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Moving through the cool, pleasant morning, Isaiah rubbed sleep from his eyes with one hand whilst holding an empty sack over his shoulder with the other. Dust kicked up behind him as he walked towards the agora. There was an entire list of things he needed to procure and most of them would take him to this stall or that, which would take him a good majority of the morning. Dropping his hand, he looked ahead, seeing the market was already crawling with people. His Greek was decent but not fabulous and he was wondering why the Horse Master had sent him, rather than one of the other servants. Being foreign as he was, he often didn’t understand these pagans or their reasonings. However, he fancied himself a decent enough servant not to ask about business that wasn’t his to understand anyway.
Stopping on the edge of the agora, he slid the sack from his shoulder and reached into the depths to fish out the list. Most of it was horse related. Running his thumb down the column, he was reading the Hebrew words he’d written beside the Greek ones. He could understand quite a lot of what someone said to him but he couldn’t read Greek yet. Glancing back up at the market stalls, he took in a deep breath and hopped to it.
The sack, it turned out, was mostly a precaution. The first booth he stopped at was more to renegotiate pricing for grain. The next booth was to place an order for more chariot parts. The next was for new bridles. With most of his work done, he was free to explore. Scents of roasted meat or freshly baked flatbreads called out to his rumbling stomach but he ignored the impulse. He’d already eaten one meal today. He’d be fed another with the other servants. It was better to save what money he could for passage aboard a ship so that he could go home.
But one stall stopped him for the time being and he stood, looking at a highly unusual item. It was some sort of dish, he guessed, bowl like in nature but whether it was a cup or a soup bowl was hard to decide. It didn’t sit quite level and so perhaps wasn’t meant for resting on a table at all. But what sort of use was that. He looked up, holding the thing to ask the proprietress about it, but someone knocked into him from behind. The dish slid out of his hands and shattered all over the table, breaking two other things as it went.
“I am so sorry!” Isaiah’s accent was thick but mostly understandable. Was he going to have to pay for this?? Could he afford to?
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Moving through the cool, pleasant morning, Isaiah rubbed sleep from his eyes with one hand whilst holding an empty sack over his shoulder with the other. Dust kicked up behind him as he walked towards the agora. There was an entire list of things he needed to procure and most of them would take him to this stall or that, which would take him a good majority of the morning. Dropping his hand, he looked ahead, seeing the market was already crawling with people. His Greek was decent but not fabulous and he was wondering why the Horse Master had sent him, rather than one of the other servants. Being foreign as he was, he often didn’t understand these pagans or their reasonings. However, he fancied himself a decent enough servant not to ask about business that wasn’t his to understand anyway.
Stopping on the edge of the agora, he slid the sack from his shoulder and reached into the depths to fish out the list. Most of it was horse related. Running his thumb down the column, he was reading the Hebrew words he’d written beside the Greek ones. He could understand quite a lot of what someone said to him but he couldn’t read Greek yet. Glancing back up at the market stalls, he took in a deep breath and hopped to it.
The sack, it turned out, was mostly a precaution. The first booth he stopped at was more to renegotiate pricing for grain. The next booth was to place an order for more chariot parts. The next was for new bridles. With most of his work done, he was free to explore. Scents of roasted meat or freshly baked flatbreads called out to his rumbling stomach but he ignored the impulse. He’d already eaten one meal today. He’d be fed another with the other servants. It was better to save what money he could for passage aboard a ship so that he could go home.
But one stall stopped him for the time being and he stood, looking at a highly unusual item. It was some sort of dish, he guessed, bowl like in nature but whether it was a cup or a soup bowl was hard to decide. It didn’t sit quite level and so perhaps wasn’t meant for resting on a table at all. But what sort of use was that. He looked up, holding the thing to ask the proprietress about it, but someone knocked into him from behind. The dish slid out of his hands and shattered all over the table, breaking two other things as it went.
“I am so sorry!” Isaiah’s accent was thick but mostly understandable. Was he going to have to pay for this?? Could he afford to?
Moving through the cool, pleasant morning, Isaiah rubbed sleep from his eyes with one hand whilst holding an empty sack over his shoulder with the other. Dust kicked up behind him as he walked towards the agora. There was an entire list of things he needed to procure and most of them would take him to this stall or that, which would take him a good majority of the morning. Dropping his hand, he looked ahead, seeing the market was already crawling with people. His Greek was decent but not fabulous and he was wondering why the Horse Master had sent him, rather than one of the other servants. Being foreign as he was, he often didn’t understand these pagans or their reasonings. However, he fancied himself a decent enough servant not to ask about business that wasn’t his to understand anyway.
Stopping on the edge of the agora, he slid the sack from his shoulder and reached into the depths to fish out the list. Most of it was horse related. Running his thumb down the column, he was reading the Hebrew words he’d written beside the Greek ones. He could understand quite a lot of what someone said to him but he couldn’t read Greek yet. Glancing back up at the market stalls, he took in a deep breath and hopped to it.
The sack, it turned out, was mostly a precaution. The first booth he stopped at was more to renegotiate pricing for grain. The next booth was to place an order for more chariot parts. The next was for new bridles. With most of his work done, he was free to explore. Scents of roasted meat or freshly baked flatbreads called out to his rumbling stomach but he ignored the impulse. He’d already eaten one meal today. He’d be fed another with the other servants. It was better to save what money he could for passage aboard a ship so that he could go home.
But one stall stopped him for the time being and he stood, looking at a highly unusual item. It was some sort of dish, he guessed, bowl like in nature but whether it was a cup or a soup bowl was hard to decide. It didn’t sit quite level and so perhaps wasn’t meant for resting on a table at all. But what sort of use was that. He looked up, holding the thing to ask the proprietress about it, but someone knocked into him from behind. The dish slid out of his hands and shattered all over the table, breaking two other things as it went.
“I am so sorry!” Isaiah’s accent was thick but mostly understandable. Was he going to have to pay for this?? Could he afford to?
It was a morning like any other. After Atalanta and Planetes had organized their inventory and once again accounted for any of the previous day's purchases, there was an expected morning lull in profit. Few would choose to arrive at the markets so early besides the expected crowd - servants snatching up the finest ingredients for their masters' evening menus - yet, it was a waste of rent and of potential customers to not set up at the crack of dawn. However, Atalanta and Planetes rarely received a windfall of profit so early as it was, so following their alternating schedule, today her dear husband went off in search of breakfast while she manned the shop, unexpecting of any real customers - servants were, more often than not, too timid to try and nick anything at any time, let alone as the sun rose and the city order began their daily patrols of the marketplace.
Every day was different, but in the mornings, there was no expectation of any chaos whatsoever. Yet, today just so happened to be one of those days. As she stood at the back of the store, absentmindedly smoothing the fabrics that hung on display, she heard a loud clatter and the smashing of multiple pieces of pottery from the table.
It took a moment for Atalanta to register just what had happened, but after a few seconds, she turned her head to see who was responsible...Of course, it was a foreigner.
Atalanta was not the xenophobic type, spending much of her time sailing the seas, selling her wares to anyone at the right price, yet she anticipated that this man spoke very little Greek, and of course, she was not well-versed in any other languages, nor could she determine where the man was from. Rubbing her temples, the redhead wished at this moment that she had gone for breakfast instead of Planetes. He was much better at dealing with the irritating event of broken products.
Yet, she was alone. She would have to deal with this herself. Though Atalanta was volatile when provoked, masking such emotions were necessary in the retail field. As such, Atalanta's lips curled ever so slightly as she approached the man, a calculated calmness to her tone.
"That's quite alright. It happens..."
As she exited the stall and went around to the front to collect the shards of pottery that laid lifelessly on the ground, she shooed him away from the mess he had created, gingerly picking up every shard that she could see. As she crouched on the ground, she asked, her voice loaded, "Can you afford to pay?"
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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It was a morning like any other. After Atalanta and Planetes had organized their inventory and once again accounted for any of the previous day's purchases, there was an expected morning lull in profit. Few would choose to arrive at the markets so early besides the expected crowd - servants snatching up the finest ingredients for their masters' evening menus - yet, it was a waste of rent and of potential customers to not set up at the crack of dawn. However, Atalanta and Planetes rarely received a windfall of profit so early as it was, so following their alternating schedule, today her dear husband went off in search of breakfast while she manned the shop, unexpecting of any real customers - servants were, more often than not, too timid to try and nick anything at any time, let alone as the sun rose and the city order began their daily patrols of the marketplace.
Every day was different, but in the mornings, there was no expectation of any chaos whatsoever. Yet, today just so happened to be one of those days. As she stood at the back of the store, absentmindedly smoothing the fabrics that hung on display, she heard a loud clatter and the smashing of multiple pieces of pottery from the table.
It took a moment for Atalanta to register just what had happened, but after a few seconds, she turned her head to see who was responsible...Of course, it was a foreigner.
Atalanta was not the xenophobic type, spending much of her time sailing the seas, selling her wares to anyone at the right price, yet she anticipated that this man spoke very little Greek, and of course, she was not well-versed in any other languages, nor could she determine where the man was from. Rubbing her temples, the redhead wished at this moment that she had gone for breakfast instead of Planetes. He was much better at dealing with the irritating event of broken products.
Yet, she was alone. She would have to deal with this herself. Though Atalanta was volatile when provoked, masking such emotions were necessary in the retail field. As such, Atalanta's lips curled ever so slightly as she approached the man, a calculated calmness to her tone.
"That's quite alright. It happens..."
As she exited the stall and went around to the front to collect the shards of pottery that laid lifelessly on the ground, she shooed him away from the mess he had created, gingerly picking up every shard that she could see. As she crouched on the ground, she asked, her voice loaded, "Can you afford to pay?"
It was a morning like any other. After Atalanta and Planetes had organized their inventory and once again accounted for any of the previous day's purchases, there was an expected morning lull in profit. Few would choose to arrive at the markets so early besides the expected crowd - servants snatching up the finest ingredients for their masters' evening menus - yet, it was a waste of rent and of potential customers to not set up at the crack of dawn. However, Atalanta and Planetes rarely received a windfall of profit so early as it was, so following their alternating schedule, today her dear husband went off in search of breakfast while she manned the shop, unexpecting of any real customers - servants were, more often than not, too timid to try and nick anything at any time, let alone as the sun rose and the city order began their daily patrols of the marketplace.
Every day was different, but in the mornings, there was no expectation of any chaos whatsoever. Yet, today just so happened to be one of those days. As she stood at the back of the store, absentmindedly smoothing the fabrics that hung on display, she heard a loud clatter and the smashing of multiple pieces of pottery from the table.
It took a moment for Atalanta to register just what had happened, but after a few seconds, she turned her head to see who was responsible...Of course, it was a foreigner.
Atalanta was not the xenophobic type, spending much of her time sailing the seas, selling her wares to anyone at the right price, yet she anticipated that this man spoke very little Greek, and of course, she was not well-versed in any other languages, nor could she determine where the man was from. Rubbing her temples, the redhead wished at this moment that she had gone for breakfast instead of Planetes. He was much better at dealing with the irritating event of broken products.
Yet, she was alone. She would have to deal with this herself. Though Atalanta was volatile when provoked, masking such emotions were necessary in the retail field. As such, Atalanta's lips curled ever so slightly as she approached the man, a calculated calmness to her tone.
"That's quite alright. It happens..."
As she exited the stall and went around to the front to collect the shards of pottery that laid lifelessly on the ground, she shooed him away from the mess he had created, gingerly picking up every shard that she could see. As she crouched on the ground, she asked, her voice loaded, "Can you afford to pay?"
The shattering sound momentarily brought everything to a sudden and abrupt halt around him. The person who’d bumped into him drew in a shocked breath but rather than rush to help, the other man’s lips curled upwards as he took in Isaiah’s clearly foreign appearance. Raising his hand to his mouth, the man stifled a laugh and managed out an, ”Oops... sorry about that.” Isaiah frowned as a sigh escaped his nose but he kept his mouth shut. The person who’d bumped into him was a servant, too, but a much more important one. It was easy to tell by the clothes the man wore. He was someone’s house servant, no doubt in charge of running errands. Perhaps not the grandest of jobs but definitely above horse caretaker.
It was Atlanta’s sudden appearance that made the man cast her a single look, decide that he did not want to involve himself further, and swept away. Isaiah watched him go, frowning after him and still saying nothing. Finally he looked back in Atalanta’s direction, inclined his head to her, and apologized profusely. Her tight politeness did not escape him but he felt he could hide from it if he sank down to pick up the pottery shards. They. Were. Everywhere.
Behind him, a shard crunched beneath someone’s sandal. There was a yelp, a ‘What the-?’ and then an agitated groan as the person plucked the now crushed and far more sharp shard out of the sole of their sandal, cast it aside for someone else to step on, and surged away. Again Isaiah’s attention was caught but he felt the presence of another swoop down beside him. Atalanta was there, shooing him away from his task. She might shoo him and he did take a clumsy side step or two away, but he did keep picking up the pieces and setting them in a little pile for her, throwing her furtive looks the entire time.
“Sorry,” he said a second time, slowly, to make sure his Greek was definitely not at fault. And then, of course, came the dreaded question: could he pay? Isaiah stood up, brushing off invisible dust from his clothes, trying to buy himself some time while he came up with an answer. Could he? No, well...yes. Yes he could, but he didn’t want to. That money was for something else. Even though someone had bumped him, it was still he who had dropped the...dish...bowl...thing. His desire to not pay was at war with his morals.
“I…” he began, not really sure how the sentence would even end. “Perhaps I can do something for you?” he asked at last, coming up with that on the spot. “To make this right?” Here he gestured to the broken shards and hoped she had some sort of mercy. Or a job that needed doing. He knew perfectly well that the king’s stable master was not going to swoop into this market and take care of this kind of accident. It’d come straight out of Isaiah’s pay.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The shattering sound momentarily brought everything to a sudden and abrupt halt around him. The person who’d bumped into him drew in a shocked breath but rather than rush to help, the other man’s lips curled upwards as he took in Isaiah’s clearly foreign appearance. Raising his hand to his mouth, the man stifled a laugh and managed out an, ”Oops... sorry about that.” Isaiah frowned as a sigh escaped his nose but he kept his mouth shut. The person who’d bumped into him was a servant, too, but a much more important one. It was easy to tell by the clothes the man wore. He was someone’s house servant, no doubt in charge of running errands. Perhaps not the grandest of jobs but definitely above horse caretaker.
It was Atlanta’s sudden appearance that made the man cast her a single look, decide that he did not want to involve himself further, and swept away. Isaiah watched him go, frowning after him and still saying nothing. Finally he looked back in Atalanta’s direction, inclined his head to her, and apologized profusely. Her tight politeness did not escape him but he felt he could hide from it if he sank down to pick up the pottery shards. They. Were. Everywhere.
Behind him, a shard crunched beneath someone’s sandal. There was a yelp, a ‘What the-?’ and then an agitated groan as the person plucked the now crushed and far more sharp shard out of the sole of their sandal, cast it aside for someone else to step on, and surged away. Again Isaiah’s attention was caught but he felt the presence of another swoop down beside him. Atalanta was there, shooing him away from his task. She might shoo him and he did take a clumsy side step or two away, but he did keep picking up the pieces and setting them in a little pile for her, throwing her furtive looks the entire time.
“Sorry,” he said a second time, slowly, to make sure his Greek was definitely not at fault. And then, of course, came the dreaded question: could he pay? Isaiah stood up, brushing off invisible dust from his clothes, trying to buy himself some time while he came up with an answer. Could he? No, well...yes. Yes he could, but he didn’t want to. That money was for something else. Even though someone had bumped him, it was still he who had dropped the...dish...bowl...thing. His desire to not pay was at war with his morals.
“I…” he began, not really sure how the sentence would even end. “Perhaps I can do something for you?” he asked at last, coming up with that on the spot. “To make this right?” Here he gestured to the broken shards and hoped she had some sort of mercy. Or a job that needed doing. He knew perfectly well that the king’s stable master was not going to swoop into this market and take care of this kind of accident. It’d come straight out of Isaiah’s pay.
The shattering sound momentarily brought everything to a sudden and abrupt halt around him. The person who’d bumped into him drew in a shocked breath but rather than rush to help, the other man’s lips curled upwards as he took in Isaiah’s clearly foreign appearance. Raising his hand to his mouth, the man stifled a laugh and managed out an, ”Oops... sorry about that.” Isaiah frowned as a sigh escaped his nose but he kept his mouth shut. The person who’d bumped into him was a servant, too, but a much more important one. It was easy to tell by the clothes the man wore. He was someone’s house servant, no doubt in charge of running errands. Perhaps not the grandest of jobs but definitely above horse caretaker.
It was Atlanta’s sudden appearance that made the man cast her a single look, decide that he did not want to involve himself further, and swept away. Isaiah watched him go, frowning after him and still saying nothing. Finally he looked back in Atalanta’s direction, inclined his head to her, and apologized profusely. Her tight politeness did not escape him but he felt he could hide from it if he sank down to pick up the pottery shards. They. Were. Everywhere.
Behind him, a shard crunched beneath someone’s sandal. There was a yelp, a ‘What the-?’ and then an agitated groan as the person plucked the now crushed and far more sharp shard out of the sole of their sandal, cast it aside for someone else to step on, and surged away. Again Isaiah’s attention was caught but he felt the presence of another swoop down beside him. Atalanta was there, shooing him away from his task. She might shoo him and he did take a clumsy side step or two away, but he did keep picking up the pieces and setting them in a little pile for her, throwing her furtive looks the entire time.
“Sorry,” he said a second time, slowly, to make sure his Greek was definitely not at fault. And then, of course, came the dreaded question: could he pay? Isaiah stood up, brushing off invisible dust from his clothes, trying to buy himself some time while he came up with an answer. Could he? No, well...yes. Yes he could, but he didn’t want to. That money was for something else. Even though someone had bumped him, it was still he who had dropped the...dish...bowl...thing. His desire to not pay was at war with his morals.
“I…” he began, not really sure how the sentence would even end. “Perhaps I can do something for you?” he asked at last, coming up with that on the spot. “To make this right?” Here he gestured to the broken shards and hoped she had some sort of mercy. Or a job that needed doing. He knew perfectly well that the king’s stable master was not going to swoop into this market and take care of this kind of accident. It’d come straight out of Isaiah’s pay.
