Engraving

The Bazaar 
 * Bustling. That one word describes this large and crowded open area that covers very nearly the entire length and width of the ruined skyscraper, and dull concrete and steel walls rise seventy-five feet above the floor. A thick web of catwalks and ramps begin around twenty feet up the walls, making it nearly impossible to see the ceiling from the floor. The lighting is dim, the only source of illumination being the bewildering array of luminescent signs that indicate an equally bewildering number of shops and stalls, many of them set into the walls above the floor and serviced only by ramps and walkways.
 * An amazing variety of trinkets, foodstuffs, and other small and generally cheap items are available from the vendors on the floor and the first few levels of walkways. As one moves higher up along the walls, the shops begin to get seedier. The top level of walkways and the vendors on it deal mainly in goods anywhere else would consider illicit. From the top level of catwalks, stairways lead up to the section of the Warren known as Level One.
 * A gaudy sky-blue sign over a doorframe on the floor proclaims 'The Expanse - Bar and Casino'. Bright blue-white light spills from the entrance.

Seth is heading away from the 'floor' level of the Bazaar to one of the upper catwalks and the upper level stalls apparently heading to one of the more expensive 'shopfronts'.

For want of a better word, the gaunt figure going by the little helpful appellation of 'Fantome' is window-shopping, moving without signs of haste from one shoplet to another.

Seth tugs a set of keys from one pocket, they're attached to a long chain, as he approaches one of the presently closed shopfronts and unlocks the roller shutter then rolls it up.

Fantome works his way up, slowly ascending the catwalks in his determined but unhurried way. He never gives stalls with obvious weapons on display any second glance, passing by them in favour of others.

Seth with the shopfront open the teen flips the lights on and a buzzing neon comes to life labling the shop as a Tattoo parlor and it's probably the cleanest place in the Bazaar.

Fantome's progress is stalled, in the figurative as well as the literal meaning, at a stand selling the latest in fashionable armor. He inspects a suit of ablative armor for a while, but eventually turns from it and continues, drawn inexplicably to the tattoo parlor.

There are no customers at the moment but the Teen sets about preparing and cleaning his space loading needles and other items into the autoclave. There are examples of his work up on the walls for prospective customers to peruse and not just tattooing there are other form of 'body art', piercing, branding..

Fantome steps closer and enters, gazing along the example pictographs hung up to impress and entice. He seems to analyse the geometry and symbolism of several particular complicated tattoes to great depth, slightly laying his head to a side.

Seth steps away from the clean 'work area' towards Fantome and lights up a cigarette, "Help you with anything."

Fantome appears almost shaken out of revery, the way he cocks his head a little too fast towards Seth. "No... No, thank you." The bright neon lights throw jagged shadows into Fantome's hooded face, though for a moment there is the glimmer of a silver flash crawling across his haggard features. "I am... browsing."

Seth nods and leans casually against a counter out of the way while he waits for the autoclave, "Sure, go ahead."

For a few more minutes, Fantome studies the examples put up on the wall, before eventually turning away from them and towards Seth. "Say, friend," he says, "How do you stand on... artistic challenges?"

Seth shrugs a bit, "Kinda depends on the challenge I guess."

Fantome reaches into his left armpit and grips something there. As he pulls it down, it is revealed to be a matte-black zipper for the sleeve-glove; he pulls it all the way to the wrist, then removes his arm from the sleeve. The contrast between the darl faux leather and the white of his skin is eerily unsettling, like a larva wriggling free of its restraints. He stretches out his arm -- he really does have only four fingers total -- and indicates a tattoo on his biceps. It shows a winding, interwoven pattern of black lines originating from and circling around what seems to be a Naliese hieroglyph. "Continue this tattoo."

Seth stuba out his cigarette in the ashtray behind him as he studies the tattoo tilting his head slightly, "How far?" Is his only question. The examples of work on the walls suggest that the teen is a more than competant artist and probably thinks visually.

"As far as your imagination will support, my friend." Fantome watches Seth dispassionately, though constantly, and something like a smile briefly gleams in his face.

The teen grabs a sketchbook out of a drawer and sketches out a representation of the existing tattoo then expands the existing pattern slightly pushing at his bottom lip as he draws, he seems to be lest handed, and if he notices the dispassionate manner of his customer it doesn't show. Without pausing or looking up he asks, "Any particular themes I should stay away from?"

Emerging from a nearby doorway under a gaudy sign proudly advertising, 'Wimen! Beer! TV! -- The Luxury Hotel', the sound of hesitant strokes on a classical guitar presage the entry of a young Vollistan. His aura unabashedly showing his reluctance and trepidation in flashes of mottled grey and orange, he slowly steps into the chaos of the Bazaar proper.

"Refrain from adding images of questionable artistic value, if you would," Fantome says offhandedly. "I will accept the style which is called 'tribal'. I assume you are not fluent in Naliese." He gives Seth a slightly disgusted look. "Keep it abstract."

The teen continues to sketch for a moment continuing the interwoven pattern outwards, interestingly as he does it would seem he is working the knotted design back into a larger representation of the rune it origonates at, "Had a Nall come in here once, contrected a piece for his..." he pauses for a moment as though looking for the right word. "Tribe, gang, but yeah not a language they tend ta teach out on the parta the finge I come from."

Volendreis and his music quickly make their way into the relative peace and security of The Expanse, leaving the hyperactive Bazaar behind.

Volendreis heads into The Expanse - Entryway . Volendreis has left.

Fantome sniffs at the mentioning of a Nall having visited. "Exiled filth," he says with no great love, but leaves it at that.

Peter arrives from Entryway . Peter has arrived.

The gangly goth artist smirks a bit as he looks up revealing a flash of fangs, then turns his sketch for Fantome to look at, "Shia, got that impression. The zhan dou de yi kuai rou had a scar, looked like some kinda mark had been burnt off." He's up in his tattoo shop with Fantome.

Fantome shudders lightly, looking aside. "Nalia mark them," he hisses under his breath as he looks out onto the catwalk.

Peter enters the Bazaar from without, clearly on patrol; he pauses, now and again, to have staticky and beep-ridden conversations with the radio clipped to his chest.

Seth cants his head to one side, "O zhe zhen shi ge kuai le de jin zhan." The teen mumbles under his breath. "I've got another couple ideas if that's not what you had in mind." He adds.

Fantome turns his head again to look at Seth and the sketch. "Oh. I apologize profusely," he says stepping closer again. "I was momentarily given to disgust at the thought of an exile having breathed the air of this place." He inspects the sketch, nodding. "That is acceptable. Do it so."

Peter notices the lights on in Seth's shop, and begins to slowly amble his way in that direction.

Seth nods a bit, "Shiney. Come on through," he says heading towards the clean work area, "I haven't seen him/it," he shrugs a bit, "in ages so maybe it's crawled off and died. Just take a seat and I'll get set up." That said he steps over to the sink and scrubbs his hands then pulls on fresh gloves, for where his shop is the teen is certainly careful.

Fantome sits down, carefully draping the sleeve-glove away from his outstretched pale arm as he does so. "One can hope," he says. "One can only hope."

Seth takes a seat on a stool then pops open a couple of plastic containers, he takes the tattoo gun out if one and carefully assembles it with sterilised parts that he takes from sealed packets, "Just out of interest, what's the rune mean? I know the Nall are into honor and well tribe and stuff but that's about it... I'd kinda like to avoid fucking up by re using the design or something if I'm not supposed to." He then uncaps a fine pen and stencils himself an outline to work from.

"It is the glyph of Most Holy Nalia," Fantome explains as he leans back. "Though the script it employs is no longer used, the glyph is the universal seal of the Goddess."

Seth nods his head slightly and starts to outline the new work, his hand clearly pracitced. As he rolled his sleeves up to wash his hands, Fantome would be able to see a fairly extensive sleeve tatto that looks as though it covers the teen's entire right arm. The design has a heavy 'asian' influence to it and is quite coloruful, particularly the coiled Dragon. "Ah, right. I'll make this one an exclusive then."

Fantome glances at Seth. "I would not anticipate later clientele to be interested in such an design, no. Exclusive it is."

Seth nods slightly as he continues work on the outline of the design, there's hardly no pain beyond the prick of the needle suggesting that the teen is quite good at his job. Once the outline is in place he sits back slightly and checks it while he switches out the outlining needle.

Despite the pricking needle, Fantome's face remains calm under his hood, what little there is of pain clearly not enough to bother him in the slightest. He does not follow Seth's progress, but instead looks straight ahead at the ceiling.

Seth leans back in and starts to fill in the outline carefully mopping up the usual slight amount of bleeding wit gauze as he goes, "I assume you know abut keeping it clean and stuff after I'm done?" The teen comments. "Unlike some of the others around here I'm actually really careful about infections and stuff."

"I served as interpreter on a Nall escort," Fantome says, smiling a private smile. "Be assured I know about the worth of hygiene."

Seth nods again just continuing his work untill the design is filled in the black a stark contrast to Fantome's pale skin. "Looks good to me." He says once he's finished and sets the gun aside the prepares some gauze to cover the fresh work, giving his customer a moment to inspect it.

Jeff Ryan has arrived.

Fantome sits up, glancing at his arm. "How... quaint," he notes, though not with a dismissing tone of voice. "That shall do nicely." He flexes his arm a little, noting the effect the neon light has on the tattoo. "Nicely indeed."

Seth is up in his shop with Fantome in the chair, he smirks a bit. "The ink's my own mix." He says as he carefully tapes the gauze over the tattoo. "That'll be, a hundred."

Peter gets almost to the door of Seth's shop; then his radio crackles, and he swears loudly, turning and heading at a run out of the Bazaar.

Peter heads into Entryway . Peter has left.

Volendreis arrives from The Expanse - Entryway . Volendreis has arrived.

Jeff Ryan heads out the Temple, by now the denizens are used to the lunite's strange attire, a few make way for the man, others simply scowl as he makes his way to Seth's stall.

"Credits, I assume." The still gloved hand reaches through a gap in the laces that close the coat from sternum to waist, and produces from inside a small pre-loaded crechip. "A hundred and fifty, for accepting a challenge," Fantome says as he hands it over.

Volendreis reemerges on the Bazaar, suspiciously soon after Pete's departure. As before, his music arrives before he does, his fingers picking out a deft, dancing melody, his voice rising in tandem.

Seth takes the credchip and pockets it. "It was a good one. Pleasure doing business."

Jeff Ryan reaches the boy's stand and is about to say something, when he spots Fantome, he give a small pronounced boy and smiles, "I haven't seen you around here for a while." He then winks to Seth as greeting. At the arrival of Volendreis and his music the lunite raises his eyebrow and glances in his direction.

Fantome holds his unsleeved arm by his side, the sleeve itself dangling from his shoulder. (A glance will prove that he does indeed have only three fingers plus thumb.) He nods his head towards Ryan. "Greetings, my friend. Yes, I have been-- shall we say-- removed from the public eye for a while. I trust you were not bereft of my presence in a time of need?"

Seth nods slightly to Jeff as he sets about packing up disposing of his gloves and such but stays quiet otherwise, his attention on what he's doing.

The lunite shakes his head at Fantome, "No, things are... quiet for now. Some recruits are supposed to be heading out to the temple for training, but until the organisation has done some training, I too am keeping a low profile." The voice synthesiser is as emotionless as ever, but his eyes hint at an impatience.

Fantome glances down along Jeff, tilting his head slightly. "Dark blue robes are not what is generally associated with 'low profile', if I may make that observation. Nonetheless, it is a pleasure to hear of your ongoing endeavours."

Volendreis walks slowly into the Bazaar, distasteful still of the dirt and avarice so common here. And also of the crowds; a slight squinting betrays the headache plaguing the young Vollistan, and his aura is shot through with distressed greys and greens. Still, he steps confidently enough forward. His fingers weave an intricate dance along the strings of his classical guitar, and his voice rises strong and true in a song which, from the bits and snips of audible lyrics over the chatty crowd, seems to be about and end to all wars.

Seth moves out of the work area once he's cleaned up and lights a cigarett as he heads to a point where he can look down at the singing and glowing Vollistan below.

Jeff Ryan chuckles, a strange sound, "On Tomin Kora, it is, but when we start moving again I no longer intend that the organisation is secret, it worried too many people the last time, by low profile I simply mean we're not taking any action. Not yet." He then glances in the young vollistan's direction and mutters to himself, "He's gonna get himself shot before too much longer."

Fantome follows the direction of Ryan's gaze, sniffs slightly, and bows his head to Jeff. "I shall enjoy hearing more of your most recent undertakings, but this very moment, there are pressing matters, the conclusion of which necessitates my attendance. We shall speak at a later time."

Volendreis ends his song, and silence surrounds him for the slightest of moments. Then, smiling, he launches into a song by a popular musical group doing quite well just now. In fact, he performs the song with a great deal more skill than the original musicians; his deft hands pluck out the bass line, rhythm and lead guitar parts all on his one instrument. Slowly, a circle of empty space opens up around the Vollistan, and he finds himself surrounded by an appreciative audience. Smiling he broadly, he launches into the song's first verse, his voice made coarse and rough in the original singer's style. Applause ripples through his makeshift audience.

Jeff Ryan nods at that from Fantome, his eyebrow raises as the normally hostile and cynical crowd that inhabits the bazaar seems to find a place in their mean, rotten, desperate hearts for the Vollistan singer. Who is probably going to get shot any time now....

"Wo de ma he ta de feng kuang de wai sheng dou. There's another example of a bad low profile." The gangly teen comments, now leaning against the rail just outside his shop. "Wonder if I can hit him from here?" He adds almost idly as he eases his big revolver partially out of it's holster.

Fantome briskly wanders off.