"I just wanted to know if this--"
SLAM.
A wooden door is shut in Yasin's face. He jerks back, his khuff landing in a puddle. A muttered curse escapes his lips as he shifts the weight of his backpack, whatever's inside suddenly feeling twice as heavy, even for the burly young smith.
"Maybe I should have asked Otty to come with me." Yasin mutters. This wasn't the part of Saint Loomis Yasin knew well. If he were out in the Sleithdale talking to farmers, that'd be one thing -- at least most of them knew him by now.
But no. The young man wasn't so lucky this evening. This was a different street entirely, home to families, laborers, and owners of more niche professions. He was searching for one such profession now. A supplier, he'd heard him described as. Not of anything illicit -- at least, not as far as Yasin was aware. Although, as his footsteps progressed further towards the east side of Saint Loomis, he did wonder.
The problem was, Yasin neglected to ask Otty where, specifically, this man lived. He knew the street. But the street was long, and winding, and brimming with doors.
"Ye look lost, lad."
The voice interrupts him from his wandering thoughts, and Yasin turns to find a short, plump man with greying hair on the sides, and a prominent bald spot at the top. With a fair complexion, he most certainly appears to be of Ilexi heritage. A bright blue tunic complements bright, twinkling blue eyes beneath bushy brows that present an odd cheeriness to his otherwise ruddy, weathered face.
"Uh." Yasin stammers. "I'm just--"
"Knockin' on the doors of me neighbors and causin' all kinds of 'sturbance, like a furren menace?" The words are hostile, accusatory, but belied by the man's tone -- almost jovial.
Yasin shrugs off the accusation, and simply replies, "I am looking for a trader. Goodman Fisher."
The man's grin blooms wide and suspiciously cheerful. "Well, I got good news an' bad news, lad. The good'un. Ye found me."
Relief tempered by a hint of dread spreads across Yasin's face. "And... the bad?"
"Ye won't get to knock on any more of me neighbors' doors. HAH!" Goodman Fisher cackles a bit, then starts walking away with a slight limp, favoring his right leg. He waves Yasin on, indicating he should follow.
Despite himself, Yasin smiles. "Alright..." He murmurs, and moves along after.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They wind through a narrow alley, past a gate, and into a cluttered courtyard ringed by the backs of tenement buildings. Wagons and crates stand stacked like furniture, crates brimming with fabrics and tools from the glimpses Yasin gets. The hum of the town seeps through like an afterthought, catching a ride with a gentle summer's breeze.
"So it's limewash ye're wantin'?" Goodman Fisher asks, arms folded across his gut.
"That's right." Yasin says. He shrugs the backpack off and sets it down. With a grunt, he pulls out a chunk of freshly quarried limestone. "I thought... maybe a trade? Limestone for wash?"
Fisher eyes the stone critically before shaking his head.
Yasin frowns. "What is wrong? Is it not good quality?"
"Stone's fine." Fisher says, idly scratching at his bald spot. "Trade's wrong."
Yasin blinks. "What do you mean? This saves you the work of--"
Fisher interrupts. "I get me limestone from Goodman Hux and his boys. Always have, past six years." He begins to sweep his hand in front of his face as though he were conjuring magic. "Then I send it t' Bindra fer her husband's kiln. Bindra's easier t' deal with than 'im, see -- he's a right sour type, unlike you an' me." He leans in conspiratorially. "Ye understand?"
Yasin's eyes glaze over, but he nods anyway.
"Bindra gives me back the wash, keeps a bit fer herself. Throws in some cheeses from Goodman Ulstix's farm -- Ulstix's goat herd's the pride o' Saint Loomis, y'know--"
"Oh, I know Goodman Ulstix." Yasin interjects weakly. "I do work for--"
"Good for ye, lad." Fisher rolls onward. "Then I pass th' cheeses on t' Gussie and that ol' Sawbones--"
By the time Fisher winds down, Yasin's head is spinning with names and trades and who owes what to whom. He looks at Fisher, exasperated. "So... why can I not just trade the limestone directly to you for some limewash?"
Fisher gives him a look like he's daft. "Ye ears full o' wax, lad? Then Bindra'll have too much t' work, and her husband'll be cross, and she'll have t' bribe him with Ulstix's cheeses. That means less fer Gussie and th' Sawbones Byrrex. And then they'll be cross, and I'll have t' smooth it all over with some special brew from Ned who supplies t' Donna at the Seaglass-- "
Yasin rubs at his temples. "Alright, alright." He sighs out, a weary look to him. "So... what can I do to get some limewash?"
Fisher's blue eyes twinkle at the question, and he grins widely. Yasin gets the distinct impression of a fox. He holds out his palm. "Two duskies, lad."
Yasin stares at the heavy chunk of limestone. He looks back to Fisher's outstretched hand. All that, and in the end, just a pair of duskies. A sigh escapes his lips, slow and resigned. He reaches for his coin purse.
After Yasin pays the gleeful man and Fisher goes delving in amongst his junk-piles for limewash, Yasin promises himself that next time, he'll consider the trade first.