(Your target discovers a “ghost market” that appears only at 3 AM in an abandoned subway station – a supernatural bazaar where memories, years of life, and fragments of souls are traded like currency. They witness someone they know making a desperate bargain and must decide whether to intervene before the deal is sealed.)

In past Cities, there were stories of Goblin Markets … places where the fae traded everything there is to be traded. If they ever existed, they don’t any longer … but there are still places where magic is the currency of the night. This abandoned subway platform is one such place, full of all kinds of strange and fleshformed creatures bargaining in the essence of the arcane. Right now, in Fairefield, it is the rare place too not quite in the hands of the Legionaries of the Sixty-Third.

It’s in this place that Pearl browses, talking to a shop keeper with pointed ears and pure black eyes, haggling over some small silver cross.

Horace is there on a job. Hawking this or that with his calm stoic demenor and no nonsense way of doing business. someone gets a nod, briefly, if they pass but his attention isn’t on her it is making the next delivery and picking up the next load to be dealt with

Horace is there on a job. Hawking this or that with his calm stoic demenor and no nonsense way of doing business. Pearl gets a nod, briefly, if they pass but his attention isn’t on her it is making the next delivery and picking up the next load to be dealt with

A job … delivering a silver decanter. What is in it? Who knows. But as Horace moves through the market, he can see his neighbor, a young woman who looks desperate, talking quietly with pale-skinned faeling. “… We all have needs,” the faeling says. “And I will give you the power you seek … but at a cost,” he says. “We all must make sacrifices … for you?” he says. “The memory of your mother’s love.” There’s a gasp, perhaps, from the young woman.

Nearby, Pearl breaks off her bargaining to look at this scene with a little interest. She sees Horace, too … checks him out, casually, even as some new drama is interesting.

Horace hears the price and blinks, thinking nothing of it. “Supernaturals and their flowery language,” he thinks to himself before checking out Pearl and then going about his business.

“What does she want, do you think, that she’s willing to trade it?” Pearl asks Horace … idle chit-chat, clearly, in this underground place. “Or perhaps she’s just ambitious. If you live long enough,” the wasp-waisted girl muses, cocking a hip to a side. “I suppose maybe you forget even your mother’s face.” She watches the young woman bargaining, who seems to be on the verge of tears. “Or maybe she hated her.”

“Hmm?” Horace asks Pearl when she gets his attention. “I, on principle, avoid making deals with Fae or Demons.” He looks at her carefully, “They never mean what they say. I will do work for them, yes, but there are always costs.” He lifts the left corner of his mouth in a wry grin, “But if you hate your mother I suppose that isn’t a very heavy cost.”

tells Horace, “It seems like a cost for her. But then that’s what they want, isn’t it?” She tilts her head, black hair falling down over her shoulders. “I don’t think they would offer her a bargain if it didn’t mean anything, would they?” she asks. Her eyes follow the young woman for a moment, before she turns to look more at Horace. “Pearl,” she greets him.

Pearl tells Horace, “It seems like a cost for her. But then that’s what they want, isn’t it?” She tilts her head, black hair falling down over her shoulders. “I don’t think they would offer her a bargain if it didn’t mean anything, would they?” she asks. Her eyes follow the young woman for a moment, before she turns to look more at Horace. “Pearl,” she greets him.

“It does,” Horace says as he thinks, watching the young woman with intensity before turning back to Pearl. “Most people call me Jim. I am a delivery man.”

The wasp-waisted girl gives Horace a long look over. “And what do you deliver, Jim?” she wonders. “I feel like there’s a setup for some stag film here,” she admits to him. It’s not a particularly upset smile, though. “I … imagine I could take delivery, from the right person, sometime,” she says. She looks back at the young woman bargaining. She’s in tears, now, about to hand over her memories.

“I am hired to deliver packages from sellers to buyers. If that is mangos or more exotic cargo, I don’t complain,” Horace says, before flashing that half grin again before turning back to the woman bargaining, watching the way a dad watches a child make the same mistake for the third time. Disappointed but not ready to intervene.

And then the bargain is struck … the pale figure reaches out, webbed fingers splayed across the young woman’s face, and her eyes flitter, flutter … and then go still.

“Well,” Pearl observes to Horace. “Do you have a number? I suppose now it’s all …” She looks at the young woman, now leaning close to the pale faeling. “Now it’s her hoping her reward is worth it.”

Horace nods to Pearl. “7100832.” He squints at the woman as he watches the bargain take place, “Is it ever?”

“710-1295, delivery boy,” Pearl tells Horace with a smile. “For now, though?” she says. “I suppose it’s time to leave this show behind, for a little while.”

Horace nods to Pearl and then takes position of the next delivery that he is going to make. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Pearl.” And with that, he heads for the door to the market and off to whatever else it is he is going to do, unless she stops him

Pearl’s eyes follow Horace, enjoying his muscled movements, perhaps, as he leaves the market behind. Then she turns back to her own shopping.