<div class="floatleft">(http://th01.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/i/2014/326/c/d/golden_eyes_by_reykat-d87bmu0.jpg)</div><hr/><strong>Name:</strong><br/><strong>Race/Culture:</strong>Hadaree<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Slave piers<br/><strong>Day/Time:</strong>Yaus al-Niwt (Day of Houses), Amt (first month) of Alak Paret (Harvest Season), Mid-Morning<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>N’ebthe, Open<br/><hr/><br/>One wide street of the Bazaar was filled with more people than the rest. It was not because the river of people here runs any thicker than elsewhere, it would be difficult to squeeze any more people into that current of the main streets. It was because there the merchandise itself added to the crowd. Numerous wooden platforms stood like islands at the edges of the street and on them the slavers of Sha'ib had brought forth froth on display their wares. People of all race and type united only by that none were worshipers of Asaheem. The slavers, equally diverse in appearances, yelled and shouted from their pedestals to the past flowing crowd. They were like clogs in a vein, each looking only to gather a greater audience for their goods than the next stand. It was a daily reoccurring event, though not all would participate every day and just that made it all the more vital for those who were there that day. Most nobility had their own trusted slavers and many would never consider buying from anyone, but a certain merchant. Trust and name were as much currency in the business as Dinars.<br/><br/>Yet this time - this place - still held its importance. Sure enough one could earn their fair share of trust in here, new partnerships could be born between nobles and slavers. Those new to business would sometimes use their day on this street to rise and actually stay afloat. To the experienced slavers ;those who no longer had to worry if they had clients lining up on their doorstep or not; however, this place held a special meaning. It was where the rarities changed hands. This was where one who knew exactly how much someone was worth, who could see past the obvious, could easily make a fortune by exploiting those less gifted in the art of negotiation and bargain from other slavers. It was a practice somewhere between art and competition. The traveling bands who put up their bounty on sale here, the nobles getting rid of their old harem girls, the drunk selling their daughters, those lingering by the corners of the stands were all pieces in this game of catch and all the old slavers were the it.<br/><br/>Among them sat Zidir. High up on his own platform he rested on a pillow placed in the shade of a colorful cloth suspended above the whole plane. He was in the middle of a coffee pause. A little tradition he had adapted from other traders who had to make their voice stay loud and clear throughout the day and the next for years to come. Zidir had pulled down the scarf from his face. It hung loose beneath his cleanly shaved sharp chin. He blew gently on the surface of the coffee as if the nearly deafening babbling and yelling from the surroundings were the most relaxing of background sounds. Well, he liked it. Especially the ones from nearby. One of his personal slaves, a sharp young man he'd elevated from the flock several years ago to work as an aide was doing good work as his substitute.<br/><br/>"It would seem that little Nafi' is getting better. He may have been born on the wrong side of business." Zidir lifted his gaze from the cup, his burning eyes turned to a woman nearby. An older slave her too with already eight years of servitude under him. She, Nafi' and the handful of others that Zidir had picked were his only helpers in the business and as slaves they had been very helpful at maintaining the rest in line; to help them realize that what they had lost in freedom they had gained in comfort. Whip and chains were hardly ever needed, but for the most rebellious of the freshly acquired who had not yet adapted to their new life. Those hand picked few of course enjoyed some special treatment aside from the quasi freedom. Their job description had as much concubine in it as it had servant.<br/><br/>"Hm... perhaps master is lucky that it is this way. Else he might very well have posed a threat to you," the slave spoke with playful insolence and a grin on her face. He returned an approving smile with a small chuckle before smugly correcting her. "I said good, not genius. He might have made a great partner however..." Zidir's gaze wandered from Nafi's customer to the boy's back, much leaner and smaller than his, but in contrast more toned.<br/><br/>"Oh Gods, I can imagine that partnership. You'd have drained the poor buy dry of everything and once he's knee deep in debt offered generously to buy him." She too had turned to look at Nafi'.<br/><br/>"Please, that only happened once, and to be fair he was known for bruised merchandise. The man had it coming." Zidir sounded more proud than anything. The idle chatter went on as the surface of his coffee slowly decreased. It was a good day by all measures he could imagine. Just another relaxing day at the bazaar to help his mind away from the pressure.<br/><br/>An interesting person appeared then in the crowd. Just a regular Djaffir on the surface, but Zidir immediately recognized the design of that mask. There was a small mark on it that connected the person to a particularly wealthy house, one that he could use as friends. Nafi' was busy chatting up some random traveler, the Djaffir would walk past if nothing was done. Zidir hastily placed the empty clay mug on the side of the pillow and climbed up from on his feet. He practically chased the masked man to the very edge of his platform and knelt down there, becoming impossible to ignore and more so once the Djaffir erred to look towards him. The smile, the glow of his eyes and the friendly knowing tone were difficult to snap out of.<br/><br/>"Wait there friend. Aren't you here to look for some slaves? You almost missed the best of Sha'ib. Come here, have a closer look at some of the ones up here, lets find you what you need." He ushered the man towards stairs at the side of the platform. The man hesitated for a moment, though his exact thoughts were difficult to read through the mask. Once he climbed the steps a jolt of victory rushed through Zidir, he had guessed right. "Yes, yes. Not even the Djaffir can hide their desires from the great Zidir. You must have noticed our lineup today, I could see you catch a glimpse this way. Which one was it again..." Zidir's eyes looked at the slaves he had placed to stand in a line today. Delicious women and men of exotic backgrounds, but each with some slight fault that made him want to present them here and not to his trusted clients. Those orange eyes and the grin widened a little when Zidir glanced at N’ebthe. Perhaps he could finally find a good buyer for that one. The spunky shaman had for long been a cause for minor headache. Her little queen act was beginning to stir some commotion amongst the general slave population, yet the qualities she possessed were such that he could not simply let the woman go cheap.<br/><br/>Zidir placed his hand on N’ebthe's bare shoulder as he began presenting her to the Djaffir. He stood at their side. "At once I could see you were looking for something more mystical than the average slave. I can spot these things in men, you have the same appreciation for magic as I do, yes? Well this one here is the perfect package. Not only is the body pleasing as you can see for yourself, but this one comes with more. Her eyes are always looking beyond this world." And never looking at this one, Zidir thought to himself without pausing. "She possesses a gift of shamanism rare even among the Nefasi tribe." And refuses to do anything else because of it... He could think of many faults, but they were best left unmentioned or dressed up a bit. "Despite having being a slave for a long time, this one still possesses nobility and grace fitting even for finer occasions." That one was actually a quality some sought in their slaves. It was a foolish slaver's mistake to force obedience on all their wares. Quenching that spirit was the same as throwing dinar into dunes. "What's more," he continued, "She possesses a talent for healing. I have personally had a wound tended by her. By Asaheem is this not one of the most perfect slaves you have seen? It is almost a sin to sell her, but today and for someone like you my friend I might make an offer today."<br/><br/>No sale in the end. The djaffir was not as wealthy as he had assumed. Zidir returned from the little pillowed negotiation space to stand behind the slaves again. He took a spot behind N’ebthe. Nafi' was taking care of the sales pitch for now. Zidir sighed. "You see N’ebthe. If only you weren't so stuck up on those silly traditions and accepted your place, did some actual work, I wouldn't have to bring you here every single time. You could have a spot in the household and not have to stand here for all Sha'ib to oogle. Just so you know, once I do find a buyer it is unlikely that he will be as understanding as I." Zidir looked over the slave. He had a personal code of not touching merchandise he wasn't prepared to keep. This one was one of the borderline cases. Months had passed since the ownership had transferred to him and he had still to find a buyer, but keeping a slave that refused to get her hands dirty with actual work was an investment he would not make lightly.<br/><br/>Zidir's eyes rose from her. He peered peered across the human river to the platform on the opposite side. The slaver there, a newer face to the scene, was bringing his best on display.