It's a new day, and far better weather than the previous business cycle. The sky is blue, with but a few wispy clouds to patch the sky, and the Procession glows an icier shade of blue, arching high above the highest clouds,

On his lunchtime break, the Mephitian healer finds himself wandering the Bazaar, drinking in the sights and sounds, many of which may not be here tomorrow – replaced by still different wonders instead. Where the sun shines, it is warm and just on this side of hot, in the shade it is far cooler. Flapping banners on the rooftops indicate that it's fairly windy as well, though the tightly packed buildings provide ample shelter from the bluster.

Though this place is not lawless, there is little by way of authority, save for the occasional Guard patrol – typically a small band of Jupani in the white tunics and red armor of the City Guard, with or without a Zelak or two – and they are there primarily to deal with ruffians and outright thieves. Let the buyer beware, for the Guard do not concern themselves with disputes unless the complainant is a noble or someone else of import.

One side-effect of this very laissez-faire approach is that one is sometimes forced to take winding back alleys, or to cut through empty lots to get to the next street, for this street or the other may be cut off by parked wagons, milling crowds, and dense clusters of merchants' tents.

So it is that the healer finds himself cutting through one such alleyway – encountering several other pedestrians along the way forced to use the same shortcut – and then coming out to another street, the shadowed quiet of the back way quickly surrendering to the cries of barkers, trilling music of flutes, the brays, barks and bleats of beasts, and very similar noises from the crowd.

Atop a rooftop across the way, colorful banners advertise the wares of Astaro (Purveyor of Fine and Brightly Colored Fabrics). A Kavi peddler rolling a wagon bears no sign or prices, but appears to be bargaining with passersby to sell off what can only charitably be called junk.

A booth full of carved ivory figurines is presided over by a Jupani with shaggy white fur and a patch over one eye, who – judging by the name emblazoned in several languages on his awning – is known as "Honest Makah." He is flanked by several booths manned by Kavi merchants, selling all sorts of food, baubles, clothing, furnishings, and just about anything else one might imagine buying and selling on the street – and several things one might not.

Through another side-street, the fringe of "Little Babel" can be seen – a number of shops that cater toward squeaky and winged clientele (namely, the bat-like people known as the Eeee). Several shops vie for space on upper balconies, bridges and rooftops, while only a few are easily accessible on the street to those restricted to walking.

Under the shade of a lazily-hung awning at the mouth of the intersection, a very enthusiastic-looking brown-shelled Vykarin slaps his stubby hands on a set of leather-bound drums. Nearby, a brown-furred Eeee dressed in fabrics of black and cobalt blue plays upon an abbreviated pipe that looks much like two flutes put together, and as she sways in place, making small steps in time, bells and jangles ring out across the din.

All in all, a number of sights compete for the healer's attention. Being as he is merely on his lunch break, of course, he can't possibly investigate them all.

Galen slowly walks along the side of the main road in the Bazaar, always being careful not to get in the way of any fellow pedestrians or Dromodons. He's been absorbing all the sights, sounds, and scents for quite some time, now … yet he still doesn't feel nearly as accustomed to them as he thinks he should be.

He looks around him, hands clasped behind his back, hat on his head, an alert look on his face. But not anxious. He's forgotten just how much he really did like travelling through the Bazaar, all those years back. I haven't been here in over three years, he muses to himself, Yet nothing's changed a bit.

Well … "change" wouldn't be exactly the right word. The Bazaar is full of change: olds shops being replaced with new ones, new people flowing in and flowing out, new vendors coming and going, selling their wares. In fact, the entire place could be characterized as one socioeconomic animal, with beating heart and flowing circulation of both shekel and shopper.

Galen's eyes spot the Eeee bard, and her Vykarin companion. Even in all these years, she hasn't changed at all… He looks down at the brown-shelled drum-beater. … nor her strange companion.. After a second of thought, he mentally shrugs his shoulders. I'm not that hungry right now, anyway. I might as well go and listen to her play.

Vielanika continues to play, even as Galen approaches, her eyes closed to the world, as she wraps herself in her song. With those large ears and legendary Eeee abilities of being able to notice all sorts of things by sound alone, perhaps she is aware that her meager audience has grown by a single member, but it is only Rawrii that ventures an acknowledgement, by looking in the Mephitian's direction and click-pop-barking a greeting, followed by a friendly-looking (if slobbery) tongue-loll.

The audience, such as it is, isn't terribly large, nor terribly-well-paying, judging from the pot. But then, there are plenty of distractions, and as Galen has noted, Vielanika has hardly changed over the years, save to slowly get older – and a little less novel. Her hat is the same one she's had for years, and the cobalt blue of her drapes is – while probably not the same pieces she's had for all this time – a little sun-faded.

The Mephitian smiles down at the Vykarin, and gives a small nod of greeting. Rawrii … that was his name, wasn't it? His face looks back up to the star of the show, the dancing bat bard. She doesn't notice him looking her over, and his eyes noticing the slight – very slight – wear and tear of her garb. No sooner does his eyes register her fully, however, than his ears begin to absorb the musical notes flowing like magic from her two reeds. They flick at first … then they rest, accustomed to the notes, and to their spell.

Less than a minute passes … yet in that time, he is well under the trance of the music, and of the dance. His senses feel alive, and, unbeknownst to himself, a large, appreciative smile has slowly grown over his face. His eyes are half-closed, yet his heart feels as if its gates were slowly, slowly, creaking open, wider and wider, allowing more and more of the music to pass through and into him. If the music keeps up, he might very well find himself starting to sway to the beat.

As Galen lets himself be absorbed into the flow of the music, most of the drone of the Bazaar seems to die away – but it is intruded upon by a sharp, high-pitched cry from an Eeee barker. For an instant, it seems like a scream, but he is able to quickly register that the voice belongs to a female Eeee in a booth just a little further down the side-street, toward Little Babel. The white-furred bat-woman has serpentine sigils of magenta dyed into what is visible of her fur, and her gauzy Babelite attire has an echo of the pattern in dark blue. The "scream" is just her loud cry – in the Babelite tongue – calling for customers to inspect her booth. From here, it appears that she is a purveyor of small Eeee figurines and talismans, probably of a religious import.

Off to the side of the audience, a rather unique figure – a winged Hekoye in Temple Ranger garb – wanders out from one of the aisles of the Bazaar, deciding to pause and listen for a moment, while he munches absently on something he picked up for lunch at a stall. Another person on their lunch break, quite likely.

The Vykarin drummer, meanwhile, keeps pounding away … though his beats become a little less enthusiastic as his attention is diverted by a small creature – a vermite – skittering along the base of a wall, keeping in the shadows. His attention is diverted from the potential meal (which isn't really within muzzle's reach anyway) as he notices the winged coyote. The Vykarin barks another greeting to the green-and-brown-garbed Ranger.

Lochinvar looks down at the vermite a little curiously, head tilted a little, then looks up at the drummer and nods his acknowledgment of the greeting, opting to keep it silent so as not to interrupt the music.

As it is, the trilling of the flute goes into a series of warbling cycles, then steadies into a single trailing note … and Vielanika lets it die off, with Rawrii's drum continuing for a few beats more … and then the song is finished. She bows to her small audience.

The spell is broken, for a moment. The healer blinks, twice, then cocks his head over to the source of the scream, his smile instantly reversed into a slight scowl. He sees the white-furred Eee, then sees her wares. He scans them for a moment, then focuses back to the Eee with the reeds and the dance. Fairly amusing trinkets, he thinks to himself, But not for me.

He notices that Rawrii barks a greeting. Out of detached impulse, he looks over his shoulder to see who the newcomer could be. And then his eyes widen.

A Hekoye … with wings … in Temple garb?? His eyes blink, then open up again. Will wonders never cease here in the Bazaar? A lot more must have changed than I thought around here.

For a split-second, he is inclined to greet the Ranger, acknowledge him … then he chastises himself, and he quickly turns his head back to Vielanika and her music. Don't you remember what mother said about Temple employees, you fool? They're all business, no play. No use trying to strike up a conversation with the likes of them. Besides, he'd probably think you were trying to divert his attention by talking to him while some cohort of yours picked his pocket, or something like that. And so, he focuses back to listening … and, hopefully, losing himself again … to the music … only to find that the song is done.

The Vartan/Hekoye attempts to shuffle the package containing his lunch, managing to get it under his arm without it falling to the interested vermite, applauding the performance.

A couple of cubs squeal and applaud at the end of the song, then quickly lose themselves in the crowd. An elder Zerda in Himaatian dress – quite probably another merchant inthe Bazaar rather than a shopper – bobs his head and fishes a few ceramic coins out of a sleeve, then tosses them into the bowl lying on the ground in front of Rawrii.

Vielanika finally opens her eyes to the rest of the world, now that her song is finished. She smiles and quietly thanks the Zerda, and a young Gallee couple that also contribute a few coins to her bowl, as they make their way along. Rawrii, however, is far more interested in the vermite – a sickly-looking thing that does a horrible job of keeping out of sight.

Galen blinks again … then sighs, and begins to applaud with the crowd. I wish I could have tuned in to the end of the song … but it was wonderful while it lasted. Seeing the Zerda throw the coins into the hat, Galen proceeds to follow suite. He pulls his money pouch out of his pocket, and pulls out some coins … considerably more than what the Zerda tossed. He pauses for a moment, before tossing them. Those herbs for that infant really dunked into my savings… Then, he mentally shrugs again. But the music freed up my nerves more than any herbs could do today. Ah well. And so, he carefully throws all the money into the hat.

Lochinvar reshuffles his lunch a little so that he can take another bite of it, though part of it drops down to the ground. It's a small enough piece, so he barely notices. The ranger waits a little to see if the group will go into another number, before he decides to contribute anything to their pot.

Rawrii, however, notices the dropped sandwich portion, making a querying "Rrrr?" as he watches intently. The vermite is the one to make the move, though, changing its course to scurry over toward the winged coyote – or, more specifically, the morsel lying at his feet.

Vielanika turns to smile at the Mephitian healer, and her look lingers a little longer than on the others, as there's a spark of recognition. "Hello again!" she says. "I remember you from Master Lightfoot's store."

The winged-Hekoye blinks a little, sensing the shuffling down by his feet, and glances down to see the vermite attacking the dropped piece of sandwich. He merely shakes his head and chuckles slightly, then readjusts the hold on his lunch to fish in his breeches for a couple of shekels to throw into the pot, since it seems to be obvious the group is taking a small break now.

A little quasi-rodentish nose sniffs at the sandwich portion, and a pair of antennae wiggle curiously. On insectoid legs, the little vermite skitters closer, then tentatively nibbles on the sandwich portion. Rawrii whines in disappointment, then licks his chops.

Galen's lungs exhale all the air in them. They do not inhale again.

She recognizes me!! he inwardly shouts. For a moment, he's so surprised that his tail fur begins to fluff… then he remembers to take a breath, and does so. "Well … ah … yes," he manages to say, all the while completely aware that his words sound all too uncertain, anxious, and nervous.

Lochinvar finds a couple of coins to give, and steps over to the pot to throw them in. He manages to lose another small piece of sandwich in the process, much to the vermite's delight. He then turns and heads back towards the Bazaar proper, though right now seemingly walking towards the healer.

His mind is frantic and agitated. Oh, what can I say, what can I say?? I don't know how to talk to anybody! What should I say to her?? His head races, desperate for a reply … yet his heart crosses the finish-line first. Before he realizes it, he says it. "Your music … it's beautiful."

Vielanika smiles a little more brightly. "Thank you. I'm glad you think so." She's momentarily distracted, however, to nod acknowledgement to the winged coyote. "Thank you, Ranger Lochinvar," she says.

The Ranger pauses a little in his stride to nod back to Vielanika. "You are welcome," he replies. "Hearing you perform is always a pleasure."

The vermite, meanwhile, is unchallenged in his attack of the sandwich morsel – or so it seems. However, now that the music is done, Rawrii is no longer required to keep beating the drums … so there are a few cries of surprise from jostled shoppers walking by, when the Vykarin suddenly leaps to his feet and pounces upon the vermite! The vermite lets out a shrill squeak of alarm, and begins to scamper away, the Vykarin hot on its little segmented tail!

The Mephitian looks over to the winged Hekoye whom the Eee bard addressed. A moment of confusion and agitation sweeps over him … then passes. Calm down, calm down, calm down, Galen. He's not going to arrest you for talking to the bard. Still, his head hair is raised a little, when he simply pays the Temple guard his respect, and gives him a nod.

Vielanika grins. "Thank y – " And then she catches sight of the "shell-dog" chasing after the vermite. "Oh dear. Here we go again." She sighs resignedly.

Lochinvar notices Galen looking at him, probably noting the range of expressions that his face goes through also, though doesn't comment upon them as he looks back to Vielanika, following her gaze through to Rawrii. He chuckles a little and says, "My money would be on the vermite."

"So would mine, if he didn't get it in the first try. But Rawrii is … obstinate sometimes." Vielanika turns back to the gentlemen. "Well! I think Rawrii has declared a longer break than I had expected." She returns her gaze to the healer. "I am Vielanika Nightsong, accredited Bard of Rephidim. And my drummer – the large brown fellow taking care of the vermite overpopulation problem – is Rawrii."

Galen sees the Vykarin chase after the vermite, then looks back to her. "Em … how do you do, Vielanika Nightsong?" The healer seems completely off balance, now that all her attention is focused on him.

Oh, what a stupid, stupid thing to say, Galen, he chastises to himself. Her drummer's just ran off after a vermite! "I'm sorry," he says. He looks her over again … and, all of a sudden, he feels more at ease. "I'm sorry," he says again, but more relaxed and calm. "I haven't been here in the Bazaar for more than three years. All this … all this, seems very new to me."

Vielanika crouches down to scoop up the shekels in the bowl – as well as a few on the cobbles nearby that didn't quite make it there. She is still smiling when she stands back up, though she cocks an eyebrow at the healer. "I can't think of anything you need to be sorry about, sir. I appreciate your generosity."

Lochinvar nods again to Vielanika. "If you will excuse me, I should be heading back now," he says. "My break is nearly over." He nods to Galen also, in such a manner where the healer might not be sure is a friendly nod, or a more studying manner. The Vartan/Hekoye then walks back into the hubbub of the Bazaar, continue to eat his sandwich on his way.

"Oh … well… " He takes a breath, and sighs. "I'm sorry … that I'm so … so … nervous, today." The Hekoye's farewell nod at him elicits a nod in return, then he focuses back to the bard. "To be perfectly honest, a lot of very strange things have been happening to me these past few days. Today, I decided to stroll down the Bazaar… "

I can't believe it… I'm TALKING.

Vielanika nods, ears focused on the nervous Mephitian.

Galen says, "… and, when I listened to your music… " His tension is slowly beginning to leave his face and shoulders. "… I felt all my anxiety starting to dissipate like smoke." He takes off his hat, and runs a hand through his white head-hair, before putting it back on again. "I must seem to be a very … very high-strung person, to you, I'm afraid.""

Vielanika laughs lightly. "Please, relax! I'm not a Sylvanian – I don't bite." She smirks. "Tell you what – How about I call this my lunch break? The trouble is, it happens to be most everyone else's as well, and the Bazaar crowd tends to be bigger than usual right now … but the fact of the matter is that my drummer is going to be gone a while getting his own lunch. It's just what comes of the fact that I haven't been able to keep him quite as amply fed as he'd like. If you wouldn't mind, I'm thinking about strolling down into Little Babel for a morsel, and since you have the distinction of having given me the most generous hand of shekels I've had all day, I'd gladly lend both ears to hear whatever this strangeness is that has you so nervous. Genoh?"

The Mephitian blinks again – thrice – in obvious surprise … then, he slowly nods. "Genoh," he replies.

Vielanika nods. "I hope you like fruit. I have decidedly Saskanarian tastes." She scoops up the bowl, and starts walking down the street. She turns and sighs, as a pack of over-active Kavis has already claimed the space under the awning, and in a bizarre display of the hyperactivity of the little ferret-like creatures, is starting to set up a shop. The brown bat doesn't stay around long enough to see what it is they'll be selling, however. "Rawrii will find me once he's given up on the vermite. He's an excellent tracker, and I don't run away."

He nods again. "Yes … yes, I like fruit very much."

A funny thing begins to happen in the Mephitian. When one hasn't had anyone to talk to, or had any company (other than a Zelak servant, or one's mother) for a very, very long time, one is usually inclined to remain an introvert, shy, and very uncomfortable around other people. For some persons in a situation such as this, they will continue to remain introverted, delving deeper and deeper into themselves … and any attempt made by another person to try to pull them out of their shell will only be seen as a hostile attack on one's privacy and inner world, and be treated as such.

For other persons … finding another person to talk to, to share thoughts, feelings, and secrets with, will help them, slowly, gradually, carefully pull themselves out of their crusty, hardened shell, like a crab molting from its exoskeleton… and they will begin to find feelings within them they thought they had lost, or only existed in imagination, or never knew existed.

Such a person, was Galen. Even as he looked at her stopping down to pick up her wide-brimmed hat, then standing back up, all the while talking, speaking to him … he begins to feel less and less self-contained, and more and more open, ever so slowly. "Well, Vielanika… " he clears his throat, "I'm afraid I've never been to 'Little Babel' before."

Vielanika nods. "Well, we'll just have to fix that oversight, Mister … ?" She looks to Galen querulously.

A half-second's hesitation. Then, "Galen. An no need for 'Mister', thank you. Just Galen." He slowly, charily, begins to smile.

The two of them pass the booth where the sigil-dyed Eeee is still selling figurines and talismans. "Images of the Kindly Ones, lovingly hand-crafted!" she claims, though "hand-crafted" in this case must be defined to include plaster casts from molds.

Vielanika ignores the barker. "Well then. Galen. Pleased to meet you." She pauses a moment, as if in contemplation, and he catches her glancing at his hand. "So, you were in Lightfoot's Apothecary. Are you with the College?"

Unlike Vielanika, Galen has a harder time trying to ignore the shrill squeaking-screaming of the Eeee seller. "Oh, no. Not at all. I was just there to pick up some herbs I needed to tend to a patient of mine. My clinic's up in Scholar's Quarter."

"Oh. A healer, then?" Vielanika supposes, nodding. "A very useful skill, of course." Meanwhile, she scans some of the booths offering various things by way of food. Many of them have large insects or larvae hanging limp or squirming (the squirming ones cost more) from hooks, or collected in cages. Others have assortments of fruit – some types very brightly colored – and those seem to attract Vielanika's interest far more, as she makes a bee-line toward one that is emblazoned with a banner reading "Ambrosia's Cornucopia".

The Mephitian's eyes look over the various victuals being offered in the booths … and suddenly, he doesn't feel so hungry anymore. Still, he doesn't find himself thinking Eeees to be disgusting beings: he's read numerous books detailing the race's various diets while his mother was teaching him the various types of plants, fruits, insects, or meats that were poisonous to them, as well as to other races.

As he's recalling all this, he sees her eye falling on the fruits, quite a few which he himself finds admiring, and perhaps even considering to taste. Suddenly, before his head realizes it or even understands its monetary implications, he says to her, "I'll buy today."

Vielanika smirks. "You're quite generous. Please don't feel obliged, though. It was my idea to come here, after all." She pauses to admire a cluster of pala-fruit … but the price listed for the little delicacies is far more appropriate for finger food at a noble party, than for a bard's lunch, even when a gentleman is treating. Instead, she considers some far more mundane-looking, but brightly colored tangelos. "These look pretty good," she remarks.

Galen sees her looking at the pala-fruit, and considers spending extra to get them for her … then inwardly shakes his head. She deserves them for her music, and more so … but buying those wouldn't be good for a first acquaintance. We've just met. I'm not dating her or anything, after all.

"Very well, then, tangelos it is," he says with a smile. He looks them over. "How many would you like, and which colors?"

"A very good choice!" squeaks the booth's proprietor – presumably Ambrosia, given the name on the banner. She is fairly nondescript as Eeee go, a fairly common mousy-brown (not the richer color of Vielanika's fur), and wearing simple blousy attire of Babelite cut. "Fresh from Saskanar!"

"Mmm, they're a bit small, but those are usually sweeter," Vielanika muses. She picks out a couple of bright orange ones. "I'd like these two. Two for a shekel, right?"

"That it still is, Lady Bard!" Ambrosia squeaks.

Without a word, Galen pulls out his money pouch from his pocket again, careful not to tangle it with the string it's attached to (the string is threaded from the pouch to theinside of his pocket, to prevent pick-pocketing). He opens it up, and takes out two shekels. "Two of those ones the Lady bard likes … and two of these for me, please," he says, smiling, and pointing to one orange one, like the one Vielanika chose, and a scarlet-red one.

Ambrosia nods, and pulls a section of loose cord netting down from a pulley dispenser, cutting off the length, and tying the end off, forming a little bag, into which she pops the tangelos, and twists off the top. "Here you go!"

The healer gives her the shekels, and takes the bag. "Thank you very much." As the two walk away from the booth, he opens the bag, and offers it to her. He's smiling. "You first … em… " He pauses a moment. "How do you wish to be addressed, my Lady?"

"Vielanika would be just fine," the bard answers. "Calling me by my surname would just make me feel older than I really am, after all." She pulls out one of the tangelos, and expertly tears the rind with a finger-claw, making a spiral as she turns it around in her hand, letting off a citrusy smell. "Now … are you going to tell me about this 'strangeness' that's been bothering you? Or would I be prying?" She takes a bite of the now-peeled fruit.

And so, he lets it all out. He tells the Eee bard all about how he was raised by his foster mother in Scholar's Quarter, and how solitary he's been since her death, save for Zago's company; he tells her about, after having the strangest, most powerful realistic dream he's had in his life (about his being the knight Hilarion in the classic fairy tale), two Mephitians, a mother and infant daughter, come to his clinic, thus dispelling the notion that he was the only one of his kind; how the infant suffered from a grave Dream Sickness, and that was why he was at Aaron's Apothecary the other day; and all the other details of what he went through to save the child's life. He does not tell her of the mother's occupation, or why he was so terrified when she arrived at his door that day.

Still, he feels like a ton is slowly lifted off his chest as he speaks. When he's done, he takes a breath, and sighs … and then realizes, with a start, that he's never, ever, opened himself like this to anyone, anyone at all, ever before.

Vielanika listens through all of this, her face going through various expressions, and by the end of it finishing off both of her tangelos. If anything, she seems content to just let Galen spill it out while it's still forthcoming, only occasionally prompting or responding during those moments when it seems like he's hit a pause. Now that he's done, however, she is quite for a bit, and then says, "I didn't ask about what people you were from – Some races consider that rude, after all. I admit, I only know one other of your kind, so I gather your sort are fairly rare."

Galen turns his head to her, his eyes widening a little. "You know of another of my kind?"

"Uhm … well, to be perfectly honest, I'm just guessing," Vielanika confesses. "I mean, I realize that there are various peoples who look a great deal alike, yet aren't at all related. But she has the sort of almost-Khatta look like you, and the … ah … fluffy tail. She goes by the name of 'Exotica', but … I'm fairly certain that's a working name, and not a very original one at that."

Galen blinks again, once. "Well! Will wonders never cease on Sinai. For me, anyway." He considers asking the Eeee bard where he could meet this person who looks like his kind … then decides to hold back, for now. "Well, Vielanika," he says, looking her over again. "I don't want to keep you from your work right now. Lunch time's over." He pauses, and considers something … then goes for it. "If you need any help with Rawrii, and his … illness, from his meals, feel free to go up to Scholar's Quarter with him, and I'll see what I can do. My shoppe is 'Galen's Clinic,' just along the main cobblestone road."

Vielanika smiles at this. "Thank you very much for the offer." She sighs. "If he actually managed to catch that vermite, I might have to take you up on it. Let's hope the vermite was fast." She winks. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Galen. I hope to see you again soon!"

"And I hope to see you again as well, Vielanika," replies Galen, smiling broadly now. "And you and your music and dance have given me a big reason to walk down here to the Bazaar much, much more often, now."

And, he closes his eyes, opens them again. "Vielanika?" he asks her.

Vielanika stops and turns. "Hmm?"

He nods his head, with a smile. "Thank you."