RP Log: Delonine V -- Shopping Proves Fruitful
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| 2025-11-14 15:27 | |
- Market <Delonine V>
Not as busy as the day before, but still active with lots of buyers and sellers, the market is a noisy place again today.
Cristobal looks around the market, soaking in the energy of the place with the intensity of a reptile taking in the direct noon sun. He inhales deeply, and then looks over to Quint. He lowers his voice. "I've never been to a market off Earth. Not...not like this. I thought I joined Starfleet to fly ships. Now? Now I realize it was to see this kind of thing." He motions.
One of the stall owners catches two fresh targets and begins his speech, "Suffering from an ailment, have the sniffles, or just a few aches and pains? My fixal elixir is the answer." He motions Ramirez and Quint over to his stall. "Just have a whif, you can smell the medicine inside. Works every time, 100% guarantee."
"If you joined to fly ships, how did you end up in security?" Quint whispers back and gestures for him to follow. "How does it for an aged and battered knee?" He asks peddler, feining interest in the wares.
Cristobal looks over before answering the merchant, "Oh, I was dual track at the academy. Tactical Starship operations and Security." He shrugs. "I came in on the fighter wing. But...well. I got medicaled out." He reaches up and touches behind his left ear. "Implant. I can't take high-G maneuvers anymore. So...now I'm a tactical officer." He smiles, blandly. "Life ain't fair, Quint."
When he looks back to the probable snakeoil saleman, he flashes his teeth. For whatever reason, there is something predatory in how he does it, rather than friendly. Not....aggressive, per se. Just...predatory. "I see. And if it doesn't work, who do I complain to? You?" He blinks slowly at the other being. "And how much are you asking for this miraculous medicine?"
"My fixal elixir works on sore joints, overworked joints, one swig and you'll be right as rain." The shopkeeper says. He holds the dark glass jar out with the lid off and wafts his hand over it to push the aroma towards the two of you. There is a very strong alcohol smell to it. You'll be feeling no pain after this stuff. "If it doesn't work, come back to see me, and I'll give you a full refund. Only 5 din a bottle, a real steal."
Cristobal manages to let his tone drip sarcasm, like he already knows the answer. "I see. And..remind me, friend? How many dinar per din? Let's see how big a number we can maker this." Though his tone implies he knows the answer, he waits for it.
Quintin eyes the bottle suspiciously, flicking between the pungent bottle and the peddler. "And how much of this concotion have you sold? To alieviate the concerns of my cautions friend."
"I've travelled as far as you can on this fine world, my elixir is sought after everywhere I go." THe merchant smiles, "25 dinars, if all you have is the smaller coin." He holds out an empty hand for the coins, a full uncorked bottle in the other hand.
Cristobal smiles as the man gives what is /clearly/ the right answer. "I tell you what, friend. By the smell of it, I'll pass out after drinking it anyhow, whether my ills are cu4ered or not." He rubs at his chin, and leans in, voice intimate so he can answer without others hearing. "Are you of the N'Vol, friend?"
The merchant looks at Ramirez, his sale going nowhere it seems, "You aren't one of those religious nuts, are you? I pegged you for someone a bit more worldly."
Cristobal chuckles. He reaches into his pouch, pulling 2 dins out, which he promptly rubs together. "I think, friend, that you have many years of experience judging people." He motions to the bottle. "I'll be blunt. I think your brew probably isn't worth a single dinar. But I'll give you two dins for that bottle, there, if you talk with me for a bit. Call it....honest talk, for a time, because so rarely do you get honest talk with religious nuts."
"So, friend? Your bottle of elixir, AND your honest thoughts. What do you think of the N'Vol? No, I will not tell a soul here what you think. And...what about the Protectorate? What do you think of them?" The coins are rubbed together, hard enough that the scratching of coin on coin can be heard.
"Three dins have you have a deal." The merchant replies.
Quintin glances at Cris and gives him a subtle nod.
Cristobal glances to Quint, grinning, and then he makes third coin appear with a deft little motion, and each coin is placed before the peddler. "Three dins, then." The coins are pushed across. "But a corked bottle. So that I can savor it later."
The merchant snatches the dins and hands over the uncorked bottle. "As I said, I've been all over this world, some cities haven't seen the", he looks from side to side and adds quieter, "the protectorate in fifty-odd years or more. Some think they forgot about us, but still people pray. And that foolish question, are you of the N'Vol." He rolls his eyes. he asks, "You aren't from around here then?"
Cristobal shakes his head back and forth, sadly. There is a glance to Quint, as if seeking some kind of permission, and, apparently he sees something there. Eventually, he comes to some internal conclusion, nods, and begins to speak. "No. My friends and I are from quite far away -- a remote place. We're looking to make trade inroads here. But people are so...different, here."
He shrugs. "I am Nuvol, as you can see. But why is the N'Vol -- almost the same word -- why does it mean something so different? And I never saw the Protectorate with my own eyes. All I've ever heard is other people talk about them, and that hardly at all. So....tell me? Please?"
"I don't know what a Nuvol is, never heard that pronounciation before, you both are Uaye, as am I. We're all equal here." The merchant replies, hinting at a class of citizen, not a species. At your explanation from being from far away, "Exactly, who do they think they are, asking that question, a Quire or something?" He rolls his eyes again. "But like I said, no one has seen any from the protectorate around here in 20-25 years, and not even on the planet in a good ten years."
The church chime sounds and echoes down the market and across the city.
Cristobal frowns as the chime rings, and he leans into the vendor, realizing time is short. "What do they look like? The Protectorate? Have you ever seen one? Heard one described?" He pauses. "And...where do we got, if we're not the....mm. Pious type? When the chime calls? Where do you go?"
Some of the merchants step away from their carts or tables, as do some of the buyers, but not all, roughly 35%. They don't disappear, but instead focus upwards to the sky. A song is sung, much like a Gregorian chant. The elixir salesman rolls his eyes again, "I wouldn't worry about it, they are the minority these days." He points out how only some are praying. "I'm not really comfortable getting into specifics about the protectorate though." Someone empathic might sense he feels the chime was triggered by all this talk of them. He may outwardly be anti-religion, but still believes, or is it fear.
Cristobal nods his head. "Of course, friend." He keeps his voice low and respectful, doing what he can to be unobtrusive as people begin praying. Indeed, he's quiet, but his eyes take note of the changes, the different reactions, all of it. He then takes his corked bottle, slipping it away. He's clearly thinking something through. Stepping back from the peddler, he looks to Quint.
"Quint." Scratching his chin, some question still rattling around in his head, he's clearly thinking out loud. "The protectorate stopped coming completely 10 years ago, but it was clearly a....staged withdrawal, of sorts. Some places didn't see them for 50 years. that HAS to be significant." He seems to close his eyes, they snap open. "Quint. There's a cluster of systems maybe...100, 120 light years from here? This one is isolated, though." His head shakes. "That's bugging me. Something....something's not right."
Quintin says, "And given how unsurprised the locals are at us not being from here? It's almost like they're used to it."
Cristobal nods quickly. "Which also HAS to be significant." He huhs. "Think we should head back?"
Quintin nods. "Probably before we're noticed not paying attention to the bell. We can get this bottle analysed as well."
Cristobal nods. "Sounds like a plan, sir. Let's go." And, with that, he starts moving back towards their base of operations, such as it is.
After a short walk, Quint and McAllister mount the steps to the attic that serves as their base of operations.
- Attic <Delonine V>
McAllister arrives from Third Floor.
Cristobal enters, along with McAllister, looking perhaps a little tired, but mostly pretty excited. In one hand, he carries a corked bottle of....something. It certainly doesn't look like a foodstuff of any variety.
Seeing the others, he flashes a smile, which looks slightly disturbing on his altered face. "Quint and I just had a successful market trip." He bottle is extended towards Tilar.
Viari is sitting against one of the walls, looking over the readings on her tricorder. The device is put away by the time the door opens, her attention focused on the door. One brow lifts curiously at the bottle that's held out in her direction and she lifts one hand to take it from Cris. "That's good...?" Her head tilts, puzzled. "What's this?"
He glances to Quint, flashing the same disturbing-looking grin, and laughs. "Snakeoil! Fake medicine! Probably just ethyl alcohol and dirt. I have no idea!" He grins to Tilar. "I'll let you do the analysis. Maybe we learn something. If nothing else, we'll learn what kind of deceptions fake cure peddlers use around here."
A hand is waved. "That was just the excuse for me to buy information, though maybe there's something there we can use. No....the peddler was the real goal. Talkative man, that one."
He closes his eyes, carefully recalling what sounds like some sort of list he memorized. "Firstly. Nuvol wasn't a word the peddler even knew. So it may be coincidental. N'Vol refers specifically to a religious group, though I don't know exactly how. The Uaye? It seemed like a....social class."
He plays the recording from his tricorder, and the sketchy peddler's voice issues from the speaker:
"I don't know what a Nuvol is, never heard that pronounciation before, you both are Uaye, as am I. We're all equal here." The merchant replies, hinting at a class of citizen, not a species. At your explanation from being from far away, "Exactly, who do they think they are, asking that question, a Quire or something?" He rolls his eyes again. "But like I said, no one has seen any from the protectorate around here in 20-25 years, and not even on the planet in a good ten years."
The voice shuts off as Cris stops the recording. He looks to Tilar.
"Oh, it's their version of medicine? Like they think it's medicine, or is it actually fake?" Tilar does reach back to retrieve her medical tricorder with her free hand, setting the bottle in her lap and looking over the colour and consistency of it. Then Cris is talking about some more cultural context and she pauses, waiting to analyze the liquid.
She listens to the recording quietly, not interrupting, just thinking. She remains quiet after it finishes, eyes narrowing just slightly, thoughtfully. The woman leans back and hms softly before speaking. "I wouldn't discount N'Vol being coincidental just yet. The name is too close, and with the genetic profile?" She shakes her head. "I think there's more of a connection there. I just don't know exactly what it is yet. N'Vol might not be a distinct species here, but maybe..." Viari pauses for a moment before continuing. "Maybe they brought the other species here as a sociological experiment, and because none of them seem familiar with warp technology, perhaps the Nuvol were perceived as gods?" She lifts her shoulders in a small shrug, uncertain but theorizing. "Did you get a definition of 'quire' by chance?"
He shakes his head to her final question, but doesn't directly answer it. Yet. "The peddler struck me as a....less than reputable sort. No...gravitas. I doubt there is any real medicinal value there, but...who knows? I've been surprised before." He motions to the corked vial.
"As to 'quire', the chime range before I could really pursue it much further. Despite his protests that he wasn't a pious man, I got the sense that he was at least superstitious. He wouldn't talk much more after that."
He looks down to his tricorder, and fast forwards to a new part. "As to the praying..."
He presses play at another marked block of audio.
A song is sung, much like a Gregorian chant. The elixir salesman speaks, though the chanting continues, "I wouldn't worry about it, they are the minority these days." He points out how only some are praying. "I'm not really comfortable getting into specifics about the protectorate though."
"I would estimate that 35% of the beings present began praying. But the peddler's explanation was interesting. To me, that indicates that prayer has faded along with the protectorate's presence. Does that imply that prayer was /to/ the protectorate? Enforced by them? I don't know."
Viari looks back down at the vial in her lap and then picks up her tricorder again, flipping it open and carefully scanning the bottle. "Mostly alcohol, some stimulants and laxatives. It would help with some symptoms, but it wouldn't actually cure anything. This sort of thing isn't terribly surprising given their stage of development." The tricorder is snapped shut and she picks up the vial, holding it in front of her face to look closely at it before offering it back to him. "I'd barter with this if you need to. Don't drink it; it'd probably knock you on your ass."
There is a frown of concern as he mentions the chime and Viari purses her lips, though the concern fades as he offers further explanation. "The praying populace is the minority? Interesting. Did you happen to notice any pattern among those who were praying? Relative health, age, cleanliness...?" The tricorder gets tucked back into her pocket, just in case. "Whatever role the protectorate played, people don't really seem interested in talking about them. So... what about literature?"
Cristobal slides the vial of mostly-liquor away. "Maybe we can give it to Sawyer; guy likes to drink." His lips curl back in a sneer. "Anyhow."
He closes his eyes, seeming to think it over. "Some were customers. Some we merchants. I didn't notice any trend towards young or old. But I was distracted by other matters."
Another shrug. "There is a trendline here, somewhere. Some places and people report not seeing the Protectorate is nearly 50 years. Others 25. Others merely 10. That implies some kind of...staged withdrawal, for unknown reasons. I bet you that the very last time they appeared was at the landing site Castillo and Worthington examined."
He looks to Quint, then back to Tilar. "One other thing is bothering me. I don't know why it is, but it's bugging me. This system is isolated. Not much around here. But 100, 120 lightyears away, is a cluster of systems."
He frowns. "Something about that is bugging me."
"Does he?" Viari looks at him quizically. "Is that something I should keep an eye on...?" Discussion for another time.
She gives him a nod at the news that he didn't happen to notice any pattern. "It's good to know, though. We won't stand out if we ignore the chime and not offer prayers. I can watch for more patterns if it happens while I'm out there." Her fingers lace together, hands dropping to rest in her lap. "Yes, I think that's probably the last time they were here. The big question appears to be 'why.'"
Viari sighs heavily and shakes her head. "The whole thing is bugging me. I'm sure that these people were brought here, but why and from where? When? Ugh." She scrunches up her face, frustrated. "Maybe we can find a book of some kind. Historical, religious... something."
Cristobal huhs. "I wonder if there is a higher percentage of pious-types the closer you get to where the Protectorate last was." He snaps his fingers. "I wonder if the prayer culture is the same at the other settlements. Is there a higher percentage of people who pray? Is there any kind of a holy book? Do they have priests, is is prayer an individual effort in all cases?"
Viari thinks about that for a moment before nodding slowly. "It's possible, yes. I suppose the most immediate question is what exactly our goal is. Are we here to learn about the people and their culture, or are we here to figure out how and why? If it's the former, we would definitely want to have more scientists involved, and it's a project that could take years to fully complete."
Cristobal grins to Tilar. "Then we'd have to convince certain people to take risks. Not sure how THAT will go." Considering the Trill (who does not look like a Trill,) he asks, "Do you want to build a formal report based on this information, Vi? Or do you just want me to summarize it all in mine?"
One shoulder lifts. "It might go fine, seeing as how we're doing well," Viari says. "At the end of the day, these people have built a society. We just should probably make sure that they're not victims, but if this is their home? Well, that's what the Prime Directive is for." She leans back again, lifting one hand to cover her mouth as she yawns. "I mean, I wasn't there. Technically, all of that information is second-hand. It's your work, Cris."
Cristobal waves a hand. "All I did was ask obvious questions, Vi. Not sure that qualifies as 'work' per se." He sighs. "Let me ask you this, then. Are there any conclusions or angles you have that come from your area of expertise?" He nods to her. "I know people, Vi. But individually, and on a gut level. That's not the same thing as understanding the broad sociological ramifications of nuanced information."
"Well..." Viari trails off, looking thoughtful. "Based on what you've told me? The religion is apparently not as strictly followed as we initially thought. Like you say, it could be due to the withdrawal of the protectorate, or something a shift in culture. That said, I'm not entirely sure it's immediately relevant to our main purpose. Which is to determine how and why they are here, yes?" She lifts her brows inquisitively, confirming. "There's no enforcement of prayers or worship, so this society isn't theocratic." Then she blinks and looks at him. "I don't think we've found any kind of government structure yet, have we? My personal recommendations would be to see if we can find some kind of historians, or historical documents. Usually elders in societies with no written language. I'm growing less concerned about the religion."
Cristobal huhs. It's like Tilar said something profound. Head tilted like a German Shepherd, he peers across to her. "I've seen no evidence, so far, of a constabulary of any type. No tax collectors. No obvious criminal element, if fact. Initial scans revealed no structures of obvious military value." He blinks. "You're onto something. I don't know what. But something."
"Right. We've been exposed to cultural elements, even trading elements, but nothing resembling other structure." Viari straightens up, touching on her fingers as she rattles off a list. "Law enforcement, medical facilities, educational buildings... all goods processing that I've seen has been done by hand, but where does the raw material come from?" Her hands drop into her lap again. "We've been so fixated on the culture, we've missed the larger picture."
Cristobal nods. "Okay. I'll put it into the next report. Maybe Phoenix can do some more scanning and provide more context for us." He considers. "You up for helping report in?"
Viari nods to him. "Sure, I can offer up my thoughts if you want my input."
Cristobal sits cross-legged near Tilar, grinning to her. "Of course I want your input. You make me look competent." And, then, he taps his commbadge.
Viari leans over a bit to bump her shoulder against his. "You're perfectly competent, Cris. We just have different areas of expertise. But we have HAD this conversation, so don't start going down that spiral again."
Cristobal bumps back, grinning to the Trill-who-in-not-Trill. "Well. Differently Educated, say." He taps his commbadge, shrugging. "Guess they're busy."
Viari nods in agreement. "Yes. Differently educated. That's a fair statement." She leans back, crossing her arms comfortably over her chest and closing her eyes, though she doesn't look like she's going to sleep; simply waiting and relaxed. "Must be. Could be doing some scans or making plans or something. We'll reach them eventually."
Cristobal looks over. "Or we'll be stuck here forever." His expression is bleak. "With nothing but chants and chimes to fulfill us."
Viari's nose wrinkles at that suggestion. "Ugh. At least I have my medical supplies, but ugh..." Her head shakes slowly. "No thank you."
Cristobal elbows her arm lightly. "Well. At least the company's good, Doctor." His flash of a grin seems real and heartfelt, even if it DOES look weird on his surgically-altered face. "I hate downtime, though. I like to be...well. Doing something. Anything."
Viari opens one eye to look down at his elbow before she elbows him back. "The company is pretty good. I don't know a lot of people yet, but it's a good chance to meet them," she says, nodding to herself more than anything. "I'd say we should go for a walk, but we probably really shouldn't."
Cristobal shakes his head at the notion, though only after a moment's consideration. "You're not wrong. Wouldn't really be within Prime Directive protocol. Wouldn't be a good ide in practical terms." He looks towards the window. "Besides. You've smelled that alley."
"I didn't say we should walk in the alley," Viari points out with a smirk. "The market didn't smell nearly as bad." She stretches her legs out in front of her, sighing quietly. "You could take a nap if you want."
Cristobal looks to her. Then the door. Then back to her. "Will you keep watch while I do?"
"No, I figured we should all go to sleep and not let anyone keep an eye on things," Viari points out to him with a wry sort of smirk. "Get some rest, Cris. If something happens, I'll wake you."