The old, grey man, the one that smelled like barnacles and old whiskey, was knocking on the door again.

"Avast - I mean, hey! Are ye open?" His voice, with its not-entirely-convincing Viendan accent, could be heard through the door to Demkaih's Spice House. "I have more business for ye! Ran out early this mornin', by the Hell-bound soul o' me mother, an' I have a powerful need. So help ye, open this door, ye scurvy...I mean, please, open up!"

Demkaih looked up from his Hingle Marsala. He'd been quietly eating and weaving baskets in the back of the shop, and the late night knocking was rather unexpected. But the voice was somewhat familiar. Putting down his food, he stood fluidly and walked to the door, unlocking and opening it slightly.

"A man who cannot control his needs, is a man that needs control." He spoke softly, his face blank. The man was the same one from the other day. A pirate it seemed, a rather desperate to not-be..pirate.

"Aye, true, true," said the man abashedly. He was moving strangely, almost as though he had a nervous tic; his head was shaggy and his beard unkempt, and he smelled awful.

"I need some cloves," he said, getting right to the point.

Demkaih sighed and opened the door fully. This man's strange addiction to cloves interested him enough to sell again. Surely his mouth was completely numb. Or perhaps he had built up a tolerance?

"Come in, I have just picked up my ferry load today. We will see what I can give you." He stepped back to allow the man entry.

Shuffling inside, the strange man made himself comfortable on a nearby stool, letting out a mighty sigh as he settled.

"Ahhhhhhh," he groaned. "Tha's the stuff. I'll just wait here..."

Demkaih walked over to a large canvas sack he had resting against the back wall. Taking a hard carved wooden scoop and a small carry bag from his half built cabinet beside it, he opened the sack and dipped the scoop in. Lifting it out, he tipped a large quantity of the small black nubs into the carry bag. Putting the scoop away in the Clove sack itself, he turned back to the quirky man, spinning the bag and tying it off with a piece of twine. Bouncing it on his palm, he looked at the man.

"That is going to cost one tally, and none of your other money this time. No one in Vienda wanted the last coin you gave me, only the shop keeps in Old Rose would take it." His blue eyes watched the pirate carefully, wondering why the old man was so very jittery. But it was not Demkaih's business to pry.

The old pirate looked up at Demkaih before touching his hands to his pockets. His face shifted slightly as though it was tired.

"Ach," he said, grunting. "Thought I had some coin on me summere..." He moved through his pockets, checking them slowly. "Let me just..."

There was a soft click.

The light from the streetlamp outside reflected momentarily on the barrel of his pistol, which was cocked at Demkaih's head. "Hand it over," said Joe Billows quietly. "Quick-like, now."

The mugrobi man looked at the gun with a stern frown. His dagger's were over in the corner where he had been eating and he now cursed himself silently for it. Vienda really was a horrible place. If it wasn't for meeting Fion, he would have packed up and gone home by now. He held out the bag of cloves, his gaze boring into Joe.

"A man who has no honor will never be welcomed by Hulali on the Great Ocean." He said quietly, contemplating how easily he could get that gun out of his face and down the old man. But, he'd worked so hard on the shop, and Fion...what if he died? It didn't concern him, he was at peace with himself and had faith he would see his way to the Ocean, but his heart felt heavy with the grief he would cause her.

"Take them, surely your need is greater than your coin if you feel you must rob me."

The man shuffled further forward, still glowering and holding the gun, though Demkaih could see his hand was shaking, and his right eye was twitching. He snatched the bag of cloves and pressed them to his face, inhaling deeply.

"Aaaaahhh," he said, "tha's the stuff."

He gestured with the gun for Demkaih to back up.

"Ye made the right choice," he said, a gruff mania in his voice. "Good man. I'll be takin' me leave now, sure." Stepping backwards, Joe made his way back towards the door and stepped over the threshold.

Demkaih watched the old pirate carefully as he stepped back out over the thresh hold. He walked upto the door slowly, hands held where Joe could see them and shook his head.

"Do not come seeking my help again, for I will not give it. You are no longer welcome to do trade with me. If I see you again, pray to Hulali your faster with your gun than I am with my daggers." He was so angry, at the whole situation, at the man, at Vienda. From here on out, he would always carry some sort of weapon, and forever trust no one. The world was a cesspool sometimes. Reaching out to put a hand on the door, he slammed it shut, staring at Joe through the glass.

"All right!" said Joe, grinning manaically as Demkaih slammed the door. "See ye next week!"

Cackling, he stumbled off into the night, weaving and bobbing like a boat with no rudder.