The door to the tavern banged shut behind Johannes, bouncing off the rickety doorframe twice before settling shut. The old tavern-keeper hollered something out at the noise, but he ignored it. His cores were good and she was in no position to turn away business. Belly full of hard bread and a stew of questionable contents, he was satisfied enough to go about his business. He hated most outpost food, but not as much as he hated anything he could scrub up out of the Wasteland. He didn’t trust the water at the tavern – he’d have to boil some up on his own before refilling his canteens.
“Damn nosey broad.” Johannes muttered under his breath as he adjusted his backpack and trudged toward the market. A replenishing of supplies was in order. First aid supplies, sturdy sewing thread, more rope, boot laces, tarp, socks, ammo reloading supplies….
He ticked off the long list in his head as he approached the stalls, eyes narrowed against sun and stranger alike. Whenever he was in outposts like this, he kept his hood down and coat buttoned half-closed. No good could come out of some Wasteland mutant getting the jitters – or worse, some pickpocketing scumbag reaching where he shouldn’t and pulling out surprises that weren’t his.
After some wandering, Johannes found a stall with a box of mismatched boot laces. He started picking through them, matching up length and width while disregarding color, when he heard a nearby merchant snarl out:
“Are you going to stare all day, or pick something?”
Johannes glanced over his shoulder, trying to keep his attention on the scene on the down-low. The merchant’s attention seemed to be focused on two ratty looking kids – and by the way the young boy hung his head and stood there unresponsive, he was torn between suspecting retardation or foul play.
Tossing the merchant a core for a handful of boot laces that were quickly stuffed away in his pack, Johannes kept his eyes on the children as he continued to shop, just in case they tried stealing something. In all his years of experience, he had quickly learned to not give anyone any pity due to their age – a child is just as likely to rip you off as an adult.
Johannes frowned as the children scurried off toward the tavern like rats fleeing water. That was where he was sleeping tonight, damn it, and he didn’t want to share it with ragtag rugrats. He took his time getting the rest of his supplies from the market. He couldn’t find a decent tarp – a waterproof one – so he skipped out on that. His was starting to fray on one edge but it would hold out for a while longer. Getting gunpowder proved to be the most difficult and he ended up haggling the price down to prevent getting ripped off. That particular merchant – a short, fat man with a bad case of eczema on his arms and face – earned himself a scowl once his back was turned.
Raindrops had started to fall as Johannes slipped into the tavern, his entrance much more quiet than his exit. He hated staying here, but he was waiting to meet up with his new partner. He’d been given a name and a vague description, but that was it. Narrowing his eyes as they adjusted to the dim lighting, he scanned the tavern common room for the scribe.
“Damn nosey broad.” Johannes muttered under his breath as he adjusted his backpack and trudged toward the market. A replenishing of supplies was in order. First aid supplies, sturdy sewing thread, more rope, boot laces, tarp, socks, ammo reloading supplies….
He ticked off the long list in his head as he approached the stalls, eyes narrowed against sun and stranger alike. Whenever he was in outposts like this, he kept his hood down and coat buttoned half-closed. No good could come out of some Wasteland mutant getting the jitters – or worse, some pickpocketing scumbag reaching where he shouldn’t and pulling out surprises that weren’t his.
After some wandering, Johannes found a stall with a box of mismatched boot laces. He started picking through them, matching up length and width while disregarding color, when he heard a nearby merchant snarl out:
“Are you going to stare all day, or pick something?”
Johannes glanced over his shoulder, trying to keep his attention on the scene on the down-low. The merchant’s attention seemed to be focused on two ratty looking kids – and by the way the young boy hung his head and stood there unresponsive, he was torn between suspecting retardation or foul play.
Tossing the merchant a core for a handful of boot laces that were quickly stuffed away in his pack, Johannes kept his eyes on the children as he continued to shop, just in case they tried stealing something. In all his years of experience, he had quickly learned to not give anyone any pity due to their age – a child is just as likely to rip you off as an adult.
Johannes frowned as the children scurried off toward the tavern like rats fleeing water. That was where he was sleeping tonight, damn it, and he didn’t want to share it with ragtag rugrats. He took his time getting the rest of his supplies from the market. He couldn’t find a decent tarp – a waterproof one – so he skipped out on that. His was starting to fray on one edge but it would hold out for a while longer. Getting gunpowder proved to be the most difficult and he ended up haggling the price down to prevent getting ripped off. That particular merchant – a short, fat man with a bad case of eczema on his arms and face – earned himself a scowl once his back was turned.
Raindrops had started to fall as Johannes slipped into the tavern, his entrance much more quiet than his exit. He hated staying here, but he was waiting to meet up with his new partner. He’d been given a name and a vague description, but that was it. Narrowing his eyes as they adjusted to the dim lighting, he scanned the tavern common room for the scribe.