① [willful machine, the trading district. dabi's most frequented place when it comes to supplying himself. trades happen here or there in other places, but if he's going to actually procure something from the marketplace, its here... or the boardwalks. which are usually fish and thus, not really appealing. locals warn not to come at night, since the rise of pickpocketing and crime escalates. he's not a local. and his hands are always in his pockets. besides, the last person who tried to steal from him ended up with 3rd degree burns all over said hand. dabi hasn't survived on the streets for a decade and not learned how to both steal and tell when stolen.
the man lingers by one of the stalls, coat tails brushing at his calves beneath the dark cloak covering the rest of him. hood up, he drops a gold coin on the counter of the stall, letting the man behind the wooden cart inspect it. intricately carved, a skull-like pattern adorned in a web, it seems to capture the vendor's interest. that's good. as much as he can refuse it, dabi avoids paying for anything in his own blood. he has a few solidified bloodgems in his pouch if needed, but no one knows about that. after the acceptance, the man sets down a package of dried meats wrapped in paper and tied with string.
hey, pirate coin for a few pounds of jerky isn't a bad trade in a place were "money" isn't the currency.
sweeping the package off the counter, it vanishes under the cloak and dabi sets it in a leather satchel slung across his chest and resting against his hips. turning, he deftly steps around another person and heads out into the street again. the nighttime marketplace is certainly a different flavor than its daylight counterpart.]
no subject
the man lingers by one of the stalls, coat tails brushing at his calves beneath the dark cloak covering the rest of him. hood up, he drops a gold coin on the counter of the stall, letting the man behind the wooden cart inspect it. intricately carved, a skull-like pattern adorned in a web, it seems to capture the vendor's interest. that's good. as much as he can refuse it, dabi avoids paying for anything in his own blood. he has a few solidified bloodgems in his pouch if needed, but no one knows about that. after the acceptance, the man sets down a package of dried meats wrapped in paper and tied with string.
hey, pirate coin for a few pounds of jerky isn't a bad trade in a place were "money" isn't the currency.
sweeping the package off the counter, it vanishes under the cloak and dabi sets it in a leather satchel slung across his chest and resting against his hips. turning, he deftly steps around another person and heads out into the street again. the nighttime marketplace is certainly a different flavor than its daylight counterpart.]