socialcapital | [ JACKSON HEART ]

[It is outside the greenhouse. And if there's no washing this blood away, there is at least a way to put it further out of the way.

He flips that entire chunk over. Like a pancake. And sets it back down.]

The ground is unsettled and a little bit out of place, but - one good rain will put it back to normal, probably.

If he touches the spot where the bloodstain was, he sees no memories.

[He presses his hand to the disturbed earth, resting it there a long moment.]

You don't have to forget it. And you shouldn't.

But after this long... let it fade. The moments to hold on to are in that greenhouse. Not here.

There's no response, but the greenhouse does look more inviting without the bloodstain in front.

[It's enough for the words to be said.

He rises, and heads back down to the market. There's another "Firuz" to find -- though he expects this one exists in a much more troubled state.]

After the uncomplicated joy of the greenhouse it does feel particularly rough to go back down into the market. Firuz is not the only one here bound to service through debt, so the type of negativity he feels isn't wholly unique - but they make up a small enough percentage that he'll be easy enough to track down.

One stall, the merchant absent, only the assistant visible and working. The assistant in question is early to mid-teens (between 12 and 15; it's hard to tell with bronze-age malnutrition), with a slightly out of season scarf around his neck, a day-old bruise on one side of his face and an arm in a sling. He seems exhausted - this would have been well into his secret plan to free himself, and working all day then working all night for a different reason leaves almost no time for sleep - and to hide this, to hide the tremble in his good hand and the swaying of his posture when he stands still, he simply doesn't stand still, using the constant motion to try to appear more awake and alert.

The stall itself sells pottery - tea sets, vases, bowls - of such poor quality that no matter how charismatic the worker, there's almost nothing he can do to actually move the product.

[A better person would care more about the other miseries here.

He's not a better person. Honestly, he's become steadily more of a worse one.

... the absence of that man is a blessing. Prepared as he was to dodge through the polite fictions of dealing with him without crushing his throat shut, this is far easier.

He wanders closer, examining the pottery critically.]

This is rough work.

He ZEROES IN on an Actual Potential Customer.

"-- It seems that way, but it's just the style of the creator. It's meant to, um, imitate an unskilled style, which only a master could really produce!"

I meant you. Though I do appreciate your use of wabi-sabi to highlight what qualities you can.

"Ah- me? I'm not really... I-I'm just kind of clumsy, normally someone doesn't get injured while trying to sell pottery, haha."

Normally not, no.

[He takes one of the bunches of grapes from his pocket, dividing it roughly, and handing Firuz the larger half.]

At least eat these while you tell me about the fine qualities of raw earthenware versus glazed.

He blinks, taking it with his good hand and squinting like 'what's the catch'. But he doesn't say this out loud, just a thank you.

"Ah, yeah, so-"

He's clearly making a lot of this up on the spot; selling the story more than the product, because he knows the product is Not Good. Increasingly he is distracted by the grapes, which he does resist eating out of suspicion for a while but does eventually relent to eating (at which point 'eat the tasty grapes' becomes priority 1 with 'sell the awful product' an increasingly distant second)

[He nibbles a few of the other half while listening, as much for the reassurance the gesture offers as the experience.

Eventually, he lingers on a small rough-spun bowl -- one just the size for an apple, and maybe a few berries.]

Have you worked in this market long?

The grapes are perfect. The texture, the flavor, they're ideal grapes.

Firuz laughs a little, trying not to sound bitter (not entirely succeeding).

"Kinda feels like my whole life if I'm honest. But a... a few years."

So you know your way around the merchants and prices here.

[He nods, thoughtful.]

I'm afraid there's not much I can offer you in terms of the currencies here. But I do have some more fruit -- of good quality, grown in a greenhouse that would keep crops of all kinds growing out of season.

Would you be open to a trade for this bowl? I don't know the value of what I'm offering, so whether you keep them or find another buyer within these streets is up to you.

He looks a bit surprised, then hesitant, then seems to make some kind of internal decision.

"We don't usually... do trades, but..."

He does a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure the wrong people aren't around to witness.

"Maybe? Can I... see the fruit."

[He lowers his voice to a level easily drowned out by the market's noise, and leans closer.]

Later, please feel free to say that I was an overly friendly customer that was more interested in propositioning you than buying your wares. For the record, I am not -- but that will explain the majority of what curious eyes might see.

Give me your hand?

He looks confused at what that could be a leadup to, but even though he's slightly wary Satin doesn't SEEM like a threat to him right now, and also, no bad person would ever give him tasty grapes probably, so after a brief pause he nods and holds his good hand out.

[His own hands and body shielding them from outside eyes, he places a heavy, ripe sunrise fruit and a perfectly teardrop-shaped sacred ruby berry in Firuz's hand.]

Will these do?

He startles, looking down at them, then up at Satin, then down at the fruits, then despite his best efforts, starts to tear up immediately. Oh no. Oh no emotion.

You are strong, my prince. You have endured, and worked, and the end is almost in sight. I cannot speed these years for you -- if I could, I would. But I will bear them witness, and look on with pride at all you are doing, and all you have done.

[He leans closer still, taking the fruit and tucking them safely out of sight in the folds of Firuz's sling, equally careful of whatever wounds lie within.]

You will accomplish what you will. And it will be by your own hands, and no other.

He truly just has no emotional defense for whatever is happening right now, wiping his face hurriedly with his good hand and trying to regulate his expression again. He does a little croak when he tries to speak, decides not to try that again, and just nods quickly.

As for my question, I believe the answer is, "Those will only do if you add the rest of the grapes in, too."

[And he fills Firuz's good hand with the second heavy bunch of grapes, as well as the half he'd been nibbling on.]

He sniffles and nods again. He is going to eat all this fruit while crying. Sometimes we just have days like that!!

[He clears his throat, clearly performative, and returns to normal volume.]

Well. Consider it.

I'll take this as a memento.

[It's not even a good bowl. Arguably, it's the worst of the lot, almost sure to split and crack the moment it's wet and warm. But he tucks it away inside his jacket all the same.]

[ JACKSON HEART ]

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