Zora: Shadows and Magic

Part 1: Mogadishu

CHAPTER I: Zora

Their first week in Mogadishu had been the worst week that Zora had ever had. Generally, Zora considered cities as her playgrounds. The sneaking, the drinking, the opportunity for a good brawl. There were so many things to keep you occupied! You didn't even have to blackmail the same person more than once! Or, you could! Compared to a ship, a city was an ocean of opportunity. But Zora hadn't been able to dip into any of her usual pools of debauchery. Instead she was stuck babysitting.

She felt as if she had to keep an eye on golden boy constantly. They hadn't even found a sufficient place to stay. Until she could get time to know the people that frequented any Inn they planned to stay at and the area of the city it resided, she wouldn't let them stay more than a night. Such was her learned instinct from having to raise herself.

The speed of the metropolis was always threatening to sweep him away. If he wasn't complaining about being ran into without any words or looks of apology, he was being distracted and led astray by everything! Sight, smell, sounds, and people. The single brief time she was able to slip away didn't provide her with any relief. She found out that Diogo had put out a price for her capture so high, she was tempted to turn herself in. It would've given her an excuse to get away from Tryston and his new found girlfriend. The thought put a bubble of acid in her stomach. It popped quickly.

This morning was no different. Merchants screamed out taglines of their wares to the crowds, trying to pull the undecided and curious from the moving tide of passerby's. Barrels of fresh fish and other overnight catches from the sea were being hauled to opened tents. Carts and wagons hauled by mules and camels thumped by with brightly colored wool and wonderfully painted textiles. Handfuls of rewarded customers stalked by merrily with edible delicacies wrapped in palm leaves, or wooden toys in smiling children's hands. Others sat on crates or barrels watching hot fires struck then sizzle with their near future morning meal.

In all of Zora's travels, Mogadishu was by far the most vibrant, apparently in its bazaars, which were the size of small towns in and of themselves. People from every tongue and nation, that Zora knew, and so many more that she didn't, bartered, laughed, argued, and worked together. Zora was doing her best to accustom herself to Mogadishu's unique heartbeat.

They were pushing through a wide dirt road, bordered by dozens of food stalls. Zora caught the scent of lamb, her mouth watered and stomach growled. She was planning on how to borrow a few meat skewers she spotted covered in a green sauce, when Tryston's cry behind her broke her concentration;

"AAACCCK!"

Tryston's torso was plastered with white foamed saliva. His face was pulled in disgust and surprise.

"What are you doing?" Zora asked annoyed

"I didn't do anything! It was him! ...or..that..or, whatever." Tryston tried.

He was too distracted to make much sense, trying to wipe off the spit, but instead only managed polluting his hands as well as his clothes. Malay looked like she wanted to step in and help him, but upon seeing how well it was going with him, she thought better of it. So instead, she ended up standing next to him shuffling her feet nervously.

Awe, the dainty flower afraid of a little spit up.

Tryston's constant belly aching was beginning to annoy her.

"Will you stop that!" She finally snapped. You're attracting far too much attention!"

Zora had grabbed him by his shirt and dragged him away from the watching crowd.

"Go find a trough and clean yourself up!" Zora pushed him through several people snickering at their interaction.

After wasting their second hour wandering Mogadishu's inner maze without finding a decent looking Inn (that Zora could stomach, for posh was just as insufferable as dangerous, maybe even more so), and feeling the heating sun begin to scorch with its morning heat, Zora gave in and procured decent outfits for them all, though she would have preferred not to have paid, Tryston refused to wear anything not purchased goods. So she bought a long sheet of cloth died yellow, cut two sheets from it, made decent shawls for herself and Malay, and gave the remaining piece to Tryston, who frustratingly had to decide what half of himself to cover. In the end he wisely chose to allow Zora to "find" him a decent shirt and tied the short piece of cloth around his waist, the strip only covering half his milky thighs.