wanderer x wanderer [Sol/Miciah]

"AY! BOSS! A plate for me too, yeah? With the kufta, please!"

The man behind a stall got to work on preparing something for her. That's what having the connects with the regular merchants got you--priority ordering. The line wasn't insignificant either, but the food was so damn good you wouldn't dare voice complaint, just some appreciation for when your turn was up.

Micaiah had a large rug rolled up on one shoulder, with a length greater than her height, so the pathways people were walking along had a good amount of its space taken up. Much more when she spun around to look elsewhere, people ducking or bobbing out of the way. That was mostly for the people who seen her and were aware; unfortunately, not the case for everyone. One poor guy on a nearby bench was one of the unlucky few. Normally, the rolled rug would've swung ride over his head, but a paper plate, probably from one of the stalls, was right in front of her feet.

"The hell? C'mon, people, have some respect; some Danava of the Earth would blow a casket if they saw this!"

The girl bent down to pick it up, by the knees of course--as was proper when carrying things--and if the guy didn't dodge out the way, the rug was heading straight for his noggin.

Huh?"

Just as the man had inhuman reflexes, so did Micaiah; when she thought herself spoken too, the girl turned herself around to face the source of the words, the rug flying back in equal speed. She stood up at the same time, tilting the rug downwards to fall directly towards the parallel man's face.

Was someone talking to me?

"OH, SHIT!"

Micaiah dropped the rug off her shoulder; it didn't hit the ground, or the man again, but transformed into a golden card. The card then dissipated into smaller particles and found their way into the gourd on her hip. Naturally, she could've done this from the very get-go, rather than lugging the heavy thing around everywhere the whole time. But, there was something different about carrying product through a bazaar; a different sort of feel to it, that she felt herself contributing to when doing things the hard way.

But this was no time to be just another part of an environment--a man was downed, for crying out loud! Once her hands were free, Micaiah bent down to help the man get up, helping him in getting all the dust off him. She swatted away at his pants with no hesitation or propriety whatsoever; from shins, to thighs, to hips, and onwards. She even gave his rear a good smack, but that one was just for her. All this swatting gave her a good idea of the firmness of the man's body, after all--and she had to say, 10/10. Good job, guy.

"You okay, guy? All good now? You gotta watch out for those rug villains out there, they have absolutely no boundaries whatsoever!"

With the rug not in her hands, but rather in her gourd, she figured there was no way the guy could assume her own rug was the source of his troubles.

Micaiah tilted her head to the side and offered a face of inquiry at the accusation, for which she hadn't the slightest clue about.



"What's up? You okay? Did you get hit on the head a little too hard?"

The girl stood up onto her tippy toes and reached out to pat his head, moving his hair out of his face to get a good look at the point of injury.

"You look fine, rather, fine. It's all good, all you have to say is, 'Thank you very much, kind samaritan, for looking out for the health of a stranger. Because of your magnanimity, I will pledge myself to you.' Nothing too much, you know?"

Micaiah gave a frown to his response, even muttering a meek "Ungrateful..." Still, she gave no resistance to her hand being lowered. After all, Micaiah was never one to bite the hand of the person that would be feeding her.

"I suppose a meal will suffice. As a good samaritan, I won't be picky in how you repay my generosity."

She gave an approving nod, only now just remembering that she still ordered something from the stand. Now, she could just ask the man to pay for the kufta, or, entertain the idea of trying something else. It wasn't her pockets being wrung, after all.

"So, what did you have in mind for a meal? You know, I hear there's a cafe on the east end of the bazaar. It's fit with sand-heated tea, a hookah lounge, the whole shebang."