The Bazaar - H130, Day 234, 7AP (Hadrian)

[exile]

(OOC: I don't have my books with me, feel free to move this to an existing store if one is more appropriate.)

“Twenty-eight, twenty-nine and thirty.” Pushing the final stack of platinum coins towards Hadrian and Clay for a second counting, the seemingly ancient gnome sat back on his high stool and tugged at his great grey beard. It had taken a lock box to contain all the jink from their find; a large one.

“A pleasure doing business with you cutters, and good day to you,” he added with a note of apparent finality. Hadrian suddenly realized the hour and understood why.

The Bleaker smiled politely and offered the venerable proprietor a nod, but his mind was clearly on other things. Innumerable other things if truth be told, for without a clear focus to apply his energy to over the last hour his thoughts had begun to spin out of control once more. Already he was planning not only the next expedition to the slags, but one to Pandemonium and to Ysgard as well.

“Well Clay,” he mused as he shut the lock box tight and hefted it up. Powers, it was heavy. “The evening hour is fast approaching, and I dare say tonight of all nights we ought not to be found about come nightfall. What say we find a room at an inn hereabouts and await your lady love in the morning?”

Besides, the night hours would give him ample time to work on his upcoming ventures; he’d start writing immediately…

[Stix]

Clay frowns, but follows along without another word. "I can't believe her fate is in the hands of a Taker. If their cure doesn't work, I...."

The young swordsman trails off and shudders at the thought. "I don't know what I'll do," he adds, barely sparing a glance now and again to make sure he's following the right person through the darkening streets.

[exile]

“It will work, Clay,” Hadrian replied with a note of strong assurance in his voice. “It will work.” The two walked on in silence for a time, Clay lost in his own personal misery and Hadrian smiling eagerly at nothing in particular, his gaze flitting from sign post to sign post, and face to face. Before long their loosely focused wandering had carried them past half a dozen inns (one of them several times in point of fact) before the aasimar finally stopped short in the pool of light emerging from the open doors of one such establishment. “What do you say, cutter? Will this do for the evening?”