“Shopkeep! What is taking so long? I’m an extremely busy man.”
Behind the stall’s broad selection of baked goods, a flustered young half-elf flinches, and redoubles their pace, gathering together the order. Their customer, a bedazzled noble dressed in fine silks and with a heavy coin pouch swinging tauntingly from their belt, glances impatiently at their pocket watch and clicks their tongue. Finally, nervous fingers bundle the pastries into a wrap of paper, and the noble opens their mighty pouch, drawing a handful of coins and tossing them contemptuously across the table.
As a fat-fingered hand reaches across the table, the shopkeep looks down to count the coins. And then looks again.
“Ah- sir, these are buttons?”
Scattered between the two are a few dozen metal coat-buttons, in an assortment of sizes and shapes. The noble sneers, follows the half-elf’s gaze downwards - and his eyes bulge as he takes in the sight. Snatching at his pouch, he empties the rest on the table to find nothing but more buttons in a grand, ignominious heap. At the heavy clattering of the pile spilling onto the table, several passers-by turn to look, and raucous laughter fills the Market Street. Turning crimson, the noble grabs at his buttons, shovelling them back into his pouch, and then speed-walks away. The shopkeep gathers up the abandoned remnants, knowing they’ll fetch a good price at JJJ’s stall, with a bit of shine.
And in the shadows of a nearby alley, a set of whiskers shivers in suppressed mirth. Bee.
As the sun rises over the houses of Modnik, and the early commuters walk themselves to work, twin blurs flash over tiled rooftops. Happy shouts and laughter fill the air as they leap and dive, always landing on their feet.
In the heat of the midday sun, when the Market District is at its most crowded, and every sense is overwhelmed by the cries of competing vendors, and the myriad scents of spices and herbs, and the constant jostling of people making their way back and forth, the blurs slow down, becoming kittens, young, healthy and joyous. They slip naturally between stumbling legs and under the drapes of market stalls, occasionally snatching out a hand for an ill-guarded wallet. And then they dance out of sight, and one, with a whisper, dares the other to put them back before their absence is noticed - in the wrong pockets, of course.