Syncretic Attempts

<table width=400><tr><td></td></tr><tr><td><span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'>Timestamp. Dyo 15, 81381
Character. http://shadowlack.com/persona.php?id=1215<span style='color:red'>Omvyjsomusa Uppekseymt</span></a>
Rating. <span style='color:orange'>PG-13 for drugs and swearing</span>
Notes. None.

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<div align=Justify>The Black Market District of Bhim had to be one of the best places on Ramath. It didn't matter what you looked like, if you had issues, how much money you had, how nefarious you were, because everything was the norm. This was the thought running through her mind as Musa ran a hand through her hair while the wind blew past her face and cut through the damp Dyo air. For once, her clothes were washed, her eyes weren't dull and lifeless, there was a shine to her fur and her highlights didn't appear to be a toxic as they usually did.

A cigarette, her latest addiction, dangled from two thin fingers as she perused a set of
'dragon hair bristle brushes that were on display. She could never afford them, but they certainly were interesting, particularly with the bone stems. Though, she wasn't here to buy brushes, she had plenty stocked away, she moved to the inks and her right hand reached up to finger the ruby orb hanging from her neck as she watched a demonstraition with various types of inks and brush techniques. Musa shrugged and turned away, they'd taught her all about how to hold the brush nearer the bristles for more control and which brushes to use for Ramathian calligraphy, the only thing new about this tutorial is that the thill giving reeked of dead and rotted flesh once you got close enough to watch. She grabbed a small ink block and slipped it in one of the numerous pockets of her jeans. She took one more in a different color and brought it up to the makeshift counter.

That it? The man asked.

She turned around, so her back was to him, the low backed shirt showing off her own design, it sometimes bought her discounts.

<span style='color:red'>Yes, I think that will be all.</span> She said, eyes flicking once more to the 'dragon hair brushes.

<span style='color:red'>Actually... How much for one of those brushes?</span> She inquired, pointing in their general direction.

They're strictly for vaudun and tribal tattoos, unless you're into that magic and necromancy stuff they're going to cost too much for you.

Musa nodded, that was certainly interesting, she didn't have much magic, if any, in her, but those were some awesome looking brushes.

<span style='color:red'>What if I gave you 3 gold pieces for that small one there and didn't tell the nice cop over there that you're using reanimated corpses as slaves?</span>

The arden frowned, weighing his choices, near give away one of his wares, or have his entire operation shut down or worse by the Bhim police. They really didn't like exploitation of the dead...

Fine. He grumbled, grabbing a brush off the shelf and throwing it carelessly in the bag with her ink. He thrust the bag at her and glared at her until she was out of sight.

Smiling, Musa took a drag from the cigarette and promptly let out a hacking cough developed from years of nujeq abuse. She put one hand to her forehead as the morning's headache settled back in. With a groan, she threw her cigarette somewhere behind her and let it be stamped out by the wave of passing 'dragons.

She stumbled into a conventional store a few feet away, leaning heavily against the wall and groaning as the door shut behind her. At least it was dark in here, and quiet. What she wouldn't give for just a little bit of nujeq or something, a nice strong pain killer sounded good about now.

<span style='color:red'>Or you could just listen to us and go home...</span>

She looked up to see one of her usual phantom friends. He offered a hand to help her up, smiling that wicked smile that only figments of one's imagination can produce.

Musa groaned again and buried her head in her hands, willing everything to just disappear and she would open her eyes and be in bed with the heat turned up and something mesmerizing on the radio.</div></td></tr></table></span>​

 

<table width=400><tr><td></td></tr><tr><td><div align=justify><span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'>Her ears swiveled as best they could to the source of the voice that had asked her if she was alright. Musa thought for a minute then looked up at the arden with the wicked smile her brain had conjured up.

<span style='color:red'>Getting up helps to asses how OK you are.</span> He said, offering his hand once more. This time she took it, but as soon as she touched the imaginary hand, the figure disappeared and her arm fell back to the ground.

She growled quietly, using the wall to help her stand, and even then, leaning just as heavily against it as she had before. She covered her mouth as she began to cough again. Finally raising her greying eyes to look at the thill that had spoken to her.

<span style='color:red'>Just a little headache.</span> She said in response to the thill's question.

She slid down the wall once more to pick up her bag of supplies then inched her way up again, not really caring that she looked like a crazy 'dragon. She probably looked a lot better than she felt, that was all that mattered at the moment.

She shoved her right hand in her pocket so the other thill couldn't see that it was shaking. Though, this didn't help all that much as the muscle under her left eye began to twitch spasmodically.

<span style='color:red'>I- I have to go.</span> She muttered before turning and using every bit of her balance to get her out the door as fast as she could.

She was assailed by the sunlight outside and she hissed as she made her way down the sidewalk, tripping and falling not four feet away from the door.

<span style='color:red'>Dammit...</span> She thought, not making much of an effort to get up as both hands were shaking too much to make proper contact with the ground.
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