[center][b][h3]The Trade Market[/h3][/b][/center]
Trudging among the ragged sprawl of stalls, peddlers, open-air cook shops and scavenger piles which passed for open commerce on this sorry excuse of a station. Armadeus, donned in his fine green tailcoat kept tight against him, it's tails billowing with each gust of wind which he assumed must have appeared a king's finery to the bustling crowds of gaunt faces around him. As he strolled, the air was thick with smoke and the smell of cooking vermin for sale, joined by a variety of other scents he was glad not to know the cause off. 

[b]"Aah, the sights and smells of the trade market. As welcoming as ever."[/b] He spoke aloud as he took a sniff, taking in the quaint aroma. As his eyes fell over the people, ranging from reclaimators, dregs and that handful of cocky gang blades that like flies to shit, stood nearby. Needless to say, the sort that congregated here were not of the reputable type. Which contributed to the fact why Armadeus's one fleshy hand now rested across the pouch at his side, containing the entirety of throne gelt to his name, the other, bionic arm swung at his side as he walked. His was a walk of the dignified, back straight and in deep contrast to the hunched and slouched figures that made up the general populace of Outpost 57. 

He should have known by the fragging name, saints be damned, that this place was not where would want to be left stranded without a ship. 'Outpost 57', not even worthy of an actual name, just another statistic of the Imperium. Continuing this inner monologue, Armadeus found himself lazily browsing the various store fronts. And what exciting objects for sale there was; poorly patched clothing, ill-repaired goods and food rations supplemented with barely edible cooked vermin. He found himself groaning with contempt.

That was until he caught the glint of metal sitting atop a rotten, wood plank of a scrapped together storefront which caught his eye, a wiry man garbed in a torn and brown coat stood behind it talking to an equally emaciated male.
[b]"Finally, I-I have what you wanted... Now give me my fathers pin!"[/b] The male spoke frantically and quickly as Armadeus strode towards them. He noticed three rusted and iron grey needles bundled tightly in the frantic man's coiled fist as he came up besides him. Taking a closer look at the storefront and the glinting object. It appeared to be a brooch, a skull without a jaw, surrounded by a laurel and three crossed swords behind that.

The once seneschal, picked up the brooch, inspecting it between his fingers. He turned his attention back to the two, both were staring at the newcomer now. There was no words needed, Armadeus flicked the trader a throne gelt coin, the grubby store-merchant quickly grasped at the falling coin, taking it into his stuffy fist. Before the second man could even gather a screech worthy of a banshee, Armadeus had his receding back to them whilst using his sleeve to rub the grime coating the bronze plated brooch, it appeared to be a brooch an Imperial Guardsmen might wear. With a shrug, the brooch now found itself pinned to the left side of it's new owners coat. And [i]did[/i] it look good.