In the past seven years, the odd couple made up of Planetes and his beloved wife had travelled to plenty of bustling markets, and, in the many years before that, he had ended up on voyages to countless unnameable locations. Nonetheless, no matter what occurred, it seemed as if they were always drawn back to the Taengean capital. There was something uncertain about the city of Vasiládon which often called to the pair of merchants, and it was for that inexplicable reason that, on this early Gamos morning, they were setting up their stall before the sun had even appeared in the sky.

It was an arduous process, and would have been difficult if the dark-haired man had not grown so used to it over the years. Where he might once have struggled to carry all of his goods in a single trip, and would have had to return pathetically to his supplies, only giving thieves ample opportunity to steal away those few things he had already placed on his market stall. He had learned since then, and, though gangly and perhaps awkwardly shaped, he now had no trouble when it came to carrying great piles of product. They had all sorts, both legitimate and otherwise: small knickknacks they had picked up during their travels and planned to sell for far more than they were worth; pretty stretches of fabric which they would swear would look darling on any frame; metallic bracelets that clanged together unceremoniously but could survive longer than any of those more delicate, genuine pieces. It was a miniature empire which they had worked on for years, and which appeared barely impressive to all those who had not watched them build it.

Generally, Planetes and Atalanta knew their audience, and they would set out those wares which were most likely to attract customers in specific areas of the world, but the market at Vasiliádon required a greater variety of items. There were people from all walks of life with all sorts of desires, and it was their wish to ensure they could satisfy everybody to some degree. That was where the drachmae were, after all.

A few streams of sunlight had already started to spread across the sky, glinting off an array of small figurines that Planetes had arranged in mock battle and which he promised offered the owner the best of luck. He was half-preoccupied draping some colourful but inexpensive fabrics over the back of the display (people were usually attracted to a bright stall), but his gaze could not help but drift naturally towards his beloved wife. He had always been a natural-born salesman, glad to talk endlessly to their prospective customers until they were willing to buy something they truly did not require, but Atalanta was both the brains and the beauty of the operation.

"Ata," he called over to her, unable to resist a small smile curving onto his features. She was able to make him smile in most situations, no matter how he felt otherwise. That was part of her appeal, even when you didn't consider her looks (although they had proved invaluable over the years for attracting and distracting customers). "I noticed some rather cocky stallions in the city centre last night, and I heard that they could be found in the agora during the day. What do you think?" It was not uncommon for them to speak in code like this when they were planning their schemes - this particular one referred to the sighting of a few wealthier men that would later be making their way into the agora, and whether or not Atalanta thought they would be acceptable targets.

"I thought perhaps they might like to meet someone like you."