[Thread - OPEN] I got the product, narcotics for the customers homie.

[apatheticary]

Who: The medicine seller & OPEN
Where: Terra, a street near you.
When: Late evening.
Summary: The medicine seller sells medicine. And other stuff.
Rating: PG-13 for hustling omg;; and vulgar mentions of porn.
Other: Don't be shy, jump in. Single thread, though, and I'm capping this at three people or I'll get overwhelmed.

Comments

[lungfucked]

Fuck it was shitty today. No jobs, his camera was missing and there was coffee stained on his army green shirt. So he was meant to see Rinoa some time, or at least call her, but he kinda lost her phone number on the cigarette carton he had in his pocket.
Oh well, if she wanted to see him again, she would call him, or maybe he would run into her once again.

So he was walking down the street, cigarette in between thin lips and eyes half-drooped from the exhaustion that was caused by boredom and hands dug deep in the pockets of his camo jacket. That was till he saw that weird chick hanging around, and hopefully the red-head could avoid him. Tough shit that Badou kept his eyes locked on the flamboyant figure, great way of acting oblivious.

[apatheticary]

With the box arranged beside him, the medicine seller knelt onto the sidewalk and laid his hands gently on his thighs. Effeminate indeed, his long fingernails painted purple and his wavy hair swept aside into that messy ponytail, but very few actually mistook him for a woman.

This particular redhead, however... The medicine seller's lips twitched into the slightest smirk, expectant. He did not trouble himself to turn his head, but he did peer at Badou out of the corner of his eye. He never forgot a customer. Still, he did not speak a greeting.

[lungfucked]

Fuck it Badou whispered to himself as he eyed the shithead of a medicine seller. Damn chick, playing hard to get or some crap. Christ, what the hell what the hell was with the city these days, well whatever. The red-head stood in front of the weirdo looking shit and fiddled around with the lighter in his camo jacket, cheap-ass faux fur tickling his wrists.

"So uh..." Badou spoke, tilting his head up as though he wasn’t paying full attention to the woman kneeling on the ground or some shit, and rubbed the back of his head, a sign of irritated boredom. "...You kinda owe me, you know." You know, from that shit you stole from me.

[apatheticary]

"Oh?" came the medicine seller's reply, a soft voice but distinctly masculine if Badou was paying attention, which he likely wasn't.

Those heavy-lidded eyes followed the redhead, chin tilting up as he regarded that most troublesome customer. With Badou, it was always an argument and a slew of vulgarities. Amusing, in its way. And the medicine seller would play innocent.

"What is it... that you imagine I owe?"

[noceba]

It was prowling; it was Bellatrix lazy and dark, drifting from street to street as distant as a sigh. Terra wasn't the witch's favorite haunt, not with the majesty of Elysium and the pretty filth of Abyss so available. But it wasn't for the scenery that she stalked. It was for the act of displacement itself.

There was a low stone bench and she settled down on it (bonelessly). Idly, the woman emitted tired smoke from her wand, watched it curl in front of the street in front of her. Sitting in the shadows casting curls, the thought made her smile, but the sound of soft footsteps interrupted her play.

A pale man with a painted face, playing his own fames with bottles. "Hello," Bellatrix greeted him cordially, her voice very clear in the night silence and its own strength.

[apatheticary]

It wasn't her voice but rather the soft tinkling of bells from inside the box beside him that alerted the medicine seller to the woman's presence. Only certain types of people would inspire that reaction from the scales. It made him uneasy but he was well-trained by now to not display such wariness. In fact, his face displayed very little besides that almost supernatural, doll-like beauty.

He turned his head to look at her, those violet eyes taking her in impassively as he regarded all things in this world. As though nothing were important or especially interesting, even when they concerned him... as she did.

"Hello," he replied politely, anyway.

[noceba]

No expression; just a blank white face, lines of red visible through the twilight. The witch stood and walked (an omen in regal rags) over to his little display. "What are you selling, sir?" She asked, head at a tilt, staring into his passive eyes with a smile playing on her lips.

"Anything a widowed witch would desire?"

[apatheticary]

The medicine seller smiled in return, or at least his painted lips gave that illusion. "Many ingredients that a witch might desire," he replied smoothly. "And many tonics that a widow might require. But for a widow who is also a witch, or a witch who is also a widow... a medicine seller as simple as this one may have little to offer."

He paused, then added, "Although, I suppose, even a simple medicine seller can ease a widowed witch's ennui."