Parcel For The Traveling Salesman

Title: Parcel For The Traveling Salesman
Time Period: July 31, 135 A.E.
Characters Appearing:

Summary: Malachy has things brought to him. Also, there is discussion of what it is he does.

The Wandering Albatross isn't exactly a posh place, so the gentleman who has taken up residence at a table towards the rear of the place stands out a bit. He's wearing a finely-tailored suit, and his shoes are polished to a high shine. He's got two ledgers in front of him and seems to be transferring information from one to the other. There's a half-finished pint of porter by his elbow, but it looks like it hasn't been touched in awhile.

It is quiet until the way to the harbour outside is swung open, and sound leaks in profusely (the laughter of sailors, mostly). A courier enters the Albatross, and it is not without purpose, as she carries with her a large package just received from a shipper. Torra Laing does not bother to do any guesswork before she crosses toward a server and asks for information about the guests staying within.

A few words are exchanged between them, and a finger points upstairs questioningly. There is a shake of the server's head, and he points her toward the man sitting with the porter. Malachy Lynch.

Malachy scratches a spot on his temple, in an unconscious and habitual sort of gesture as he frowns at the numbers in the books. He seems lost in whatever puzzle the numbers present. He reaches for his drink and sips it, but it doesn't exactly taste…fresh. He makes a face and sets it down. He holds up the pint towards the bartender. "Can I get a fresh one, please?" And looking that way brings the parcel to his attention. "Is that for me?"

Torra swivels her head in his direction just as he speaks. She waves in an offhand way to the server and makes her way over. "Ay, sir," she answers cheerily enough for a courier. Maybe more. "Hurried it over as fast as I got it."

Something trails behind at her feet, small and furry, and careful to keep unnoticed though Torra raises a boot slightly as if to shoo said creature from sight as she delivers the parcel. "I will require a signature, though, for formality sake and what whit…well, shipping regulations." She offers a paper, marked with an 'X'. "Right there, if ye would."

Malachy catches sight of the furry movement. He looks from it, up to Torra. "Familiar, or does this place have a pest problem?" He smiles a little at that. He stands and takes the paper. He uses his own pen to sign his name. It's neat and even. If he's illiterate, he's got great penmanship. "Thank you. You can set it on the table or the floor. Hoping it's not too heavy."

Torra looks at him curiously, but then nods. "Ay, it's a familiar." And, in fact, a ferret; it's now between her boots. "It's being extra watchful today. Nearly tripped me twice." She has also peeked over his shoulder as he wrote, but she doesn't mention. Speaking of being watchful. Or nosy.

She places the parcel carefully on the table, and answers, "It was nae a problem though I did want to make sure not to break it in case it was fragile, so I tried not to rush too much. Mister…Lynch? That's your name, ay? I don't believe I've ever brought anything tae ye before."

"It's not fragile. I know better than to ship anything breakable. No, you wouldn't hurt this even if you dropped it from a horse." Malachy's clearly Irish - more specifically, Dublin if one has a good ear and a knowledge of accents. He looks at the familiar between her feet, then motions to the window with his pen. Upon which another ferret-like creature is curled. A polecat, to be precise. "He likes to crawl over my papers. Gets ink everywhere." He pulls the box towards him and checks the label, but doesn't open it right away. "I'm new in town, yes. Arrived about a week ago. These are some of my things I had shipped behind me."

Torra follows his gaze, and trills, "Oh ay, I see now over there! Ro', check it out! Looks like a cousin of sorts."

The animal does peer from between the legs, but isn’t exactly in a sociable mood though he does make a chattering noise like interest. He’s still occupied.

"…well then," Torra says as she returns her attention to Malachy, and remains where she is as though oblivious to said papers, "welcome to our area of th' world. I presume ye come to work or are you simply here for tourist reasons?" Not that they get too many 'tourists'. No, most end up staying.

"Relocating, at least for a time. I suppose you'd call me a traveling salesman. But with much, much nicer suits." Malachy's voice sing-songs a bit, though he doesn't seem to be doing it on purpose. The polecat in the window remains calm, but its small, beady eyes remain watchful. "This is the largest and most stable place I've come upon in awhile. It's nice."

"Ay," grants Torra though now that she has heard the term 'traveling salesman', her own interest is obviously piqued. "Whit do ye sell exactly? Expensive things of some kind?" she asks. "Or…do ye sell those fancy suits?" She points. They are, indeed, fancy.

Malachy murmurs a thank-you as the bartender delivers him a fresh pint. He sips it and closes his eyes. "Ah, that's nice. This place does a fine pint." He purses his lips, then looks back at Torra. "I deal in material things, but that's more of a by-product. The payment I take is sometimes large and bulky and I like to keep light with my goods." He considers her a moment. "I deal in wishes, I suppose you could say."

Ferret whiskers twitch, and "Ro'" peers, if Ferret eyes can really do such a thing. So does Torra. "Wishes?" she repeats, and now apparently feels she can plunk herself down on a seat opposite. Well, she did walk all the way here. And he has not yet told her to go, has he? And…

"Whit sort of wishes?" she has to ask. Has to. That's not the sort of thing you hear every day.

And the not-a-traveling-salesman has no reason to be rude to a potential customer. Malachy folds his hands together in front of him. "Any sort that doesn't involve creating something from nothing. Talent, beauty, healing injuries. Height. Better crops, beautiful singing voice. Healthy children. Healthy animals."

Torra sits with widened eyes. The familiar scoots underfoot, and presumably finds somewhere else to remain vigilant. "So ye make miracles. Forgive the wordin', but at least that's how it sounds." She laughs not impolitely, but unsurely. Talent, beauty, stuff people want just like that? "Nae, really? Ye must be fooling me. I know mages, but never anything quite like tha'. You make yourself sound like a well ye throw coins down.”

"You're a mage, so you know that these things don't come without a price. You get something, you lose something. What you lose depends on what you want." And how nice you are to the man making the exchange, but Malachy doesn't say that. "It's like a bucket full to the brim. Or a pint." He moves his pint over in front of him. "You can't put more in to a full glass without losing some in the process."

She nods thoughtfully. "Ay… so that’s the rub? Well, supposin' you ask for something nae so big, it's not a big deal, is it? Could a girl ask for a nice dress? Not me, mind, I got other things I like, but what then?" Let’s get some parameters here, says the nosy girl messing with something she maybe shouldn't. And it's all because of that chatty thing.

Torra doesn't order a pint herself, though; she does have to get back to work eventually. Still… so many things to ask…

"That would be a something out of nothing. I can't do that. My ability doesn't allow me to conjure. But you have the right of it, yes. If the request is small, then so is the cost. I am also able to mitigate the negative effects, provided I receive compensation." Malachy takes a moment to sip his pint, eyebrows lifting. "Before you think me cruel for that, you should know that the cost comes out on me if I don't pass the full price on to my clients. It's not especially pleasant, and not something I'm keen to do without being compensated."

Torra nods more clearly. "Ay…alright, so something from nothing would be the broad stretch. But all else on the simpler scale, that'd be what you could work with?" Her mouth shuts and she ponders this. "An' whit's with the cost, then? Some kind of—uhh, pardon me."

The ferret beneath the table is now chattering again. "Whit?" she asks of the creature, and being mage himself, Malachy would recognize speaking between them. "Oh! I do got another run to make… should get it done before long."

She stands, though does frown down at her feet. "If ye find need of a courier again, feel free to ask for me. Name's Torra Laing. Maybe I'll see ye around again soon," she says, leaving the discussion for now.

"If you find you would like to deal, Miss Laing, I will be staying here. Or, if I have found more permanent lodging, they'll know where to direct you. Also, if you have a wish for exotic wares, I may have it. My travels have taken me far and wide, and I've dealt with people who have traveled further still. I may have it," Malachy's smile is meant to be kind, but his dark eyes don't easily warm. They're as dark as the polecat that remains watchful from the window.

"I do fancy places afar," Torra admits. "The exotic wares I may have to look at. An' if I want to 'deal', ay, I'll know where to find ye." Both do strike her as things to pry into further if the sudden light in her eyes is to be taken as indication of such. At the very least. "Guid day and may you enjoy your non-breakables there from yer last home," is offered as she scoops up the ferret and prepares herself to leave.