If not utterly driven to distraction by the delicious, tepid, rubbery reptile eggs steeped in vinegar, Tak has the opportunity to notice the youths trying, foolishly, to bully-up to a well-equipped, probably combat-competent halfling.  Of course, with pinkies it's hard to tell ages, but these are very young ones and they might just earn a whipping.  Of course, the conversation in the street is easy to observe as well.<br/><br/>The meat-vendor shows little concern as his partner emerges from the alleys with a bucket of fresh wood-shakes for the cookfire... a woman perhaps ten years the butchers' senior, stout and iron-eyed, she wears a broad straw hat and chews the extinguished stump of a narrow cigar.  "Oh, quit your bitchin' and don't touch my cooking with those hands of yours.  They's done cooked."  She becomes officious and dainty in her speech immediately when addressing a paying customer.  "Don't mind the oddities we stock for... special customers... my dear.  'aving a skewer for mid-day meal?  The rain's almost upon us, it is... best have some meal before the easing time."  The heat near the grill is remarkable, but the woman seems barely sweating... it's miraculous to one like Quinta that anyone can adapt to this oppressive heat.<br/><br/>Fiera, meanwhile, becomes increasingly aware that this girl-- certainly too young even to marry-- has something quite<i>wrong</i>about her.  She seems, perhaps, a little faint as she nods in affirmation.  "You're how you was described.  Like a lady sort, but real."  Her eyes are red and swollen, as if she's been weeping for hours and has no more tears.  "I've come asking mercy, please."  She opens the heavy-looking drawstring sack she carries--<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button"> DC15 spot check, on your honor.  Fiera gets +5 for proximity.</div><div class="spoiler_body">The girl speaking to Fiera, when she moves to open her bag, seems to bear a large patch of drying blood on her lower belly.  Seeming fully conscious of it, and attempting to hide it, she moves to cover it back up.</div></div>--and draws out a fistful of something glittering... she offers it out.  "These are worth little, but you're a jeweler.  You can make money with these, right?"  In her upturned hand, you can see jewelry and utensils... a silver bracelet with turquoise... a couple hunks of quartz, a couple silver baby-spoons that are, most likely, remnants from across the seas in the mainlands-- the jewelry she shows is costumish, primarily, with no stones of apparent value.  Some of the pieces are tin, some copper.  "I have more.  I just need money or they won't help me."