Beauty & The Beast

[Brian]

N'dovu nods thoughtfully at this, and says, "Thank you.  I will go look for this market now."  Raising his glass in salute, he quickly drains it, and then sets it on the counter and heads to the 42 bus stop.  If the bus doesn't show up within two or three minutes, N'dovu takes a look at the map posted on the bus's rain shelter (ironic, since N'dovu has seen rain twice in this state), and walks to the park directly.

[Carthrat]

Amazingly enough, the bus soon arrives!

It's a double-decker, 'Special' bus; a new sort that the bus company has started to integrate, in order to be more like their elegant friends in London. There are seats on the roof of the bus, so one can get free exposure to the air, and the public. Great stuff.

The door slides open. It's really small. The driver takes a look at N'Dovu, blanches, and waits for him to come in.

[Brian]

N'dovu spends a second staring back at the driver and unconsciously reflecting his horror back at him.  A double-decker bus?  In San Francisco, the hilliest city in the world?

N'dovu makes a warding sign, but doesn't reject the rife; it would be rude to the spirits.  After climbing into the bus awkwardly, N'dovu pays, and decides to sit near the rear exit for easier escape once the bus crashes.

If the bus doesn't crash, the spirits have neatly played N'dovu into their debt.

Again.

[Carthrat]

Strangely enough, there aren't many people on the bus. Of course, with their lack of spiritual understanding, they would much prefer to wait out fate and not take any serious risks.

The bus gets off to a bumpy ride, and N'Dovu can feel his head repeatedly bashing against the low roof of the bus.

No, this isn't a fun trip. Made worse by a bunch of kids who soon come aboard, and promptly start pointing at N'Dovu and asking their accompanying parental-figure (a woman) what sort of monster he is- in oh-so-loud voices.

[Brian]

N'dovu grumbles, and rubs at the spirit mark that covers the bridge of his nose -- a looping swirl that is symetrical, beneath each eye.  Bowing his head slightly, he hunches over, now only a foot or so taller than everyone else, and able to let his upper back smash into the roof instead of his head.

[Carthrat]

The incredible pain of the bus subsiding, N'Dovu is somewhat relieved when the bus pulls up outside a park, and the driver announces "South Central Park. Last stop."

[Brian]

N'dovu gets off as quickly as possible, glad to be free of the spirit-forsaken machinery.  Once outside, and exposed to San Fransisco's comfortably toxic atmosphere, N'dovu surveys the park, looking for the market in particular.

[Carthrat]

Noise and sound come from the north-east.

And every other direction, but the sounds from the north-east encompass people talking, laughing, haggling, and cursing. There's quite a few cars around the central park area, but in a minor miracle, it doesn't suffer the heavy traffic of other parts of the city. Perhaps people are allergic to greenery.

[Brian]

Stretching with some relief, N'dovu makes sure to extract his stick from the bus as he exits.  Taking a deep breath, he heads to the noise, expecting it to be the market.

[Carthrat]

The Sunday Market is bustling, with a large array of cars parked near the road (as you would), boots open and owners nearby, making sure no sly-witted sneak-thief tries to make off with any of them goods. Colours abound, and frequently clash, making the market, in the bright sun, as a whole, quite jarring to look at.

N'Dovu, however, despite the bustle, has no trouble carving a path through the crowd to get where he wants. He's left wondering exactly *where* this vendor is, however. Currently, he's surrounded by the purchasing of such thrilling objects as:

1) Home-Made Cures for Chicken-Pox (in home-made plastic bottles)
2) Broken monitors for them computers.
3) Old-looking cars.
4) Small birds, some of which are in cages (others merely advertised).
5) Vast amounts of childrens toys, ranging from ancient-looking trains to newfangled dollhouses that, apparently, control air-conditioning, temperture within your fridge, buys food for the pets and feeds them, too, among other wonderous actions.

[Brian]

N'dovu brings to mind the image of the shirt he saw worn earlier that day, and scans the crowd for a similar one.  While the market is tumultous, N'dovu doesn't understand or need most of the things they sell.  Clothing, however, is imperative.  While walking, N'dovu especially keeps an eye out for anyone who comes nearer to him than the obligitory circle of space he seems to command.

[Carthrat]

After a few minutes of searching, N'Dovu comes across a vendor who is selling a variety of patterned shirts, in varying sized (ranging from the 'extremely small' to the 'not quite N'Dovu's size.) They look to be handmade, and of decent quality. Not too dissimilar from the shirts seen earlier.

The vendor doesn't look especially pleased when N'Dovu shows up, because that means nobody else is around his store to look. He's a middle-aged man, with ragged brown hair tied in a ponytail, and a fairly creased face. He's tapping a pair of knitting needles against the desk in a short rhythm.

[Brian]

N'dovu nods at the man respectfully, and hesitates briefly.  The man might agree to give N'dovu business just to get rid of him.  Then again, N'dovu could easily be setting himself up to recieve poorly made clothing.

With a thoughtful expression, N'dovu asks, "Excuse me, sir," in his crisply British accented English.  "Might you happen to know where I might be able to aquire some clothing of at least this high quality in my own size?"

[Carthrat]

The guy blinks at N'Dovu for a moment, surprised at the jarring accent coming from such an unlikely source. Twirling the knitting needles on his fingers (and showing quite the manual dexterity by doing so), he replies,

"Huh. I could make something about your size. Don't have anything in stock, though. Maybe. Feel free to hunt."

[Brian]

N'dovu smiles at this, thinking, perhaps, business could be conducted here.  Of course, before he makes his opening parley, some small talk could be in order.  "I would be most grateful if I could place an order with you for some new articles," N'dovu suggests.  "My job tends to keep me busy."  Unsure if the man on the other side of the counter is one of the would-bes who enjoys taking drugs needlessly, N'dovu produces the generic business cards that the management has given him -- which don't even have his name on them.  They're practically just business-card-sized flyers.

"How much would four shirts and three sets of trousers cost?" N'dovu asks, before the man even has a chance to accept the card.