical to the first. Paige looks a touched pained, but the question has her head tilting. "That depends. Do you happen to have the contract some call Hospitality's Hold?" she asks, gaze flicking from Prickle to the knives to the safe then back again.
Prickle looks to Spitz, who grumbles and edges past the safe to go look at their inventory, being the smaller of the two, not to mention the not-spiny of the two, and thereby less likely to knock anything over. While Spitz is busy, Prickle sniffs, nostrils quivering again in mild agitation. "What will you -pay- for it? We trade in absolutes, not intangibles. You want intangibles, you want another stall." This despite them selling Contracts, which are certainly intangible, even if the little scroll Spitz is waving over his head on his way back is physical enough.
"So you won't take memories or anything like that? Just things like the knives?" Paige asks, frowning a little. "I mean, I have these," and she motions to the gewgaws she brought out before. "But no tokens or anything on me." Or that she's willing to give up. "Mmm. Maybe just the token then, for the knives. Unless there's something specific you want for the contract?"
Prickle firmly shakes his head, ears flapping against his leathery skin, then looks down at Spitz as if asking a question. Spitz looks up, notices Prickle's expression, flickers through recognition/speculation of his own, and glances off farther down the row of stalls before returning his attention to the taller Prickle with a decisive nod.
This wordless interchange results in a brown digit pointing off down the row toward a changeling vendor, someone not of the Freehold, but not familiar from Paige's last visit to the Market, either. "He has a book," Prickle declares, the owner of said pointing digit. "Green, leaves, inscribed in whorls of gold. It is the truth. We want it. The knives we will accept for the cabinet. The book we will accept for the Contract."
Paige glances toward the other vendor, then back to the hobs, considering. "I agree on the knives for the cabinet. I'll see about getting the book for you." She's not going to promise it since she doesn't have it yet! "I'll be back in a few for the cabinet," she says, looking to the knives with a wistful look. She does like those knives, but needs the cabinet. Woe! Still, she does start toward the other stall, prepared to make with the bargaining.
Prickle and Spitz nod, just slightly out of unison, and fall silent, dismissing her for the time being to look through the ambling crowds for more potential customers.
The changeling, oblivious to the fact that hobgoblins have indicated him as a potential source of goods, gazes morosely at his folded hands. He's missing the ring finger of his right hand, no stump visible at all; it's as though the finger were never there, though there is a gap for it, and a knuckle with nothing to be knucklish for. A darkling from the looks of it, his hair is lanky and unkempt, greasy, dark, thin, and his pale limbs are oddly attenuated, too slender, too bony, with spidery digits and short black claws for nails. Unlike Paige, who has begun her trek down the slippery slope toward true fae-dom, he is still fundamentally human, odd proportions aside.
Paige smiles as she walks up to the other Lost. "Hi there!" she says cheerfully. "Why are you looking so sad?" she asks, head tilting, rather than going right for the bargaining. For the moment Prickle and Spitz are out of her mind. At least consciously. And sure, somewhere in there she remembers the book, but she really does seem concerned about the sad looking changeling.
The man looks up at the sound of a nearby voice, starts to answer, then appears to think better of it, closing his mouth and taking a sharper look at the vastly less-human Paige. "Nothing's easy in life," is his reply, voice harsh, as though his vocal cords were damaged at some point. "Looking to buy something?"
"No, I suppose it isn't," Paige says, still smiling, though it's a big softer now. She does have a soft spot for people with damaged vocal cords, after all. The Bug is her best friend! "I am looking for something though, yeah. A book. You have any books?" she asks, glancing around his stall.
His stall, in comparison, is shabby, patched, and scrapped together, nearly empty. No books are visible, at first, but after considering Paige, he gets up from his seat and turns his side to her, stepping around his stool to reach down into something below the sightline of the counter. He comes up holding three slim volumes in one hand, one russet, one azure, one green. "Hard to come by, these. Got lucky." He settles down atop his stool again with a subtle, poorly-hidden wince.
Paige doesn't seem at all bothered by the appearance of his stall, just smiles at him. "What's special about these books?" she asks, studying the books and trying not to seem like she's looking too hard at the green one. Which isn't that hard since she does consider the other two. Her boyfriend goes nuts over books, after all.
At no point does he let go of the books, but he does continue to hold them where she can see them. Considering her question, he shrugs, and indicates the russet with a fingertip. "This book is always false." The green. "This book is always true." The azure. "This book is what you want to know."
Paige considers the books for a moment. "Do they come as a set or could I just buy one or two of them?" she asks, not making a move to try to take the books, though each one does get looked at thoroughly. "And what are you asking for them? Either one or the whole set?"
"A set," he answers, and, considering Paige, considering his options, answers her question with a question of his own. "You any good at persuading folks to other opinions? These aren't cheap, but if you can get Big Badha over there-" he lifts his chin to indicate a massive mountain of a hob currently guzzling some sort of no-doubt-intoxicating substance from a tankard at an open bar, bulky, vaguely bearlike in size and general build, albeit less hairy, "-to leave off drinking for the rest of the night, they're yours."
Paige closes her eyes at the price given. Oh, this isn't going to be fun. Or easy! "Clarify the rest of the night. Until midnight?" she asks, drawing in a deep breath before she opens her eyes, trying not to look hopeful that the end of the night is midnight.
"Until dawn," the lanky man corrects, glum, but firm. He must have a reason for it, but he's not talking. "He has to stop drinking until dawn." Which, given that Paige got here a bit before midnight, means at least another six hours, hampered by the fact that, you know, IN THE MARKET IT IS ALWAYS BRIGHT AND SUNNY. Who knows WHEN dawn is? ;)
Paige glances upward for a moment, then to the man. "Can you clarify? Since the sun is already up, just when are you considering when dawn is? Because I'd really hate to try and get the guy to promise not to drink until the Market finally closes, which could be in a couple of years."
He shakes his head, and points out along the trail which leads out of the Market. "You can tell out there. Think you can do it?" Considering her size versus Big Badha's size, he gives her a dubious look, transparent in his belief that she will fail.
Paige shrugs slowly. "I suppose we'll find out," she says, not sounding too confident in her abilities in this. Still, she heads over to the other hob, not at all intimidated by the size. "Excuse me," she says, starting off polite and with a smile. She can get scary later, but you can't really go back from it.
The bear-like hob turns, at least three feet higher than Paige, and looks down at her with a crooked, wet and snaggle-toothed grin at the sight. "You interested in a contest, too?" he rumbles, voice deep in a barrel chest. One thick finger indicates two smaller hobs, still taller than Paige, who both look the worse for wear, one swaying, one snoring and drooling with his head on the bar, tusks protruding from his lower jaw.
Paige cocks her head. "What sort of contest?" she asks curiously, glancing toward the hobs. "If it's a drinking contest, not so much." She looks back to him and smiles. "I was actually wondering what it would take to get you to agree to not have another drop of alcohol to drink until dawn." Straight to th epoint, it seems.
Big Badha stares at her, blinking slowly, as though the thoughts engendered by her words don't quite translate in that broad head of his. Gradually coming to realise she's serious, he scratches behind an ear, casually flicking off some form of revolting, blood-bloated insect (or was that a human face..?) to skitter away on impact with the ground. "You volunteering to-" he leers with supreme self-confidence and a different form of interest, "-keep me busy?" With a wink of one beady eye, he assures, "I like a good fight."
Paige blinks once. "If it'd get your promise I'd fight you, but it's against the rules of the Market, unfortunately. And I don't think either of us want to get kicked out of here do we?" she points out with a smile. "I mean, I'd be happy to keep you company and talk to you and stuff between now and dawn, after taking care of a quick errand, but..."
Big Badha stares at her again, as though he doesn't quite comprehend her objection. "We fight outside," he clarifies, with ever so slight condescension for her poor widdle human-addled brain. Even if she IS more fae than human at this point. Tossing back another tankard of something greenish-gold that -smells- like honey and a summer meadow full of flowers, he reaches out to pat Paige on the back with a massive, heavy hand. "You'll fight! A duel in the Hedge, yes? No weapons, no fists." He turns to the drunken hobs nearby, shaking the one awake and snapping his fingers in front of the other. "Witnesses! She and I, we duel until surrender or until we fall unconscious."
Paige considers Badha for a moment before she slowly nods. "I'll duel you outside of the Market, until surrender or unconsciousness, if you promise to not drink a drop of alcohol until dawn /and/ give me five minutes to complete my errands inside the market." While she hopes Hunter is somewhere nearby. Unconscious in the Hedge without a friend about doesn't sound fun. But hopefully he didn't fly far and is watching.
The monstrous hob laughs, genial, and waves her off. "Go, go! Big Badha promises this. Not another drop! We will wait by the gate." The waving arm gestures toward the exit of the Market, whereupon he begins to lumber off in that direction, seemingly none the worse for wear for putting so much alcohol into his system. The less able hobs wince and stagger after him, blearily baleful eyes conveying, wordless, just how unenthused they are about Paige's upcoming duel making -them- have to get up.
Paige watches Badha for a moment before returning to the Lost. "He's promised not to touch another drop of alcohol until dawn, so I'd like those books now, please," she says with a smile, but she doesn't waste anyt ime. She only asked for five minutes!
The morose changeling looks after Big Badha in mild surprise, visibly impressed, albeit warily so, by Paige's success. "A deal's a deal," he agrees, turning back to retrieve the books again with another subtle wince. He slides them over the counter toward her.
Paige takes the books and smiles at him. "Thank you very much. And do try to smile. It can't be all that bad. And you get a break from his drinking," she points out, before heading back to the sibling's stall. "One green book that tells the truth!" she says cheerfully, offering it out to them.
Prickle and Spitz seem neither pleased nor surprised by Paige's success, simply accepting it as good business. "Good, good. Our deal stands," the spiny hob declares, sliding a thin plastic-wrapped after-dinner-mint, such as one might find on your pillow at a hotel, over the counter and accepting the book from Paige. The great big cabinet is hauled out where she can reach it, and after that, its transportation is her problem, not theirs.
Paige takes the mint, looking at it for a moment before she shrugs and pops it in her mouth. The Market is weird, okay? Then she eyes the cabinet for a moment before turning, backing up to it, then...trying to just heft it on her back and carry it out. "Hunter!" she calls as she tries to get the thing out of the Market.
Hotels are in the hospitality business, after all. Perfect sense. Whenever Paige gets to the exit of the Market, Big Badha and his two companions are waiting there for her. The enormous hob booms a genial, "And now we two, we step out together, and restate the terms of our duel for all the Hedge to hear."
Paige does pause, once out of sight of Prickle and Spitz, looking around for a moment before she shoves the cabinet...well, who knows /where/ the damn thing went, but it's not here now! Just her and her clothes. Not even any knives now. Woe! Then she heads out to Big Badha and smiles. "Yes. I agree to duel you, until one of us is unconscious or surrenders. /Not/ to the death."
This being the Hedge, no one appears to notice or, particularly, to care that a Changeling has stuffed something into something magical. The laws of reality are what you agree they are, after all. Who knows what halfbreeds have agreed to do?
The bear-like hob and his two drunken companions wait for Paige, and Big Badha repeats, "A duel to surrender or unconsciousness," with a booming basso laugh and a roll of slab-muscled shoulders, anticipation brightening small, dark eyes.
A few hobs on their way into the market pause, interest piqued, and back away...but don't leave. Seems Paige has an audience. Who will make the first move?
Paige is a nice person, really she is. She donates to charity, helps the homeless and is a friend to everyone she meets...and utterly ruthless when it comes to a fight, even one that isn't fought with fists and weapons. She gives a fierce smile to the hob when he repeats the words and the duel begins, lashing out. Ineffectively, it seems, trying to harass him with a strong gust of wind. Knocking an opponent over would've been a nice start, alas.
When the wind gusts over him, Big Badha laughs, grinning fiercely, and gestures with one huge hand, small rocks dislodging from the root-entwined soil of the trod outside the Market's Hollow to fly toward Paige's legs -- however sneaky his attempt at injuring her legs was intended to be, clearly, it wasn't managed quite deftly enough. He circles to the side with a brush of dried leaves underfoot, seeking openings, the earthy scent of leaf-mould and his own natural musk carried on the breeze...along with the positively pickled alcohol of his companions nearby, prudently standing in the background.
Paige grins. "You're not doing as well either," she points out, but it's said more cheerfully than snidely. She pivots and steps back as she moves away from the rocks, whistling sharply just to make sure Hunter finds her. Just in case she does end up getting knocked out. Luckily, everything of value /is/ hidden away, aside from her life. She makes a gesture of her own, slashing out with her hand toward Badha, giving him a lovely gentle breeze to cool him off. No, really, that was her intention.
Such consideration, yes, such a lovely breeze. Big Badha attempts to ensnare one of her feet with a sleeve of shifting soil, but fails, the failure only brightening the battle-gleam in small, dark eyes. "A challenge!" he approves.
Paige doesn't stay still, but keeps moving around the duel area, to avoid his earthy attacks while she smiles. "Much more satisfying than an easy win," she agrees, arms continuing to move, to slash at him with gusts of wind.
The buffeting of wind does occasion a shift in footing here and there, but it proves difficult to dodge, invisible as it is. While Big Badha doesn't appear to take any heavy damage, no blood drawn, Paige does manage a few good hits, which he reciprocates, a lash of stones and vines slashing and bashing at the smaller woman.
Paige likes moving around, but then, she's probably got enough energy, normally, to let three normal people go through a whole day of normal activity. Moving is her normal. She continues to fight using the very air of the Hedge, and perhaps the Hedge has just decided it likes her, or dislikes Big Badha, because two of those sharp slashing motions carry more than just a burst of wind, making the harpy smile with satisfaction. Though not smugly. Smug is for less bubbly people. Honest.
Big Badha is feeling fairly confident -- until one of those wind-slashes bites, dark blood, muddy red, spraying out to glisten slickly on coarse hair a smidge too thin to be called fur. A quick dodge splashes the next on his armour with a solid impact, but he is unlucky with the third, the Hedge silently echoing his pain with an unnerving sense of -hunger-, anticipation. The pair is oppressed with the sure knowledge of something ancient and inhuman, waiting, watching, and to some alien extent, satisfied with the blood sport. The bear-like hob lashes out at Paige again, himself, but his aim is off, only one of the small rocks striking her.
Paige is almost dancing around (though with any real rhythm, it's just the constant movement), dodging rocks and sending the air to attack the bleeding hob. There's a fraction of a second when she pauses, feeling that watchfulness, but she doesn't stop, instead attacks once more. Unsuccessfully, really, but it's hit and miss with this duel.
Big Badha is not doing well, visibly the worse for wear. His companions slur cheers and jeers, booing Paige with drunken enthusiasm, while the small crowd around the outside of the duel whispers eagerly amongst themselves, waiting, watching, for the big hob to fall. He shakes his head, fighting the weariness of blood loss, and narrows small eyes in fierce concentration, struggling to lash out at Paige again, but not a strike manages to land on the dancing woman.
He's not fainting, and Paige isn't giving up. Surrender or unconsciousness, that was the deal, and he's not done either yet. Her hand lashes out, buffeting him with wind, before she asks, "Do you surrender?" Not that she expects him to. He doesn't seem the sort to surrender. So more hits from the air are given while she waits for his response.
He hasn't done either, sure, but it isn't for lack of trying. He's swaying nearly as much as his drunken comrades, at this point, and staggers, almost falling, when another set of strikes hammer his armour. Coughing up a mouthful of dark blood on a brief laugh, he steps back, hands up as much as his injured arm will let him lift one of them. "You win, you win. I surrender." Promptly, the heavy, oppressive sense of Being Watched lifts, the Hedge's attention elsewhere now that the duel has ended. Big Badha sways a moment, then seems to recall something, reaching into a pouch at his side to pull out a juicy fruit. Healing, it seems, since his breathing gets a bit easier once he swallows it. "A good fight!"
Paige's arms drop and she smiles cheerfully at the hob. "That was a good fight," she agrees, nodding and holding zero ill will toward him. "You were hard to hurt. Tough. I don't know that I'd want to meet you in a real fight, but this was fun. But remember your promise. No more alcohol until dawn. Luckily, dawn isn't /too/ far away, really."
Big Badha laughs again, without the blood this time, and wipes his lips on one bristly forearm. He waves her off, agreeing, "Until dawn." The small audience slips away to enter the Market, trailing in ahead of the limping Badha and his two companions as he turns to re-enter it himself, leaving Paige bruised, yet indisputably the victor on the field.
Paige smiles happily and nods, watching Big Badha wander back into the Market. She looks up, searching for Hunter, and when she spos him, she whistles and he circles down, to land on her shoulder and nip at her ear. "Okay, let's go home. I want a hot shower before I play with my new toy," she tells the falcon, starting ot whistle softly as she heads back toward safety.
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