[Last thread of mine chronologically before Barynx thread I guess?]
"You need a what?"
This was the umpteenth consecutive stop on Makoto's impromptu tour around the general neighborhood of Soon's Haven that his favourite hangout was located in, and it had been getting more bizarre by turns.
It probably would have been a much faster quest, all told, if the people he was talking to would accept money in exchange for their services like normal people, but he seemed to have stumbled on a subculture that only dealt in the barter system, which was proving to be far more frustrating than he would have guessed beforehand.
"A stuffed dustboar head," the woman repeated. "Get me one of those, and I can get you your canary-bone flute."
"Right..." So now he had to find someone who either had or could mount the head of a dustboar, and if the latter, hunt down one of the animals. "I'll get right on that, then."
It had started innocuously enough--one of the waitresses at the bar had lamented that her grandmother wanted a particular style of wall hanging. It turned out the only real local purveyor of such would only accept antique porcelain dolls in payment, which, through a series of increasingly odd discussions and navigating the chain of deals to one he could hopefully pay for with actual cash or some kind of skill he possessed, had led him through a crowd of eccentrics he had previously not even realized existed.
Outside of cheesy adventure novels, at least.
So now he was back to winding his way through the extremely strange but harmless people of the city, trying to find someone who could get him a stuffed and mounted dustboar head. Why the woman who made bird bone flutes wanted one, he didn't know and didn't care. It was just the next step in the quest.
This led him to a man who seemed to have every variety of animal head possible, including some that had to be fake, on the walls of his shop. He wanted a leather couch.
Great. Furniture store. Should take cash, right?
No, the specific person he wanted it from wanted a guard dog. Not the cash to buy a guard dog, a guard dog from a specific breeder and trainer.
There were really only so many links one could have in a chain before it became utterly impossible to keep track of, even for him.
The breeder and trainer declared that she wanted a particular type of animal skinned for dog food. The animal was not one found in Wind Country, but there was someone who imported it.
The importer said that they took cash.
At this point, Makoto nearly fell down crying in relief. It almost seemed to be too much to ask for that it was finally over.
...Not that it was actually over. He paid the importer, and set to hauling over the prepared (presumably; he had never had a dog and had no idea what dog food looked like when it was prepared unless you were talking about kibble, nor did he know if there was a special way to do it short of 'don't spice it with anything toxic to dogs') dog food, and proceeded to lounge around in the receiving parlor of the dog breeder for a half hour while she interviewed a client for their suitability in adopting a dog of hers.
Dog people. Seriously.
He delivered the food when she was finished with that, and while the breeder did not promise the person would get the dog they wanted, she could guarantee them an interview slot.
This was apparently good enough for the furniture seller, who enlisted him to help haul the couch over to the taxidermist.
He was seriously glad he had written down this whole chain of things as he trudged backwards through the series of batty people who thought the barter system was a great way to run things, having apparently not heard of money.
(Maybe he was getting just a bit aggravated by this point. When Makoto had taken the job, he hadn't expected it would take even half this long. Instead of 'maybe an hour, if I lag,' this was turning into an all day affair.)
Back and back and back, from the antique carpets to the ice cream machine (seriously?) to the materials to fix a door hinge. At this point it felt like one big joke that he seriously didn't have the energy to laugh at.
...Actually, he didn't much do any sort of humour that wasn't dry or sarcastic anyway, but that wasn't the point.
It was nearing sunset by the time he was done, which meant he took the IOU for the wall hanging straight to the bar instead of having some time to himself before he headed over. He had expected to knock that whole set of affairs down in the morning and have the rest of the day, but as it was, he was glad he'd gotten to Soon's Haven early that morning.
Early. Him. He really hoped this girl appreciated it.
She did.
"Thank you so much," the waitress gushed. "I really, really wanted to get my grandmother something nice for her birthday, but I just don't have the time to make my way through everything. I tried it last year and it was exhausting, I don't know how those people do it. Thank you again!"
She kissed him on the cheek and clutched the IOU to her chest happily. He stared after her, bemused. Emiko sauntered over to him and grinned.
"Not used to pretty girls kissing you, I take it?" she asked, clearly teasing.
"Not especially," he said.
"Maika was just very grateful," she said. "But--wait, you're not joking?"
Makoto shrugged, trying not to feel awkward. "No? I've never been inclined toward any sort of kissing things. It really isn't my sort of thing."
She stared at him for a second, before shaking her head and retreating behind the bar. He could have sworn he heard her mutter, "what a waste."
Well then. It certainly sounded like he'd managed to evade being set up on a date. So the day wasn't a total write-off, then.
"You need a what?"
This was the umpteenth consecutive stop on Makoto's impromptu tour around the general neighborhood of Soon's Haven that his favourite hangout was located in, and it had been getting more bizarre by turns.
It probably would have been a much faster quest, all told, if the people he was talking to would accept money in exchange for their services like normal people, but he seemed to have stumbled on a subculture that only dealt in the barter system, which was proving to be far more frustrating than he would have guessed beforehand.
"A stuffed dustboar head," the woman repeated. "Get me one of those, and I can get you your canary-bone flute."
"Right..." So now he had to find someone who either had or could mount the head of a dustboar, and if the latter, hunt down one of the animals. "I'll get right on that, then."
It had started innocuously enough--one of the waitresses at the bar had lamented that her grandmother wanted a particular style of wall hanging. It turned out the only real local purveyor of such would only accept antique porcelain dolls in payment, which, through a series of increasingly odd discussions and navigating the chain of deals to one he could hopefully pay for with actual cash or some kind of skill he possessed, had led him through a crowd of eccentrics he had previously not even realized existed.
Outside of cheesy adventure novels, at least.
So now he was back to winding his way through the extremely strange but harmless people of the city, trying to find someone who could get him a stuffed and mounted dustboar head. Why the woman who made bird bone flutes wanted one, he didn't know and didn't care. It was just the next step in the quest.
This led him to a man who seemed to have every variety of animal head possible, including some that had to be fake, on the walls of his shop. He wanted a leather couch.
Great. Furniture store. Should take cash, right?
No, the specific person he wanted it from wanted a guard dog. Not the cash to buy a guard dog, a guard dog from a specific breeder and trainer.
There were really only so many links one could have in a chain before it became utterly impossible to keep track of, even for him.
The breeder and trainer declared that she wanted a particular type of animal skinned for dog food. The animal was not one found in Wind Country, but there was someone who imported it.
The importer said that they took cash.
At this point, Makoto nearly fell down crying in relief. It almost seemed to be too much to ask for that it was finally over.
...Not that it was actually over. He paid the importer, and set to hauling over the prepared (presumably; he had never had a dog and had no idea what dog food looked like when it was prepared unless you were talking about kibble, nor did he know if there was a special way to do it short of 'don't spice it with anything toxic to dogs') dog food, and proceeded to lounge around in the receiving parlor of the dog breeder for a half hour while she interviewed a client for their suitability in adopting a dog of hers.
Dog people. Seriously.
He delivered the food when she was finished with that, and while the breeder did not promise the person would get the dog they wanted, she could guarantee them an interview slot.
This was apparently good enough for the furniture seller, who enlisted him to help haul the couch over to the taxidermist.
He was seriously glad he had written down this whole chain of things as he trudged backwards through the series of batty people who thought the barter system was a great way to run things, having apparently not heard of money.
(Maybe he was getting just a bit aggravated by this point. When Makoto had taken the job, he hadn't expected it would take even half this long. Instead of 'maybe an hour, if I lag,' this was turning into an all day affair.)
Back and back and back, from the antique carpets to the ice cream machine (seriously?) to the materials to fix a door hinge. At this point it felt like one big joke that he seriously didn't have the energy to laugh at.
...Actually, he didn't much do any sort of humour that wasn't dry or sarcastic anyway, but that wasn't the point.
It was nearing sunset by the time he was done, which meant he took the IOU for the wall hanging straight to the bar instead of having some time to himself before he headed over. He had expected to knock that whole set of affairs down in the morning and have the rest of the day, but as it was, he was glad he'd gotten to Soon's Haven early that morning.
Early. Him. He really hoped this girl appreciated it.
She did.
"Thank you so much," the waitress gushed. "I really, really wanted to get my grandmother something nice for her birthday, but I just don't have the time to make my way through everything. I tried it last year and it was exhausting, I don't know how those people do it. Thank you again!"
She kissed him on the cheek and clutched the IOU to her chest happily. He stared after her, bemused. Emiko sauntered over to him and grinned.
"Not used to pretty girls kissing you, I take it?" she asked, clearly teasing.
"Not especially," he said.
"Maika was just very grateful," she said. "But--wait, you're not joking?"
Makoto shrugged, trying not to feel awkward. "No? I've never been inclined toward any sort of kissing things. It really isn't my sort of thing."
She stared at him for a second, before shaking her head and retreating behind the bar. He could have sworn he heard her mutter, "what a waste."
Well then. It certainly sounded like he'd managed to evade being set up on a date. So the day wasn't a total write-off, then.