iprotectyou | OOM: Shopping

Chirrut keeps close by keeping the fingers of his off hand tangled in Baze's belt when they slip into the crowd. Use of his staff in this mass of beings would just be asking for fights and bruises.

"Just so you know, I will be lost in minutes." Chirrut laughs, and it's only partially a lie. There's enough signposts here for him - the spices at that stall, the particular rasp of the stallkeeper's voice there - that he could probably make his way back.

More likely, he would just continue to wander, given over to the intoxicating array of variation. They'd only find him when the market shut down for the evening.

"I would find you," Baze says, raising his voice to be heard over the din. He pats Chirrut's hand. "But it would be inconvenient."

The crowd almost jostles them as they wend their way through. Baze tosses a credit to a beggar, which results in more hands held towards the Guardians.

"You might need both hands to carry vegetables," Baze says. The stall in question is at the very end of the market, and they've a large order to pick up.

"I guess I am doomed." Chirrut replies in mock-mournful tones, "Oh!" He gives the fabric under his fingers a sharp tug to get Baze's attention, then lets go to turn aside.

His attention has been distracted by a stall selling tea, the scent alluring and... oh, just perfect.

Surely, surely there's time for tea.

"Chirrut?" Baze says, whirling around to see where his friend has run off to. He spots him approaching the tea stall and sighs.

"I'm going to get you a leash," Baze grumbles under his breath as he catches up to Chirrut. "Maybe a little harness."

"I did warn you!" Chirrut calls back cheerfully, before settling into a friendly bit of negotiating with the stallkeeper. He can smell one of his favorite teas, one that he has a hard time getting most of the year. It's all he can do to not seem overeager, so as to ruin his haggling stance.

Edited 2017-04-06 06:27 (UTC)

Baze shadows his friend, hanging back just the slightest bit. He doesn't want to interrupt the haggling, much as he'd like to drag Chirrut towards their objective.

Then again, part of the fun of coming to a market is finding familiar things to buy, and tea certainly is that. Baze sighs through his nose. He might as well get Chirrut to buy him some tea, too. He claps a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Make it a double."

Sweetening the pot strengthens Chirrut's position, and soon he has two cups of tea and a handful of candied fruit for his troubles. Head cocked, he backs steadily into a gap in the crowd near the wall, offering one of the cups and a broad smile to Baze as a peace offering.

Baze brings the fragrant sapir tea to his nose to inhale the aromatic scent. The tea is green in color, a fact he's already imparted to Chirrut. "Thank you, my friend," Baze says, plucking one of the sweet fruits out of Chirrut's fingers. The older Guardian pops the treat into his mouth and chews, sipping the hot tea to wash it down. He matches Chirrut's smile.

"Now your hands are full, so we simply cannot move until our tea is drunk," Baze says, mock-mournfully. "You planned this, didn't you?"

"Me? I just followed the Force's lead." Chirrut replies, full of innocence. "How else would I have known she had stock of Sapir today?"

Full of innocence and really good tea - Chirrut hums his happiness over the scent of the tea, the scent speaking of green lands he has never walked.

"I don't believe you. I suspect you knew all along," Baze says, snorting. He prolongs his drink, taking the smallest sips possible. While Sapir tea is not one of his favorites, it is remarkably good. "Besides, you weren't following the Force. You followed your nose."

"All things are of the Force." Chirrut retorts airily, mimicking one of the elders who particularly loves that saying. "Especially this tea."

Despite careful rationing, it's disappearing quicker than he'd like. That is the way, he supposes, of all special treats.

Baze laughs hard at the spot-on impression. He slaps Chirrut's back with a meaty hand, but not enough to spill his tea. "Well, we'll just have to obey the Force and pick some of the leaves up as well on our return trip, shall we?"

"I live to serve." Chirrut agrees piously, sipping the last of his tea with a regretful sigh. "It is always gone too fast. Ah well." He shrugs, badly and philosophically, holding out a hand to take Baze's empty cup as well.

Baze sets his empty cup in Chirrut's waiting hand. "Thank you again, my friend," the older Guardian says, patting his shoulder. He snatches another one of the candied fruits and eats it. "Shall we continue on our journey through the marketplace, or will you get lost now that you have no hands available to hold my belt?"

Edited 2017-04-06 07:16 (UTC)

"Let me return these to their stall before you wander off, and I will come as biddable as you like." Chirrut chides, and doesn't wait around to see how much Baze is going to protest that particular bit of 'not entirely likely to come true' hopefulness.

Chirrut loves the market. Chirrut loves to wander off during the market. There's just so many things to experience!

He does, however, return the cups to the stall keeper with a bow, and comes back, nibbling on one of candied fruits.

"Ready?"

"Ready," Baze says, too wise to protest Chrirut's lies. Such lies. The bigger Guardian takes his friend's arm, cupping his elbow. "I wonder if the elders knew we'd not be back before dinnertime when they sent us out here."

Baze starts to lead them out towards the vegetable stall they need to get to, when a pastry seller arrests his attention. "Hey, Chirrut. How about a snack?"

"Mmm, I could eat." This is a bit ridiculous, since Chirrut will raid the kitchens just about any chance he gets. How he stays rail thin while carrying on these raids is one of the great mysteries of the temple.
"And I don't know what you're worrying about, this is a simple shopping trip."

As if he hadn't just wandered off for technically unneeded tea.

Baze raises an eyebrow, a gesture he forgets for a moment that his friend cannot see. The bigger Guardian gently punches Chirrut's shoulder instead. "Simple shopping trip. Right. Nothing involving you is simple."

Baze pays for two bean paste-filled pastries, pressing one into Chirrut's hand and nibbling the other. "We can eat while we walk," Baze says, tugging on Chirrut's elbow.

Edited 2017-04-06 07:33 (UTC)

"Of course, Baze." Chirrut laughs, exploring the contours of the pastry with his fingers before biting into it. "Oh, there's Dabri!" And with that he's pulling away again to greet a young flower-seller who has taken over her mother's stall.

"Chirrut?" Baze says, not exactly surprised by this new development, but somewhat nonplussed by it. "Chirrut, no. No. Damn it, Chirrut."

With a long-suffering sigh, he follows his friend, eyeing the colorful, perfumed bouquets Dabri has for sale. Baze chews thoughtfully on his pastry, enjoying the nutty, sweet taste. "Hello, Dabri."

"Guardian Malbus! It is wonderful to see you, sir." The young twi'lek is wreathed in smiles. "I was just telling Guardian Imwe that it is a stroke of luck you came to see me today - I have seeds for Master Kellig's garden, but my usual runner has called in ill today."

Chirrut just smiles around bites of pastry.

According to Baze, Chirrut's smile is insufferably smug. The older Guardian plans to wipe that grin off his face as soon as he can.

Baze favors the girl with a smile of his own, one not as remotely presumptuous as Chirrut's. "I told you, Dabri, call me Baze," he says, accepting the seeds. "Chirrut, we should get going. May the Force be with you, Dabri."

Chirrut quickly trades for a small wreath of wonderfully scented flowers, all a striking blue he cannot see. Since he needs his hands free, he sets it on his head like a jaunty crown. That accomplished, he follows Baze.

"Well, now I won't lose you," Baze says, stuffing the seed pouch into a pocket in his robes. He finishes his pastry in three quick bites, chewing and swallowing.

Baze cups his friend's elbow, steering him through the crowd towards the vegetable stall. The bigger Guardian carves out space for his broad-shouldered frame simply by walking and taking up said space. People smile at them as they pass, and one child riding on his father's shoulders even waves. Baze waves back. "There's a child waving to our right, Chirrut."

Edited 2017-04-06 08:14 (UTC)

Chirrut waves back, slightly off in direction but making the child beam, regardless.

There is an indignant squawk at waist-height.

"There's a child trying to steal your purse on your left." He observes placidly, his hand locked around the wrist of a struggling street urchin.

"Well, now, what do we have here?" Baze says, crouching to get a better look at this arrogant thief.

"Let me go!" the child howls, pulling against Chirrut's hold.

"Are you hungry?" Baze asks, not unkindly. "Why were you trying to steal my pouch?"

The child stills. Fat tears well in his eyes and start spilling down his cheeks. "My m-mother's sick."

Baze raises a brow. "What do you think, Chirrut? Is he telling the truth, or do we have an accomplished liar here?"

Chirrut shoulders Baze gently, shaking his head.

"Of course he isn't, so suspicious." He says, as if he isn't equally suspicious at times. In this, however, the way is clear. How could anyone not see the boy's hurt pouring off of him in waves?

"The question is what to do about it."

Baze reaches into his purse and fishes around in it for a little while. His fingers emerge with ten credits, which he presses into the boy's hand. "Go to the Temple of the Kyber and explain your situation to the elders there. They might be able to help you."

The boy gives Baze a grateful look and scampers off, clutching the credits to his chest. "I'm going to be out of money by the time the day is done," Baze says, watching him run away. "Shall we move on?"

Edited 2017-04-07 05:22 (UTC)

"In such a rush today." Chirrut tsks, but loops his fingers into Baze's belt anyway. "We've barely even been here yet, and you wish to leave."

"I don't want to leave, necessarily," Baze says, shuffling his feet and sounding guilty. "I just want to make it to the vegetable stall before dinner, is all. And those Guardians on cooking duty will need time to prepare it. I suspect they'll put us on cooking duty for a week if we're late."

"But I do love your stews." Chirrut points out, but he tugs on Baze's belt, as if that alone can get his broad-framed friend moving. "It would not be such a hardship."

Baze smiles, patting Chirrut's hand. The larger Guardian starts off towards the stall, guiding his smaller friend through the crowd. This time, they make it there without distractions, and Baze pays for the vegetable order.

"May the Force be with you," he tells the seller, and presses bags into Chirrut's hands. "Stick close to me, Chirrut. I don't want you getting lost on the way back."

Chirrut snorts at his protectiveness, but doesn't protest. The trip back is uneventful.

For five minutes.

And then Chirrut isn't behind Baze anymore.

He's not at the tea stall either.

Or at the herbalist.

Near the center of the market a piper has set himself up, and the tunes he plays are wild skirling things, as unpredictable as desert storms. Chirrut is, of course, entranced.

Let it never be said that Baze doesn't pay attention to Chirrut. Well, maybe not never. Baze turns to his friend, only to find that his friend is no longer there.

"Chirrut?" Baze says, thoroughly confused. He stands on his tiptoes to see if he can spot the blue flower crown. Failing that, he checks with the tea stall. No Chirrut. Baze checks the herbalist. No Chirrut. Baze even checks the vegetable stall. No Chirrut.

Baze doesn't panic. He doesn't. He merely has a tiny freak out, that's all, stomping around with his vegetable bags in hand. "Chirrut!" he calls. Glimpsing a bit of blue in the crowd, Baze rushes forward, only to be met with disappointment: it's a headscarf. "Chirrut!"

A hand reaches out to snag Baze's sleeve and haul with the wiry strength born from years of tireless training.

"Shhh, he's about to start again." Chirrut chides, comfortable in an alcove carved into the wall - it has wonderful acoustics here, so the music can drown out the market noise.

"Chirrut!" Baze growls, and then quiets down as the piper begins playing again. Baze waits for a break in the music, and then turns to scold his friend. "You ran off again. With half the vegetables, no less. What am I going to do with you?"

Chirrut breaks off from happily humming the melody of the last song to consider this question.

"Well, I do smell steamed buns over there..." One pastry and tea does not a full Chirrut make! Of course, some of the elders consider Chirrut something of a bottomless pit, so there isn't much hope one bun is going to make much of a difference.

Baze shifts the bag in his hand to press his palm to his forehead. "Oh, for Force's sake! If you want a steamed bun, we'll get a steamed bun, but after that, we need to go back home."

He loops his arm around Chirrut's elbow and all but drags him to the steamed bun seller. Baze orders three--one for himself, as he's a bottomless pit who eats more than Chirrut--and two for his friend. The larger Guardian takes the bags from Chirrut, sets them on the ground, and presses the buns into his hands.

Chirrut, who hasn't really stopped giggling since Baze's outburst, snorts with laughter when his hands are filled with the lovely treats.

"Baze, what...?" He trails off, because he has two buns in his hands, so he's going to make inroads in at least one of them.

"Just eat, you annoying nexu," Baze grumbles, stuffing his face with his own steamed bun filled with dried lotus seeds and meat, which has a mildly sweet and savory taste. Leaning against the wall, he chews and swallows doggedly, determined not to actually enjoy his food. He can't keep up his ire, however, and eventually slows down.

Chirrut makes no comment when he hears Baze plowing through his bun like it offered some sort of personal offence. He does grin, a little, when Baze slows down.

He also offers Baze half of the second bun, to be enjoyed while the piper makes the air sing with melodies from a different part of the galaxy.

Baze considers the peace offering for a long while before taking it. He polishes the bun off and sucks the filling off his index finger. "Thanks," he grumbles, picking up all four vegetable bags. "Shall we go, finally?"

Chirrut considers his surroundings - the scents of spices and plants, cooking food and the press of many bodies; the sounds of children and arguments and music; the heat of the afternoon sun... and smiles.

"Yes, I suppose so." He agrees, content. He pops the last of his bun in his mouth and hooks his fingers into Baze's belt again, secure.

OOM: Shopping

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject