ArchivedLogs:Bargain Company

Bargain Company
Dramatis Personae Finn, Hive	2016-03-20 "Little bit drunk. Making bad choices. You know what it's like."
Location <NYC> The Bazaar - Queens
This was once a Flushing office building that rented to startups, rapid growth industries, and fly-by-night operations who don't want any questions asked. Since the first zombie outbreak, it has lain largely empty, and as of late it has been converted into an immense indoor marketplace. The lobbies are packed with food vendors and the hallways lined with kiosks selling a dizzying variety of goods, flea-market fashion. Various offices are given over to groups of merchants selling similar wares: one dedicated to books, another to computer components, and a rather popular one selling (perfectly legal) weapons...at least during the day. Rumor has it that the Bazaar's night market is becoming the go-to place for trade in illicit goods. But night or day, the place is bustling with activity, noisy and raucous commerce in many languages (though predominantly Mandarin and Spanish). Chances are, you can find anything your heart desires here...if you're willing to pay the price. Finn is slightly buzzed. Not drunk, really, since he can still walk mostly straight and isn't trying to pick a fight with every single person who looks at him funny. He's been drinking just enough to become sociable, and dare we say "pleasant"; from here it's a short trip to angry scrappy drunk town. He's got his flask hidden away inside his jacket, just in case he decides he needs a mood booster, but for now he's happy to leave it be. How he ended up in Queens, Finn couldn't really tell you, but when he set out on this evening's journey he definitely had a purpose. Probably had a purpose. Could have just been to get out of the apartment; with Frankie not there, there hasn't been much reason to hang around alone. Could have been he needed to pick up milk, got distracted by a liquor store, and then missed (several of) his stop(s) on the subway. But now that he's here, the Bazaar seemed a good idea. It's not his first time here, but it's not like he's a regular patron of any of the vendors who happen to be here; Queens is a bit far from his place, after all. Having wandered in, and navigated the crowd relatively well for a half-drunk man trying /really/ hard not to unintentionally bump into someone and poke their eye out (being drunk when your back, shoulders and arms are covered in small spiky bits may not be the best idea ever), Finn has managed to find his way to a kiosk selling an assortment of knives, and has just started to try to haggle a deal on one of the more expensive pieces. Haggle may not really be the right word; he's offering far less than the knife in question is worth, and the vendor is getting visibly upset at the waste of time, though Finn can't really tell in his rather buzzed state. "Seriously, buddy, I'll give you twenty bucks, right now! Okay, twenty-five, but that's it!" Drunk-Finn does not negotiate well. Hive looks neither buzzed nor, really, particularly sociable. Bony frame hunched inward, sharp features clamped down, eyes narrowed, hands shoved into the pockets of his tatty corduroy jacket. Head bowed, eyes downturned, he barely looks like he's payin much attention to his surroundings -- though he's navigating just /fine/ all the same, sidestepping booths and people with the innate sixth sense of a long-term city dweller. There's a(n equally dingy) backpack slung over his shoulder, knobbly fingers playing at its strap as he navigates through the marketplace. Perhaps it's Finn's argument that draws him nearer -- or perhaps Finn's secondhand /buzz/, pinging clear and oddly pleasant against the telepath's senses. He stops, at any rate, alongside the knife kiosk, eyes drifting over the assortment of blades with a faint upward twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Twenty-five?" His gruffly amused voice has a hint of accent to it -- definitely Not New York, though bastardized through several other countries as it is it's hard to place it past /not-local/. "Looks like thirty at least to me." Without missing a beat, Finn echo's Hive's statement. "Yeah, okay, thirty. Final offer," he says to the vendor, a slightly larger man about Finn's size, with a facial tattoo and scars that might give the impression that he not only sells the knives, but has made good use of some in his day. The vendor, we'll call him Juan, because he's of decidedly Latin-American extraction, rolls his eyes, and turns fully to Finn, leaning forward over the counter to glare at the man. "I told you, the price is sixty, non-negotiable. Pay for it, or fuck off," he hisses, emphasizing the last with a slight pound of his fists on the counter. "I have other customers to take care of without you pissing away my attention, asshole," he says angrily. "Hey, calm down man. I'm not trying to insult you, or anything. You want to sell it, I want to buy it. I'll give you thirty bucks. Best offer you've had on it all day, I'll bet. Otherwise you'd have sold it already, right?" The logic is sound, at least in Finn's half-drunk rationalization. The continued insistence on the subject though is just making Juan angrier, and Finn isn't entirely oblivious to it. Maybe he's a little bit amused by it, in fact. "You'd think he'd be more interested in making a sale, right?" Finn says to Hive, because he had interjected himself into the exchange, seemingly on Finn's side, or at least as far as Finn is concerned. "But I guess.. Carlos?" Taking a stab at a name, using all the drunken racial assumptions at his disposal, "Doesn't care? Humph. Fine, Carlos. I'll just take my money elsewhere. Gotta be someone else with better shit, right?" His eyes find Hive again, and he gives the man a nodding motion to following him, "Let's go, buddy," he continues, and steps away from the kiosk, further into the room. Hive opens his mouth -- closes it again just as quickly. Built lanky-thin as he is, it's an entirely plausible assumption he has little desire to pick a side among the two bulkier men. Just runs fingers through his shaggy mop of hair, bites down on his chapped lower lip, raises his eyebrows. 'Buddy,' he finally mouths -- though he's turning, following in Finn's wake with a look of faint bemusement. "S'a woman down the other end of the row with pretty good selection of knives. A good start's calling her by her actual name, though. Sometimes it helps. I've, uh. Found." "Guy's an asshole," Finn mutters. "Should've knocked him the fuck out.." Probably not the best idea, given that he was standing behind a case full of sharp weaponry, and so probably a good thing Finn didn't follow through on that idea. He walks in the direction Hive mentioned, toward the other lady with the knives, because he's in that kind of a mood, apparently. "Might help if I knew her real name, right? You buy from her before? Bit more reasonable than Carlos back there? Asshole. I should've kicked his ass.." "I'm sure that would have been," Hive pauses a moment before finishing, "-- interesting. Maybe next time." He continues slouching his way through the marketplace, shoulders a little more tensed as they head towards the other stand. "Sinjai. Is her name. You just grow a sudden hankering for knives tonight? Most people get different sorts of cravings, this hour." He drops his hand from the strap of his backpack back into his jacket pocket before adding, "-- And his name Juan." "You know everyone here?" Finn asks, glancing back at the man. "Not really a hankering, no. Gotta look at something here, and I'm not really interested in miniature figurines, so.." he pauses, and stops in his tracks. "What's your deal? You just hang around here and follow random people around? Don't get me wrong, I don't mind the company, but.. what's your name, anyway?" He says finally, while reaching inside his jacket to grab the flask. Suddenly thirsty again. "Yes." This answer comes reflexively, to the question, at first, automatic and sounding a little surprised to even be asked. For the first time since stopping Hive actually looks /up/ at Finn, blinking his eyes open a little wider than their previously half-lidded state. "I know everyone --" He shakes his head, quick. Snorts, looks back down. "I don't think I have a deal. I was done shopping. You kind of asked me. To --" But this just ends in another shake of his head. "It's Hive. What's /your/ deal? Hang around here picking fights with knife store owners? I'd go with the miniature figurine kiosk vendors, personally." Finn takes a drink from his flask, swallowing quickly and putting it back, hopefully before anyone else sees. "No, I don't come here much. Bored. Little bit drunk. Making bad choices. You know what it's like," he says to Hive. "Hive is kind of an odd name, isn't it? Short for something?" Finn looks like he's trying to figure out what it could possibly be short for for a moment, but gives up quickly enough. "And I wasn't picking a fight. Carlos had to be a dick about it, though," he mutters, a little annoyed at the implication. More alcohol = less rational Finn. "What'd you buy?" "Juan." Hive's correction, though firm, has a trace of resigned amusement to it. "Medicine. And just Hive. That's all." There's a faint psionic flutter, a very light brush up against Finn's mind -- barely noticeable really save for the faint feeling of being /watched/, and in this crowded marketplace, /well/. Hive draws in a slow breath, dipping his head again. "Mmm. I -- guess I do know what it's like." One of his eyes has scrunched a little bit tighter shut. He takes his hand out of his pocket, tipping it out towards a stand just around a corner. "I gotta get home. That's your stop. Sinjai, remember. Have fun with your uh -- knives and bad choices, man." Juuust a little wry: "Stay safe." Finn chalks the sudden rush of paranoia up to the alcohol, and mentally makes a note that maybe he's had enough now. Not to say that he'll forget about this momentary thought in a few minutes, though. "Sinjai, right. Not Kelly. Got it," he says. "See you later, Hive. Enjoy your medicine." Because obviously that's what you say to someone when they say they bought medicine. It's probably not medicine though, right? More like "medicine"? Huh? Right? Yeah.. Finn chuckles to himself as he turns and starts toward Sinjai's kiosk. Hopefully she's attractive, and doesn't notice that Finn's drunk. One of those is definitely less likely than the other.