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We find Raph wandering the streets of Corus. One could say aimlessly, but really there is an aim and it's diversion.

You see, two hours ago Raph was invited to sit in on a rather important meeting at the Palace. An hour and forty-five minutes ago he was uninvited from the same meeting. Apparently snoring is considered disrespectful behavior regardless of who one is supposedly related to.
The drooling probably didn't help either.

So he did what anyone in his situation would do: He left without telling anyone where he was going and headed in the direction of the largest crowd he could find. Being alone wasn't enough for Raph, he had to be alone in a room full of people to really get his sulk on.

He kept his head low as he made his down Palace Way, pausing briefly to appreciate the armed guards to the Temple of the Great Mother, before continuing on through the crossroads where Palace becomes Market.

The market is as rowdy and bawdy and crowded as ever. Raph drinks it in, savoring the anonymity as it's the closest thing to New York that he has at the moment. A herd of children brush past him lost in some nameless game. With little more than a reflex Raph snags the smallest of them by the back of the shirt.

"Fork it over, Kid."

The little girl is unrepentant as she grudgingly hands over his money pouch. Briefly he ponders turning her over to the proper authorities, but realizes that'd do about as much good as following her home and shaking some sense into her parents. There's no chance of striking the fear of God into this little street urchin either, not by the way she glares. He lets her go, and she spits on him for his troubles, before disappearing into the crowd.

"Kids."

Date: 2008-04-05 02:01 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] blackrobemage.livejournal.com
Meanwhile, look carefully to the left. Marketplaces are good places to work -- plenty of people with plenty of coin, and easily distracted as they remember their shopping.

For these reasons, we find a young Arram Dra--

No, sorry, a simple mistake. Numair Salmalin is his name. A proper mage's name.

Not that he looks too much like a mage at the moment, juggling fruit in front of a stall. It's a good deal, and seeing that he's new to these parts, any chance for some cash is a good one. Mind, once he can find an audience with either the local nobility or schools of magic, he'll be all set.

But for now? Street entertainment, of the completely innocent sort. It's simple, fun, and gets the job done.

Date: 2008-04-19 09:39 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] blackrobemage.livejournal.com
Numair's gaze settles on the man headed in his direction, and he switches to juggling all four fruit with one hand, beckoning the potential customer closer.

"Fruit?" he asks simply, tossing one particularly high to catch with his free hand, holding it out. "You'll find Tortall's finest right here, all your favourites and more."

It's kitschy, and sounds wrong in his mouth, but he'll spit the words out and get on with the showmanship.

"Or, if you'd rather try something new," he says, tossing and catching each again, and again, until, like magic, they all disappear. Gasp!

Even jugglers need a little sleight of hand to help things along. He snaps his fingers twice, and two fruits reappear, one in each hand. "Just in, we have some exotic produce from Carthak. A fascinating fruit, it's almost like a mix between these two, producing one-"

He claps his hands together, seeming to smash the food together, only to unveil one radically different fruit instead.

"-delicious treat."

Date: 2008-04-23 03:32 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] blackrobemage.livejournal.com
"Normally, they're a silver," he says quietly with all the showmanship he can muster. "But for you? Half that."

A few notes:

This fruit? It's really only worth a copper. Add the exotic factor, and its price is trebled. Add to the fact that this man is clearly foreign and probably doesn't know the street price of most goods?

...to say the least, that piece of fruit is ridiculously overpriced.

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Raphael

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