Money in hand: Rosalie should have viewed this as a good opportunity for savings, should have set the coin aside and put it toward a first payment. That proud, central core that straightened her spine kept reminding her that every cent was a cent toward getting Corwynn off her back.

The young, hungry, weary part of her countered with one word: chocolate. She just wanted one mouthful of bitter chocolate, a memory of her youth, perhaps, and splitting the treats with her sister: the slow melt along her tongue, spicy and rich and familiar. Rosalie couldn't remember the last time she'd had chocolate; years, maybe, considering how long she'd spent at sea, and it was certainly a special occasion food. She'd just dubbed this a special occasion.

The Trader's Market, bustling and smelly and loud, was just hitting its peak under the strength of a glimpse of early-afternoon sun through the clouds. Rosalie -- small, dark, female, passive -- was sure to keep one hand on a sword and the other on her coin purse to keep anything important from getting lifted. She didn't fight the jostle of the crowd but allowed herself to be batted around, going light-footed and unresistant when errant elbows and hips bumped her. It meant she didn't get hurt, didn't get into a fight, but it also meant that her trek through the stalls was meandering and winding, as opposed to a straight line.

She thought that she should be looking for a spice vendor. Chocolate and spices tended to go hand-in-hand, she thought. Rosalie slowed near stands offering foods and produce and unusual delicacies, chewing on her lips and eying the stands. A single-minded mission. She wouldn't be swayed...

A few of the crowd jostled or nearly brushed against Rosalie as she navigated the unorganized collection of tents, booths, and stands. No one purposely put themselves in her way, of course, but a handful of strangers stumbled and wove their way in and out of her path in order to reach their own destinations. There were plenty of folks hawking loudly, some of them obviously confusing volume with enthusiasm, forcefulness with invitation, appearances with value. In a few places, it was definitely difficult to distinguish the scent of anything pleasant from the myriad of less than savory smells that wafted from a few of the stalls (or their owners, for that matter).

A particular well-shaded booth, covered with a brightly colored tent of hand-dyed batiks, stood out from the crowd of other stalls as the more practical wares gave way to foodstuffs. The old, weathered specimen of Mugrobi human stock sat behind his piled baskets of spices, milled and dried, pipe in the teeth he had left, ring in his nose something that would've glittered had there been more sun peeking from the heavy clouds, bare chest a hint of a stronger youth. Behind him was a collection of boxes, kept covered for the obvious reason that they probably contained items that were easy or quick to spoil. Some of them were labeled, but most were not.

A younger, darker-skinned copy of the man was awkwardly weighing a decent-sized sackful of spices for a surprisingly unswarthy customer, carefully setting small metal weights onto the measure. He was babbling in Mugrobi—bartering, really—numbers and sly remarks disguised as compliments.

The blond galdor bartering back was not unfamiliar, but the fact that he kept pace in the boy's language may have been a bit out of place from common knowledge. Corwynn pointed animatedly, rather involved in the price negotiation, as it was. A well-carved wooden box was tucked under the other arm, unwrapped despite the chance of rain. He was smiling thinly, slightly amused by the apparent challenge, but might have seemed to the discerning or knowledgeable eye a bit more tired and worn than usual.

Corwynn was a bit like a persistent cold. Or a tumor, perhaps. Rosalie would be willing to acquiesce that he was a benign one, at this point, at least. He was ever-present, yes, there when she turned the corner, a plague that couldn't be cured [except, perhaps, by four Concords], but he didn't real do any damage. Not to her, anyway. He was, inexplicably, on her side, it seemed.

He was also currently in front of the stall Rosalie had been approaching, and while she was now reconsidering this choice, her options were limited. The bustle and flow of the Market was pushing her in that direction, whether she willed it or no. Her course was set, a slowly curving line toward the bright awning of the spice booth.

Rosalie could make the most of this. She did it by pretending not to notice Corwynn standing beside her as she finally eased to a halt, head tipped down and attention sliding over spices and wares, fingers carefully rifling through the coins in her pouch to take stock, for the tenth or twentieth time, of just how much coin she had to spend. Entirely possible it wasn't enough.

The boy was losing. The tightness in his young face made that much obvious, even if his words were still as lilting and musical as his language allowed. The gunman still took no notice of the slightly smaller passive's settling to one side, her lack of a field enough to keep him from paying attention. The swelling crowds of the market making other customers a logical enough assumption. Corwynn was too caught up in securing his financial victory of a few less coins over a small bag of some kind of spice or another. It looked rather trivial, really ... at least to the casual observer. He didn't even look over, blue eyes focused on the boy even as he rest his right hand casually on the butt of his pistol as a hint of finality to the bargaining process.

The old man noticed, however, one hand reaching up to remove the pipe from between his lips and offer Rosalie a warm, slightly toothless smile. He leaned forward a little, palm on his bony knee, and tilted his head in the direction of his wares.

"Sana'hulali, are you looking for something in particular this afternoon?" The man's accent was thick, but not hard to understand.

"...do you have anything sweet?" Rosalie kept her voice down, eyes on the old man as she leaned in against his stall. One corner of her mouth quirked up, not quite a smile. It was somewhat strained, careful, as she struggled not to draw attention aside onto herself. She looked messy and damp, sliding toward wet rat, but there was a note behind it.

"Been searching the whole market for a little chocolate." There was a pause, though, a breath, relenting with a twitch of one shoulder. "Well, there was one man, but I didn't exactly trust what he was selling. Something about the eyes, you understand."

"I believe you, and you'll find plenty better here any day." The old man grinned as best he could, lips a little sunken without so many teeth to hold them up but the lines of his face making the proper shape of something bordering on the conspiratory. He shifted a little, muttering something in Mugrobi apparently intended to get the boy's attention, unaware of Rosalie's attempt to keep herself unnoticed by his other customer, "Allow my son to fetch you some of my wares for your liking."

The boy was begrudgingly counting change, bottom lip sticking out in a way that revealed both his youth and his dissatisfaction. He didn't look up to acknowledge his father so much as bob his head to indicate he'd heard, mumbling a response that sounded very much like, "Hang on and I'll get to that," judging by his tone.

If Corwynn had recognized the hushed voice or noticed the passive, not even his field gave it away. He accepted his change from the young attendant, shifting the box under his arm slightly to tuck coins away.

"Domea." The blond galdor added as he reached for the bag, tilting his head slightly to watch the boy head for the shaded boxes next to his father. Ah. There it was. He'd gone and noticed, eyes traveling from boxes to old man to customer, expression warmly transitioning from business to pleasure, not quite making it into a full-fledged smile. He didn't want to spoil her opportunity to barter ... too much ... and so his recognition was somehow contained in his eyes.

The boy had filled a tray with samples of various chocolates, colorful candies, and some dried fruits from the boxes. He appeared next to the older man, holding the tray out like it was something dead and smelly in Rosalie's direction, still pouting at his loss of profit.

Oh, that just wasn't fair. Rosalie's attempts at barter were probably ruined by the twinge of longing across her face, brief but fierce, before she managed to wipe it back down to something more muted and more...well, Rosalie. She hummed at the tray, not digging grubby fingers in [she wasn't, after all, their usual patron] but instead going for her purse.

"I only need a piece." Or two. Two would have been nice. But she could feel Corwynn's eyes on her and she managed to bite down on the gluttonous urge to just make off with the entire tray. Instead she produced half the coin she'd gained from renovations, with her head tipped to the side, rooting around for just a moment after like she was chasing for more coins. A ploy to make it seem like that was the bottom of her cash. Hard to argue with someone, when they didn't have any more coin.

"Too much can't be good for you anyway, hm?" One hand slithered up to swipe hair out of her face, and the corner of her mouth tugged upward just a little more. Rosalie was playing at nice, maybe.

The old man laughed, mostly a sucking noise and some movement of air somewhere in his throat more than a real laugh, "It depends on what you mean by good." He shrugged, adding with a slightly musical lilt, an allure of good salesmanship, to the tone of his voice, "A piece or two of which? Don't be shy. Samples are for tasting."

The boy just stood there, tray outstretched, eyes watching Rosalie curiously. His expression implied he already knew what he'd pick out of all the delights on the tray, at least.

Corwynn said nothing, clearing his throat and shifting a little on his feet. He wasn't exactly leaving, either ... grinning now in a much more obvious, mischievous way. His free hand had found his weapon again as somewhere to rest, the other laden with box and bag of thick-smelling spices. He could've left without saying anything, really, but what would've been the fun in that?

Rosalie's eyes twitched up from the tray and onto the stall's owner, askance to the boy offering her sweets...and she gave in. Well, they were offering, weren't they? At this point, it would have been rude to say 'no'. And Corwynn had seen her giving in to much guiltier pleasures before.

She wanted something dark; delicately picked an almost-black chocolate from the tray and bit it in half. Or she meant to bite it in half. She got about halfway through and then the whole thing disappeared into her mouth. Very much worthwhile. She was left licking her fingers and the corner of her mouth, blurry and pleased, forgetting to even lean on her own weapon.

It was cool enough that maybe she could get a few. Keep it in her room. Wouldn't melt in this weather. "...I, ah." Which one? How could she choose. She blinked, shrugged, sucking the side of her thumb clean.

"Perhaps you've tasted better somewhere else?" The Mugrobi vendor purred musically in his thick accent, obviously a ploy, a self-depreciating sales pitch that had probably worked on plenty of others once the samples were out and ready. He looked far from offended, however, bright blue eyes watching Rosalie a sharp contrast to his dark, weathered skin.

Corwynn practically hummed in amusement, perhaps a little more interested in watching the passive than he should've been, if only because it was obviously not a common expression anyone could hope to be privy to. Still, he managed to say nothing, though the weathered lines on his face spoke enough. He could've enjoyed the offered samples had he wanted to, he was sure. Already a paying customer and all. However, it would've been inaccurate to say he had a sweet tooth, for he'd already made his appetite preferences clear enough by now.

"Not one for sweets, I see." Ventured the old man, arching a faded once-blond eyebrow, fluffy and overgrown. He let his gaze wander to the galdor as if wondering why he was still here. Then he looked back to Rosalie, "Another sample or do you already know what you're here for?"

Rosalie shot Corwynn one look as she caught the last of the chocolate from the corner of her mouth. She'd been suppressing the urge to look up at him, to acknowledge that he was there and she'd noticed him, but there was only so much she could do; she needed to know if he was laughing at her. And of course he was. Bad news for the old man, because it kicked her back into focus, dragged another hint of a smile across her mouth as she met his eyes.

"I have no idea which I want." It was slow, carefully earnest, her head tilted as she reached out for another. Not quite so dark, she'd go for something sweeter, lighter, testing. Sampling. He had offered, after all. She needed to taste to make a decision.

The boy was like a statue, arm outstretched, offering the samples. He was at least smiling now, blue eyes brighter than his father's, wisps of pale hair catching on the sea breeze. This part was always entertaining to him.

Rosalie's quick glance and her admission of indecision finally dragged a few words from the gunman, taunting and familiar, "I'm sure that's no surprise ... he's brought out enough samples, after all." Corwynn's tone implied that had he been interested in chocolate, he might not have been too overwhelmed. Then again, money was not a problem and he could've gone home with an entire box. If he wanted, anyway. He was aware of the difference between them in that regard, but that didn't stop him from toying with the line a bit.

He might have had another comment, but the galdor bit his lip instead, shifting his attention away from the passive and back to the tray, adding lightly, "You'll have to choose well, then."

The vendor chuckled, lips flapping a little, and finally stood, resting one hand on his son's shoulder as support while his other wrinkled hand swept over the tray, lingering over a few of the small pieces. He narrated what was there, giving some details on flavors, delving into some of the origins of the fruits or nuts contained in one or two of them, describing the differences in the shades of richness and color. His accent might have lent a little exoticness to the nature of chocolate, and the old man may have known this.

Once he was finished, he showed off his missing teeth in another smile, "Maybe that helps you decide what suits you best?"

Rosalie took her time on this one, chewing absently while the man spoke, her expression quietly thoughtful. Chocolate was serious business, apparently, enough so that she even managed to keep from smacking Corwynn a solid one for interfering. Didn't need his help, and she definitely didn't need his hindrance. She polished off the last of her sweet as the man finished his explanation, and took a moment to gather her thoughts, prodding the back of her teeth with her tongue.

"...definitely dark. Bitter." Her tone was careful, slow. The old man would almost certainly see the gears turning behind her eyes, maybe the hint of wicked amusement behind it. "Excellent in the moment, but too much and it leaves a bad taste in your mouth."

Rosalie licked her thumb, considering, eying the tray of chocolates and most certainly not Corwynn. "Maybe the one with chili peppers in it. I do like a bit of trouble mixed in."

The blond galdor may not have been given a glance, but the comment was plenty. Enough to elicit a snort of a laugh as his right hand strayed from his pistol to the lower half of his face, tilting his head away to suppress further laughter. It mostly worked, but a few lighter sounds of amusement halted in his chest. Oh, he could have plenty to say to that, but he was confident this was not the place for his commentary. Not at all.

Again, he could've left. It might've been smarter to have already gone and done so, but it might've also been too late for that now. His free hand drifted from his face to the curls at the back of his neck before returning to its usual perch at his hip. He could keep his mouth shut for now. It was a bit of a challenge, however, and he rocked on his heels, half stepping back, in mental resistance.

The old man perked up at the potential decision, "Ah. Well, spice is always a rewarding compliment to something smooth, though I'd have to venture trouble is on your own head and not in your food." He smacked his lips at this in his weak imitation of a laugh, leaning up from his son and gesturing with his hand toward the boxes, "Those come in bars, not cubes. Are you sure, then?"

The Mugrobi vendor's voice seemed to lilt upward, perhaps in anticipation of a bit of bargaining. His eyes brightened.

"I'm sure enough in the moment..." Which implied she'd regret it later, of course, but later was too late anyway. She shook her head at the man, shifting her hand to set the coins she was holding a-jingle, and tilted her head to one side. Rosalie was still smiling. Hard to tell if that was a good sign or a bad one.

"So. Foregoing all niceties, how much?" She didn't want to dance diplomatically around the issue, especially since diplomacy was almost certainly the vendor's area of expertise. Making it blunt, straightforward, factual, would set the ball more into her own court. Or, at least, put her at less of a disadvantage.

The Mugrobi vendor's expression faded, dark lines of age falling into something neutral but determined, shrewd. He was quiet for a moment as if caught off guard by Rosalie's directness, but then he shrugged and replied almost nonchalantly, "The bars are a quarter pound each. It's a hat and a tally a bar, but I'll sell a whole pound for five tallies even."

His bottom lip moved a bit more than was normal, perhaps because of the lack of teeth. The old man tilted his head toward the box, tone turning slightly self-depreciating, "It's not as popular as someone like yourself may make it seem. It does come from quite far away."

The blond gunman was a bit more curious now; that was certainly more expensive than a meal. Whether or not he considered it a worthy purchase was far from readable across his features, however. He sniffed thoughtfully, hovering persistently; an unwelcome fly unwilling to leave.

"Five tallies for a pound of chocolate?" There was laughter behind her voice, as she shuffled the coins in her hand. Five tallies was what she was being paid just now; there was no chance she was going to blow it all on sweets.

"Mate, you're talking to the wrong gal. I couldn't even imagine blowing through that much chocolate, and I'm clocking well not about to go into resale." Rosalie shot a look up at Corwynn, as if daring him to join in the joke. The idea of Rosalie behind a booth, buying and selling chocolate, was somewhat humorous, perhaps. She'd get restless. She might blow something up.

"I'll give you a tally and a fort for a bar." There was a little pause, a breath of hesitation, before she conceded -- "Two and a hat for two." And slowly descend into ill-health as she forewent real food for chocolate. Oh well.

The old Mugrobi man blinked momentarily, noting the drastic shift in price the small woman spat at him. Chocolate was far from a necessity, generally speaking, and the vendor had always enjoyed the kind of sale prices the sweet luxury had led others to afford. Of course he'd marked things up, especially when he felt he was capable of getting away with it. Isn't that what all good salesmen did? His son huffed and shot a borderline angry glare at his father just as Rosalie looked away to see Corwynn's well-aged features set into a smug, curious grin. He caught her glance, blue eyes revealing he was enjoying the exchange perhaps a little too much.

The blond galdor chuckled, almost coy, one eyebrow lifting in wordless, amused questioning—how hard was the passive willing to bargain for her prize?

"Of course you're not reselling my chocolate," the wrinkled, bald vendor practically purred, thick desert accent lending a certain flavor to his words, "But if you want to buy it, you'd at least better respect what it's worth, young woman." His gap-toothed smile reappeared and he waved a hand, tone of voice implying there was still room to argue ... maybe, "Two tallies a bar, but only because your eyes rival the green of lush delta reeds in the spring."

Corwynn coughed, almost a laugh, but not necessarily in mocking.

"That's a crock of chrove shit!" She actually laughed at him -- but it wasn't precisely nice, no, and her eyes were green, but they were also mean. Rosalie, a passive and a woman in ORH, recognized a little bullying when she saw it. She'd also undergone schooling until the age of ten: her math was minimal, but better than most certainly.

"That's more than you offered originally. If you're playing dirty, and aren't going to stick to the rules of barter, neither will I." She dug out one tally and put the rest away, holding it up so that he could look at the coin. "This is all I'm spending. One bar."

The old man laughed, hoarse and throaty, reaching up a hand to run over his bald head, "And you are not just a casual buyer, strolling the market for deals." He muttered a few words in Mugrobi, at first directed possibly at Rosalie, and then the final words definitely toward the boy.

Corwynn sniffed, smirking at whatever comment the old man made, but he didn't bother to translate at the moment. His eyes might have narrowed, but then he shook his head and mocked impatience, knowing full well there was no need for him to wait. He felt a bit too stuck now, however, having stayed long enough that leaving now would be strange.

The boy set the tray down with a curt nod of obedience, slipping behind his father toward the shaded boxes, snatching wrapping paper with a faint pattern and opening a one of the boxes.

"We have a saying in my country," the Mugrobi vendor reached for the coin, "that says no matter how harsh the desert winds are in a storm, it is still better to be caught in them unaware than to face the wrath of an angry woman. Maybe you've heard this before."

He didn't move to make change, of course, but glanced over his shoulder and mumbled a few more words in his native tongue. The boy laughed then, youthful muscled shoulders shaking. He turned around, wrapped bar of chocolate in hand, though as he stuck his hand out toward the passive, the small package was a bit taller than the single bar, unless it was wrapped differently than expected,

"My father says he likes repeat customers, but he doesn't always know how to keep them." The young man grinned, white teeth contrasting with his rich, dark skin. His words set the old man laughing again.

"He also doesn't seem to know up from down." Rosalie took the bar in a stiff sort of way, not smiling back at the boy now. The old man played out her good humor, a shortly-lived thing, and left the sharper-edged and somewhat frustrated passive behind. It was the Mugrobi that was the problem, perhaps, that sense of 'secret code' that they all spoke and understood and which left her conspicuously on the outside.

One eyebrow raised at the old man and she flashed just a brief glimpse of white teeth, only halfway toward threatening. He would probably just shrug Rosalie off; he'd certainly had worse before, operating out of ORH..."I could help with that, if you'd like."

But she didn't wait for a reply, instead tipping her head up to Corwynn almost immediately -- and he, too, was treated to a small dose of bad mood. "Do you need something, or are you just playing at handmaiden?"

The boy smirked, uncomfortable responding to Rosalie's retort in front of his old man with anything other than a ploy at a humble shake of his head, "Ule'elana and do-thank you for your patient business."

"Handmaiden, me? No. Most certainly not. Innocent bystander, perhaps. Amused audience, if you stretch it a bit. But if you're volunteering—" The blond galdor was not particularly intimidated by the passive's downhill mood, shifting with a disarming sort of smile, beginning to fumble with the box under his arms. He started walking, not entirely concerned with whether or not he was headed in the same direction, "You can carry my packages if you'd like."

There was something less sarcastic in the undertones of his voice. Corwynn was definitely keeping something to himself, offering the box with the bag of spices as if he totally expected Rosalie not to take it so much as to snarl further in his direction,

"I've been told I tip well." He couldn't resist that, unfortunately, regardless of the potential consequences.

Rosalie went cold instead of hot; tucking her prize away into her purse instead of checking it here and now. If Corwynn hadn't been there, meddling, she probably would have given it a look and a taste to make sure no one was trying to put one over on her, but as it was she was suitably distracted. Her expression mild, green eyes shot down to the box, back up to his face -- and her fingers flexed, slowly, around the hilt of one sword.

"And I've been told I hit hard." Though usually it had an added 'for your size' or 'for a woman' or 'for a scrap.' She didn't mention this part, just stared evenly up at him. No smile to soften the blow. "Are we going to try it out?"

The threat did little to sully the older galdor's seemingly good mood. He mocked a bit of offense, sure, scoffing and arching a sun-touched eyebrow, but it was impossible to entirely wipe the hint of a sly grin off his weathered features, despite the fact that he'd not failed to notice Rosalie's hand on one of her blades.

"Come now," Corwynn chided, rolling his eyes, "the market at this hour is no place for a scuffle. Nor is a sword in my ribs a really proper way to say hello again, songbird." He was defensively tucking his packages away, back under one arm, feigning the hint of a pout, "No need to be cranky at me, anyway. You got what you wanted at a fair enough price, I'd say. If you feel the need to beat someone senseless over it all, I'd prefer it not be me ... at least, not while I've got my good shoes on. I've already ruined one jacket for you recently."

He shrugged, finally venturing to offer a placating smile, "It's a rather convenient coincidence to run into you. I would say pleasant, but you must be working hard to be in such a dour mood with such extravagant cravings."

His concession, the back-peddling, the smile -- well, it worked, at least. Loosened the annoyance from her face some and relaxed her grip around the hilt of her weapons. That was probably for the best, for Corwynn and Rosalie alike. She made a soft noise, head tipped back to peer up at him in a considering sort of way, and then took one step. They could move away from the vendor. She might want to do more business there...

"Why's it convenient, then?" Rosalie spoke carefully, a little dry, like she knew that he was fishing for the question but couldn't help asking anyway. Her tone said, 'I'm playing along, but it better be important or interesting.'