Post by rowan michael on Mar 8, 2011 17:11:03 GMT -5
The street was lined with small shops and kiosks selling both trinkets and necessary items. Human activity was heavily present here as bodies moved against each other in the hustle and bustle that marketplaces always created. Various merchants called out their deals in seductive voices to lure targets from the thick crowd.
Rowan kept her arms by her sides, close to her purse. Her eyes darted back and forth over the thongs of people as she made her way to her destination as quickly as she could, ignoring the calls of the traders managing the stands. She felt trapped and out of control within this environment that thrived on both human greed and necessity. Without a doubt, of all the places she had been to since enrolling at Stonemont, the town was the worst, specifically the marketplace. But she was braving her paranoia for a reason, one that was part of her own human greed. Oranges.
The fruit was the one thing that Rowan considered a treat worth going into town for. Once a month, she would let her hair run free down her back and don on a pale blue dress that complimented her figure and completion. Then she would grab her purse and head out with other students who made weekly trips to the town.
As bodies pressed against her own in a particularly crowded area, Rowan kept her hand pressed against her purse and fought her way through. Her last orange had been eaten a fortnight ago and she needed another fix of her addiction.
After what seemed like a fight to the death, the blond emerged from the crowded space and almost collapsed against her favorite stand. The wrinkled old man gave her a smile that scrunched his face into a resemblance of a aged tree, giving her a small sense of peace within the turmoil she felt inside.
"Orange?" He said with a voice that seemed to hold all the qualities of a grandfather. In his hands was a beautifully orange fruit that beckoned to Rowan's taste buds.
"Two dozen of them, as always Marcus." She said as she pulled out her purse. She had been coming to Marcus for his oranges since the middle of her first year. None of the other merchant's oranges lasted as long as this old man's did. She didn't know how the man did it, but clearly his seasoned years had taught him much about how to preserve fruit for a longer period of time than normal.
"Always so direct," Marcus grumbled as he began packing up the best of his fruit. "You'll never get a date like that. I want grandkids."
Rowan let out a light laugh at the old man's antics. Every time she came to town to get her oranges and see him, they had learned bits about each other. Marcus had no family left, his wife and children having been taken from him years ago by sickness. Now he looked on Rowan as something of an adopted daughter, even if they did only meet once a month.
The two did have one custom though that they always shared, besides the trading. Rowan took a seat next to her friend and peeled one of the oranges for them to share while they chatted. They would spend the day like this, just sharing a few oranges and reaffirming their friendship.
Rowan guessed that maybe this was why she kept braving the town's crowds. Not for oranges, but to keep an old man company.
Rowan kept her arms by her sides, close to her purse. Her eyes darted back and forth over the thongs of people as she made her way to her destination as quickly as she could, ignoring the calls of the traders managing the stands. She felt trapped and out of control within this environment that thrived on both human greed and necessity. Without a doubt, of all the places she had been to since enrolling at Stonemont, the town was the worst, specifically the marketplace. But she was braving her paranoia for a reason, one that was part of her own human greed. Oranges.
The fruit was the one thing that Rowan considered a treat worth going into town for. Once a month, she would let her hair run free down her back and don on a pale blue dress that complimented her figure and completion. Then she would grab her purse and head out with other students who made weekly trips to the town.
As bodies pressed against her own in a particularly crowded area, Rowan kept her hand pressed against her purse and fought her way through. Her last orange had been eaten a fortnight ago and she needed another fix of her addiction.
After what seemed like a fight to the death, the blond emerged from the crowded space and almost collapsed against her favorite stand. The wrinkled old man gave her a smile that scrunched his face into a resemblance of a aged tree, giving her a small sense of peace within the turmoil she felt inside.
"Orange?" He said with a voice that seemed to hold all the qualities of a grandfather. In his hands was a beautifully orange fruit that beckoned to Rowan's taste buds.
"Two dozen of them, as always Marcus." She said as she pulled out her purse. She had been coming to Marcus for his oranges since the middle of her first year. None of the other merchant's oranges lasted as long as this old man's did. She didn't know how the man did it, but clearly his seasoned years had taught him much about how to preserve fruit for a longer period of time than normal.
"Always so direct," Marcus grumbled as he began packing up the best of his fruit. "You'll never get a date like that. I want grandkids."
Rowan let out a light laugh at the old man's antics. Every time she came to town to get her oranges and see him, they had learned bits about each other. Marcus had no family left, his wife and children having been taken from him years ago by sickness. Now he looked on Rowan as something of an adopted daughter, even if they did only meet once a month.
The two did have one custom though that they always shared, besides the trading. Rowan took a seat next to her friend and peeled one of the oranges for them to share while they chatted. They would spend the day like this, just sharing a few oranges and reaffirming their friendship.
Rowan guessed that maybe this was why she kept braving the town's crowds. Not for oranges, but to keep an old man company.