Cultural Differences OR I just want my merchant's license.

Chapter 1: The South Side of Town

Alkali village was at the end of a peaceful midsummer's day. The sun cast shadows of weary corn farmers down onto the dirt streets. The two taverns around, the Old Man's Nook and the Hound's Hunt, were filled with sounds of merriment. The gentle murmur of the Ribble River blended with the croaking of toads and frogs. Laughter could be heard from the children gathered along the river bank. Tired members of the town council and the merchants' guild walked the river bridge–from the offices on one side to their homes on the other.

On the south end of town sat the merchants guild–empty of everyone but a few stragglers, and a foreign few in the south most room. That south most room was one of the offices vacated in the last few years, as the merchant guild's membership here became smaller than its building. At the south wall of that particular room was a great window, and in front of it sat a wooden desk with a dusty armchair. In the middle of the room was a coffee table with wooden chairs to either side of it. Wooden bookcases–empty–flanked the chairs, resting against the walls.

There was someone seated in one of the chairs around the coffee table. That someone was a baby-faced bald man in a brown suit named Geoffrey. Not that you should, but if you did look into his eyes, you could see the flicker of restless flame and uneasy sanity. On his finger was an intricate, carved ring that he constantly fiddled with, twisting it back and forth around his finger.

By the door, glancing around nervously, was another individual. His name is Cory. Now, this was a man towards the end of his youthful prime--sweat and grime from a hard day's work on his skin. His eyes had a dullness to them that spoke of day after day of wearied spirit. One hand held behind his back, Corey pulled the door closed–watching the hall outside through the crack between the door and door frame until it clicked shut.

The door closed, Cory let out a sigh of relief and walked over to the table.

Geoffrey watched him carefully.

As he came closer, Cory pulled a package, wrapped with leather and tied with straw, out from behind his back. Leaning down, he placed it on the coffee table.

"Here," he said, "If anyone asks, you got it yourself, alright?"

Geoffrey eyed the package and reached forwards with greedy hands, running his fingers across the package as Cory folded his arms across his chest.

"Wonderful, wonderful," he said, "Is it strong, Cory?"

"If my contact is good, the guards won't be seeing straight until two days later," Cory said.

"Perfect," Geoffrey said, running his hands along the package again before slipping it into his pocket.

"Alright," Cory said, slowly backing towards the door, "If that's all, I'm going to be heading out."

Geoffrey held up a hand, and Cory stopped–his hand on the doorknob.

"There is one more thing I need to discuss with you, Cory," Geoffrey said.

At that moment, the candlelight caught on a shadow that stepped up to the window behind the desk. A white mask with beautiful full lips contorted and grinning shone in the candlelight. Its large, teary eyes stared Corey down.

Cory's grip tightened on the door, but Geoffrey, not even looking, shook his head.

"Don't worry, Cory," Geoffrey said, "This is our other business for the night."

"Who the hell," Cory said, "Is that."

"Do not worry, Cory," Geoffrey said, smiling up at him.

A Gloved hand reached up and gripped the window. With a wooden creak, the windows were pushed open wide by the masked figure outside, letting in the sounds of night.