Flextime Thread 2a: Evening in Endor
The scent of spiced meat lead away from the wealthy areas surrounding the Heroes Cemetery toward a less well appointed area of Endor. And yet here, the streets bustled with a richness of life. Less clean. Less orderly it was true. Certainly noisier, with the voices that called out in greeting, laughed at jests, cursed and argued. In it's way, this area seemed more alive.
Here the streets were less regular, representing the spaces between clusters of cleanly whitewashed, mud brick walls and buildings that had been thrown up at the whim of the builders, than the regularly laid out avenues of the Heroes Cemetery area. Against the walls that line these streets, the awnings of stalls jutted and spilled, narrowing the streets themselves like the falls of rock or strands of pebble and sand that so often seemed to line the spaces between high sloping river banks and the flow of the rivers that had carved them.
A smoke stain, dark and yellowy, laden with grease rose up the wall below which one stall sprawled into the street. Nearest the street and the flow of passersby, a handful of basic but sturdy stools ringed small round tables, barely sizeable enough to contain the bowls and utensils of the patrons for the brief time they spent eating before merging again with the ever-moving population of the street. In truth, few of the patrons seemed to set their bowls down for any length of time, preferring instead to hold their bowl in one hand while shoveling the mix of rice, meat, and vegetables into their mouths with wooden spoons or curious pairs of sticks used dexterously between practiced fingers.
Further in, toward the wall, was a wooden counter - little more than a long slab of thick wood held up by stout wooden legs. One end was darkly stained with a patina born of many spills and worn smooth by the countless passages of a wet rag. On the other end were bowls and plates filled with food. A closer inspection of these bowls and plates revealed that they were not what they seemed. Rather, they were representations of the dishes that had been skillfully carved and painted to mimic the dishes themselves.
Beyond the counter and up against the wall, flames leapt and sputtered over a smoking grill while various pots bubbled nearby - a large one in particular leaked white starchy streaks from cooking rice. "Hei! 'Rashai!" the cook called over his shoulder at your approach. In fact he called the words at the approach of any potential customer, seeming to have a preternatural sense for such a presence.
A halfling - a worker of some sort by the cut of his clothing - entered the ring of tables to another resounding call from the cook behind the counter. "I'm for Bimbimba t'day, Master," the halfling said in a thick West Arnian accent, and he tossed a coin up onto the counter. "Hei hei!" the Master replied. And, as he turned to sweep up the coin, it became apparent - if it had not already - that the man was a Woren, with the catlike ears riding up above a headband that he wore tied at the back.