S a l e t é I I

XIV - Mains - Cinq

Cassia had watched from a short distance away as Monet approached one of the ladies dealing in canned food, the older girl using what she suspected were her regular tricks, playing a much more sweet-sounding role as she addressed the stall's owner.

"Excuse me, miss?"

"Oh, hey there. Do you need something?"

The woman was fairly young, probably in the first half of her twenties, and she would have been quite pretty - with her light brown hair and her distinct, green eyes - if not for the additions given to her by Lower Merveille itself; a jacket with a substantial tear in one of its arms, a slightly grubby face even after after an effort had been made to clean it, and a tank top that was decorated by stains ranging from old to recent.

"I was hoping to pick up some things for my friends. They're normal, you see." Monet began to explain, the lady looking more than a little curious thanks to the teenager's rather unique appearance.

"Your friends?"

"Yes, they're around my age, though some are younger."

"Well, what do you have that you can give up?"

"Um..."

Monet began to rummage around in her backpack once she'd taken it off, her demeanour suggesting that she was slightly nervous, almost as if the bartering process was something she was wholly unfamiliar with.

She was good at this.

"I only have these bits and pieces, see...?"

She presented some of the remaining parts that Uliana had been able to provide, and the young woman did seem at least somewhat interested, the new nature of those parts catching her eye.

"I think they're new... Could you use them?"

"Me? No, but I know a few guys who might be interested in these sorts of things. Can I have a look?"

Monet allowed the lady to handle some of the parts, and she inspected them in a much closer manner now, her gaze focused.

"They do seem pretty new... What are these, car parts?"

"Mmh, I think so."

"Where'd you get them from?"

"I didn't find them, a friend gave them to me. You know, so I could come here today."

The young woman continued her inspection for a while longer before she handed them back. Cassia had been sure to pay close attention, though her eye had often wandered during the small moments of quiet, diverted now and then by little details, such as the stall itself; this was one of the more average ones, with nails visible in the wood that made it up, the sign marking it to the crowd - reading "Canned Goods" - being written in red paint, the woodwork itself looking choppy in places, as if the tools used had been less than decent.

Did appearances really matter? Who cared how well designed your stall was? All you needed was some useful gear to trade, and an eye-catching message. What was it with her and worrying about looks?

"How many cans do you need?" The woman asked.

Looking briefly at the boxes on her stall, she appeared to have somewhere between twenty and thirty cans on offer, many of them possessing grubby labels, spaces demonstrating that she'd already shifted several more.

Where did these people get things like canned food from, anyway? Cassia realised that being confused was quite ironic, considering that the woman before them had literally just experienced a similar feeling, asking Monet where she'd gotten her parts from.