Guarding pains

It does not matter that the large celebration is tomorrow. Or that many of the market stalls will have special permits to open tomorrow. It does not matter that as the market has a rotating store list, there was just a desire to see 'their stall'. It does not matter that this is not new, that this happens every year, nor that with their gardens and their houses there is nothing a person really needs from the market.

But still they come, like clockwork to annoy and nag and peater the watchers looking over the markets to keep them safe. Frittare watches the latest inquirer leave, still obstreperous but now someone else's problem. Both the council and Brin have been quiet of late, the comms circle behind and around Frittare's ear humming with magic but silent for now.

Frittered had attempted to trade off love poetry before this, but while Fritt never starved, there were too many days sitting in the market staring into space. At least here Fritt could feel himself doing something, like stopping people from doing something stupid or dangerous around a closed multi story market.

There is a groan from the massive leaves as cold air weaves its way over the warm surfaces and Fritt gas to ignore how much the sound reminds a part of his brain like it is a person in pain. He has done this dance before, leaving his post to go in search for the sound only to wander around so long that someone got in past his empty post. The sound echoes again and Fritt's knuckles go pale green in clenched palms.

Fritt is about to repeat the all clear notice to the Br1n network and therefore his fellow watchers when a shadow of silver light passes in the space between him and the other side of the archway into the market.

The after-taste of landing face first in soil hits his tongue even though he hasn't moved, and while this might be a simple distraction spell this close to the Academy, protocol indicates that Fritt must call in a leaving of the post and then investigate. He doesn't have to be fast to do so though.

Moments later Fritt is painting a basic light circuit onto his arm, the design clumsy, not having the eye for the visual arts, nor the steady hand of the craftsman. The idea of the apparition does not help with the tremors in that hand either. But once Fritt is happy it is functional, he heads into the marketplace, determined to make sure he is doing his job properly. The soil taste continues deeper, and he starts a light jog, bare feet sinking into the spongey mass of plant matter making up the floor. He can hear the buzz of a command about to be formed in the ear tattoo, and lightly huffs in the back of his throat. "There is nothing to report, Br1n." Fritt says, touching the tattoo and feeling it warm on his green skin. Static meets his response and he brings his hand from his head down as he brings the other up, panning it before him as light beams out from his arm.

Shadows are the only thing that meets his gaze, some empty stalls and utilities left behind to break up the broad expanse of silent potential. He comes around one of the stalls and finds the wisp of silver light disappaiting as a Salit is pecking on etheral parchment, something long gone, but somehow still here. He waves the Salit away and picks it up, seeing hauntingly familiar verses before his eyes, even though he never worked in parchment. He stares at it a moment longer before it vanishes.

Shaking his head, he sees the silver whisp of light, chasing after it again, arm down as to not blind it from his vision. He jumps over a vinular root-seat, climbing the stairs upwards two at a time on long legs as he keeps up the hunt. That groaning sound echoes again, and he hums as it seems to come from everywhere and nowhere - part stretching leaves, part person in pain. He has a choice, follow the light, the mystery, or follow his ears, and maybe find the source of the groaning. Empathy takes root and he deviates his path, even as he notices a purple stain growing up his elbow. He pulls on the hem of his shirt and moves with purpose, calling out. "Is anyone here?"   "Help!" He hears a voice, and he moves with surity, coming around towards an alcove between solar generators, finding a young woman there, ankle twisted wrong, but clutching a binding to her chest, its dogearred corner oddly familiar. She looks scared and scarred, someone fallen through the cracks and she notices his outfit and the glow of the tattoo behind his ear and recoils a little. His hands come up slowly and he turns off the light circuit till just the moolight and the glow of their eyes illuminate the area. Fritt can tell by her own outfit that she has been missing from society for some time, and he speaks slowly and carefully. "I got you, you're safe now. We'll get you healed and safe and we will work from there, ok?" She slowly gives him a nod as he offers her a hand. As she takes it, Fritt swears he sees the Salit watching them, silver light swirling around its shoulder.