A Market For Circumstance ::[Flyss & Sockie]::

[Sockie]

        I'm sitting in the kitchen by myself, flipping pages in a book I am not reading, with my face pointed clearly out the window to the grassy grazing land. A stance any member of my family would recognise as 'don't bother me, I'm sulking.' About what doesn't matter. Don't bother me. I'm sulking.
    Despite the familiarity, my mother still walks into the room brandishing her regular demanding tone.
       "Hesper, I need you to run to the market. Your Father wants chicken in his pasta for his birthday." My mother digs around in her bag for the little coin purse, then gives me what she considered fair for chicken, plus a little padding because she admits I'm a dunce at haggling. If she went herself it wouldn't be an issue. If she sent Hansel it wouldn't be an issue. But I know why she sends me instead - because she's doing what she has always done. The longer I'm out of the house the longer I'm away from Father. 
           "Oh, and Hess, if there's enough leftover after the chicken would you buy a thing of blackberries? I read that they improve brain function," Hansel adds. Maybe you need them more than you think, Good Brother. But I promise him I will look around, if there is anything left after I skillfully wrestle a chicken 's price tag into submission. 
          By the time I reach the door my mother and brother have stepped back into the study, and I step outside with a sigh of relief. I could remember the days when it took half an hour for my mother to finish compiling what she needed me to get. Not that there was much to consider, but that she couldn't make up her mind. That was when there were more of us living at home.
             I breathe in. The fresh air, the sun, and a view of the grazing fields without the glare of a glass window are among my favourite things. For an hour, I walk the old dirt roads, and I  slowly pass the widely spaced houses on the way to the market. The closer I am, the more frequently I pass a house, until finally the only houses left are the small merchant homes packed side-by-side between shops. At the square, stalls are set up with slightly more room.
            It seemed to be quite a slow day. There were people around, but more often crossing paths towards some destination than stopping to buy or trade. Nothing like the bustle during sheep sheering, or the rush of an autumn harvest. This was the dead time between seasons, but, luckily, season doesn't dictate when to buy a chicken. 
            I walk around a little, seeing what kind of things were out today. A few people asked me what I was looking for, but it was enough of a response to smile and move on. Despite coming with a mission, getting home quickly is not high on my list of priorities. Supper won't be for another nine hours or so. 
            At last, I see a stall for beef and poultry. I walk slowly towards it while I glance around for other sellers - no one near. The woman looks nice enough.
                "How much is your chicken?" I ask.

H e s p e r   H u g h e s
~ 543 Words ~ 
credit to Laura of Adox

[flyss]

[googlefont="Oswald"][googlefont="Homemade Apple"][googlefont="Abel"]

PALOMA SANDOVAL

I'm mostly scared by passing time,
the world it seems gets more unkind

The market- it smells like meat, tastes like sweat, feels like community. The variety is addicting, new stands popping up every week like weeds, each boasting their own inventory- some unique and some not- in hopes of becoming popular with the crowds. Paloma always sets up somewhere in the middle with her beef and poultry, usually right next to the fruit stand, in the best spot she can find before the sun rises high enough for the roosters to give their curdling caw. She never more than a couple of blocks of hay, a wagon, and a metal board, but it's more than some, for which she's thankful. 

Occasionally, when she arrives, a new body will have taken her spot. It's never surprising- with the amount of people trying to make names for themselves, it'd be more odd if it didn't happen- but she always makes sure that they never do it twice. For the last six years, Paloma's kept her hustle running strong; letting her family go hungry this far into the game for the sake of a newbie would be laughable. 

This morning, she's lucky. When she pulls her red cart into the square, she's greeted by a few familiar faces- nothing she hadn't seen a hundred times before. They all know their spots: the woman selling knitted goods in the corner, the tea merchant in the middle-left, her fruit-selling neighbor who she'd nicknamed Tio in the middle-right. Tio was busy setting a blanket down for her just as he'd done on many days before, and she greets him with a smile and a nod. He's not a man of many words, but he's sweet enough to keep her from sitting flesh-to-dirt "like a lady never should." She reminds herself to slip him a couple of eggs before the day's over. 

As she starts to unpack her load, Paloma takes the time to watch the others filing in, keeping a close eye on what they bring in case something piques her interest. Nobody else is selling meat thankfully, but a couple of folks come in with vegetables, dairy, and eggs. Such items rotate semi-regularly through her own stock, but only when her family has extras. Today, her vegetarian items consist of the eggs she'd saved for Tio and a basket of potatoes. They others could have their sales; produce wasn't the Sandovals' livelihood, anyway. 

By the time Paloma had fixed everything the way she liked it, some customers had already begun to peruse the market, their faces alert and seeking out the cheapest price. She does her best to advertise, calling out her signature deal of "buy two pounds and get a half free!" but meat is expensive and nobody wants to bite.

As the morning trudges on, Paloma looses track of time. Lost in a day dream- her shift always passes quicker if her mind is somewhere else- she only pays attention when Tio slips her some blackberries and grapes, when a warm-looking lady stops to buy two and a half pounds of skirt, and when she has to shoo some boys away that were trying to take a free sample. Her heart drops when she checks her watch... only to find that only two hours had passed. Business was slow, and she struggled to come up with a way to compensate if she didn't end up selling as much as she'd planned to.

Her savior comes in the form of a girl barely older than Thomas, but still a few years younger than herself. Paloma wonders what her visitor is in the market for or if she's even in the market for anything at all. Sometimes, people come by just to browse; other times, they set your attention elsewhere and snatch what they can while you're distracted. It's a mixed bag and she wishes that she could have more faith, but such behavior is to be expected in a lower district like 10. 

"How much is your chicken?" The girl asks, having finally arrived to the make-shift counter after taking a century to walk what couldn't be more than a hundred feet. For a moment, Paloma thinks about upping the price a couple of dollars just because the girl is young and the young ones are usually gullible, but she's feeling nice. Despite her shortcomings, her mood wasn't so bad that she needed to be mean to pick it back up.

"It's $3.50 per pound. Our beef is only 50 cents more, though, if you want something heartier." Paloma smiles kindly, though her eyes are focused and unyielding. It's nothing aggressive nor inherently rude, just an easy way to appear more solid; she's not one to lower prices, though she loved to watch people try their best to haggle her down. "It's more filling than chicken is, too." 

[Sockie]

            Her eyes are firm, and the smile looks genuine but purposeful. Not unfamiliar, and not unexpected, but it makes me uneasy. As though she might be difficult to convince of anything. I hope silently to myself that the relative slowness of the market centre will be enough to make the woman eager for a sale.
        "It's £3.50 per pound," the woman responds. Not bad, but not great. Especially for chicken, one of the more plentiful meats. My family is by no means poor, but there is a good reason behind it - Father's policy that we don't waste money. That's why my mother asks for chicken rather than beef, but never rabbit. The occasional venison is okay, in fact I know my mother and Hansel prefer it, but beef makes the list of unnecessary things. Father would be angry if we stooped, and he would be angry if we reached too high. Best to stay in the middle.
            "Our beef is only fifty cents more," she continued, "If you want something heartier." I smile, but shake my head gently. Of course she would at least put that out there, but I am at least confident in getting what I come for. "It's more filling than chicken is, too." I could tell she was going to push the beef, but I want to avoid any chance of either of my parents getting angry at me for getting what they did not ask for. Not to mention the £4 for meat. There is enough livestock in this district to make meat at least semi-affordable. I take a quick glance around. There does not seem to be anyone else selling chicken in this area. 
            "Just the chicken, thank you," I say, and rub my elbow to help with the nerves. The woman did look slightly intimidating. Obviously older than me, but by how much, I could not say. Not going to public school means I judge everyone by how old they look in relation to my siblings. But her? Three or four years. Probably about the same age as my sister. Still too close, though, it's easier to talk to people who are clearly much older than you than it is to talk to someone who could be a peer in enough time. 
                I could try to haggle. I should try. But my mother would never know if I didn't. I give her stall another look over, and notice there are grapes, and blackberries there, too. Father detests grapes, I think. We hadn't had any in the house since Henry lived at home. That's when I remember Hansel's blackberry thing. What are the odds that one person had everything I needed? Opportunity?  Possibly. Worth a shot a least, but the woman didn't look likely to budge on chicken prices alone. 
                "Would you sell the chicken and one bunch of blackberries for £4?" I ask. I know blackberries tend to be a bit more expensive than grapes, and I hope the woman will let me get away with cutting into the chicken's price a little with my offer. My mother only gave me £4.50 to begin with, and it would look good on me if I could come back with change. I try a smile, and wait for her to think on it before I pull out any money.

H e s p e r   H u g h e s
~ 555 Words ~ 
credit to Laura of Adox

[flyss]

[googlefont="Oswald"][googlefont="Homemade Apple"][googlefont="Abel"]

PALOMA SANDOVAL

I'm mostly scared by passing time,
the world it seems gets more unkind

Paloma flexes her hands open and closed under the table as the girl turns down her attempts to sell off the beef, but her smile- the same friendly smile she wore no matter how she really felt- never so much as budged. She wasn't upset or angry by any means, just antsy. All day, she'd gone, without so much as a handful of sales, and the one kid she'd felt confident enough to try and get to splurge just didn't seem to be having it. It's okay, she thinks. There'll be another customer before the day's over, I'm sure.  

But as her hands move to bag up the meat that the young lady had requested, another couple of words bubble up other than the previous "Just the chicken, thank you." 

"Would you sell the chicken and one bunch of blackberries for £4?" The girl smiles, voice kind, eyes seemingly aware of her doings, and Paloma quickly becomes confused. Blackberries? Perhaps the fruit stand in the next stall over had blurred the lines between what was being sold in this one, but as she looks around, her eyes soon land on the bowl that Tio had suck over earlier today. It was still fresh, and only a couple of the fruits had been plucked off of the stems, but whether a bunch of the berries was worth only an extra 50 cents... Paloma would really have to think about it. 

For a moment, she doesn't speak. She finishes bagging up the chicken and sets it closer to customer's side of the makeshift booth, then walks over to the fruit. Carefully, she pulls out another bag from her pocket and picks up what the girl had asked for. She'd see what she could get out of it; after all, she could always just trade Tio for more if her taste was really leaning that direction later on. 

As she approaches the girl again, she sets the bag of fruit down next to the other, but does not remove her hand. An idea pops into her head, though she wasn't sure if it was because she was feeling nice or if it was because she was hoping for something more. "How about $4.25," she starts, free hand rubbing her stomach absentmindedly. "And you take home a sample of the beef just to try." Sure, giving away freebies wasn't her style, but she didn't figure that anyone would say no to a sum of food for so little. It was more of a test to what Paloma had sensed to be the girl's determination to get only what she came for, anyways. From her experience, girls that age were all about coloring inside the lines. 

[Sockie]

           I watch as the woman sets down the chicken and looks behind her. She appears somewhat surprised that I had asked about the blackberries, and moves to bag them for me. She does so slowly, as if she has to think about and consider what she is doing, but I wait patiently for her to finish because I hope it will end positively for me. It seemed as though she was not as likely to sell them as she was the chicken or beef. The blackberries are placed in front of me, but without removing her hand, she makes a counter offer to what I had previously mentioned before.
            "How about £4.25," she begins, still holding the same eerily constant smile, "And you take home a sample of beef just to try." What was that? It was a nice offer, but I would much rather leave with what I came for for £4 than pay extra with a "sample." Nonetheless, it may be that the seller didn't want to sell the blackberries for that much and was finding a way to get something more for it. I set my mouth, and let my eyes stretch over the chicken, and the blackberries, and then the beef, considering what it was worth. There is nothing to say I could not give my mother the beef to cook for some other cause, without telling Father. Then again, we  are all, all being my mother, Hansel, and I, hesitant to hide anything from my father lest he find out and be vexed.
              I tilt my head and begin to rub the back of my elbow. My mother had sent me with £4.25, so if I agreed with the woman's offer I would come home with no change and be accused of negotiating too weakly. Not to mention I would have brought home something not asked for and Father would assume I had done it purposefully to frustrate him. Worse yet, they might send Hansel next time, to do it better, and I did not want to risk losing my only time to leave the house on my own.
                  To the side, I hear the atmosphere of the market pick up slightly as those who live in town begin their early afternoon trips. It is still not as much as any common day, but the man in the next stand becomes occupied and I find myself picking out words from their conversation. The two men seemed to be negotiating a lot more intensely than I was going to become. Feeling intimidated by the people easing in, I stand up a lot taller. Not really to seem more mature, but to force the confidence to speak into myself.
              "I'm sorry," I said, although I am unsure for what reason, and add, "My family doesn't usually eat beef... so it might go to waste." That would work. It sounds a little weird to me but it was an explanation and that was all I was really going for. I pull out £4 and watch the woman's hands to see if she will sell me the blackberries. Part of me hopes she will, so I can prove myself to Hansel, and part of me hopes she will not, so Hansel will not have his way. I look up at her to listen.

H e s p e r   H u g h e s
~ 554 Words ~ 
Laura of Adox

[flyss]

[googlefont="Oswald"][googlefont="Homemade Apple"][googlefont="Abel"]

PALOMA SANDOVAL

I'm mostly scared by passing time,
the world it seems gets more unkind

When the girl refuses for the second time, Paloma becomes tense, smile tightening at the edges almost impatiently. She's not angry at all, nor is she really upset; the eldest Sandoval is frustrated, her fluster coming from a day full of nothing rather than this moment full of something. Still, she's not sure she wants to cave. 

"I'm sorry," the younger of the two says, "my family doesn't usually eat beef... so it might go to waste." Paloma's not sure that she buys it, especially in a place like district 10, but harassing someone that couldn't be older than 16 wasn't exactly on her to-do list for today. The girl pulls $4.00 out from her belongings. A wave of nostalgia washes over the booth.

Paloma is 10 again, standing the other side of the counter, her body a certain number of years younger than the one who had been doing the same only a few moments before. Her rich, chocolate eyes can barely see over the edge of the meats, but they fixate themselves on her father-a tall, thick-boned man who reeks of confidence with a joy almost unfitting for such a melancholy stage. He's butchering some ribs in the back and though he is turned away, she can tell that he is smiling. He's always smiling.

"Papa!" She shouts, voice meek and almost drowned out by the thick sound of knife cutting into fatty pork. "Can I go get the fruits now?" Paloma is inpatient- even as an adult, she's impatient- and her glowing eyes roll back into her head as she lets go of the counter to plop down onto the hard ground of the marketplace. As people take care to step around the mess of a child, she picks at the hay littering the knees of her overalls. 

"Not now, la la belleza," Her father speaks softly, but does not turn to greet her. The din quiets to match his gentility, and though she desires to grow angry and ask why, she can't seem to make herself feel anything more than boredom. "Well go together before the night is over. I don't want you wandering off without me... it's awfully busy today." And it was. Many more faces perused the isles than on the average day, and the murmur had a certain buzz to it that made everything seem almost special. 

By the time Paloma had gets from the ground and dusted her body clean from the filth she'd accrued down there, a small cluster of women had formed, interested in the meats that the sandovals were offering. "How can I help you?" she asks, trying to keep them occupied long enough for her father to come and take over. 

"We'd like three of the steaks, please." It was a simple request, but Paloma was still left shocked. Not many people could afford the luxury of steak, and yet these women- who looked not to be of wealth- seemed to be requesting that very thing. By now, papa arrived to see what they needed, and Paloma took this moment to inch the way. She could watch it all from afar, and maybe she'd learn something. 

The bunch spoke for a moment, before a hush swept over an air previously occupied by excitement. The oldest woman spoke of how it was her husband's birthday tonight and how she'd scraped together all of their savings to be able to scrounge up his favorite dinner. When she went to pull out her pocketbook, though, she found it to be empty. A $20+ meal to be expected, but not a penny to make it so. 

But Mr. Sandoval was a nice man, his morals based on kindness over all else. So he packaged up the meat all the same as if they had paid for it and sent them along their way, only asking that they "pay it forward." Paloma remembers wanting to be like him when she grew up, but knowing that her stubbornness would pave a path to where such a deed would be rare. 

She wanted to be rare. 

Paloma sighs and pushes both bags in the direction of the girl, including the steak that she'd been pushing so terribly hard. "Go ahead and take it. Keep your change, kid." Her voice was still rough around the edges, but it held an honesty not even she could fake. Even though she wouldn't be making the money she'd hoped to make by the day's end, she knew that her father would be proud. She'd have to tell him about it tonight. She'd have to. 

"I just ask that you have lunch with me," Paloma laughs kindly, using her palms to iron out the front of her overalls. "It's about time for that anyway, huh?" 

[Sockie]

        The woman pushes forward the bags, and I smile. "Go ahead and take it, keep your change, Kid," she adds. My eyebrows go up, not questioningly, but rather in surprise. Most people are not keen on letting go like that, not to mention my mother would probably be very pleased when I came home. Already I knew I like this woman, with her absolute words, sharp eyes and stony smile. It seemed to come naturally, yet with something behind it pulling her in a different direction. I wonder briefly if she is anything like Henry - who was perfectly at peace with the sheep. He always knew what to do, how to handle them, which ones it was time to sell and which ones we should always keep. At the same time he was completely out of place away from them. 
            "I just ask you have lunch with me," the woman continued, snapping me out of my little memories. She smoothed her overalls. I mimicked the motion semi-unconsciously, on my dress. "It's  about time for that anyway, huh?" I nodded quickly in agreement, trying to push out thoughts of my mother and Hansel waiting at home. They would notice the extra time taken, but I could always claim it was busy and I had to browse for a while. I glance to my side and then back.
              "That sounds nice," I say, and try to remember the last time I ate anywhere except the kitchen table. Come to think of it, it can't have been since my brother left, because we always used to have picnics in the fields; a herd of sheep around us  half watching and half ignoring, but company all the same. "What should we eat?" I ask, trying not to giggle at the though of the market people being our sheep. 
               "Beef?" she offers, picking up the same bit she had offered me not five minutes before. I accepted and followed as she set up to have it cooked, excited by the whole ordeal. There was something to be enjoyed here, the thrill of something new and out of the ordinary. Knowing my mother would not approve, my father would be cross, and Hansel would be jealous but never admit it. He might tell me about how bad beef is for the immune system or some other load of horse radish to make me feel stupid.
                After all is done and I'm watching her cook, I take a chance to step a little closer to her. She's clearly taller than me, but not drastically. I wonder about her some more. I was always schooled at home, so there was no way for me to have any idea about people around mine or my siblings' ages, although I desired to know more. Maybe now was a good time for conversation, past all the stress of buying something.
                "What's your name?" I finally ask. "Are you still in school?"

H e s p e r   H u g h e s

~ 490 Words ~