Msaka glanced around the plaza as he emerged from the Adventurers' Guild, taking note of what was happening in the market area on the opposite side. He'd spent a lot longer inside the guild than he'd realized, and the position of the sun indicated that it was now midafternoon. He wasn't terribly upset by that fact, as it had been productive time, and he'd accomplished his goal of finding something to do while he waited for his power to recover, which he sensed it almost had. He decided that a quick look around the market here, followed by the trip back to the inn, should allow the process to complete itself.

He strolled across the plaza to the market area, and began looking over the various things that were being offered for sale. The goods ranged from small metal objects like hinges and nails to clothing and leather goods, to pepper, cinnamon, and other spices. Msaka noted in passing that the spice merchant here seemed to be as proud of his Mordavian garlic as the one back in Tarna had been, having a small area of his stand devoted specifically to it. To all appearances, it was selling quite well, as over half of the collection was already gone. That, or there were some thieves in the city with a taste for the stuff, he decided. He'd never actually tasted garlic, but then he didn't know any recipes that used it either.

Still, it might be interesting to find out what it was like. It certainly wouldn't hurt, even if it didn't turn out to be particularly appetizing. He approached the stall and waited with some annoyance for the people who were ahead of him to finish their purchases. The spice merchant seemed to transact business fairly quickly, apparently in an effort to keep himself from being bargained down to too low a price, and Msaka soon found himself at the front.

"What do you want for the garlic?" Msaka asked immediately, not bothering to greet the man.

If the merchant was bothered by Msaka's abrupt manner, he didn't show it. "Sixty centimes, effendi," he declared with a grin, gesticulating grandiosely towards his gathering of garlic.

Msaka carefully ignored the alliteration, forcing the memory of Tarna's apothecary out of his mind. He wasn't about to let someone's idiosyncracy get the better of him in bargaining. "It's not that large an amount," he declared, looking dubiously at the cloves of garlic. "How about forty."

"Effendi, this is no ordinary garlic, but genuine Mordavian garlic! It is worth every centime and thrice more, I can assure you! But since you seem such a genial fellow, I shall offer it to you for a mere fifty seven centimes!"

Msaka realized he wasn't likely to get nearly as low a price as he'd prefer. "Fifty," he said after appearing to consider the offer for a moment.

"Ah, effendi. It is most unfortunate that I can not give such a price. But perhaps I can take a slightly greater loss. Fifty five centimes."

"Fifty two," Msaka declared, deliberately appearing to lose interest. It had the desired effect.

"Fifty four, and no lower. I shall starve myself at such a price as it stands," the merchant declared, looking defeated.

Msaka thought about demanding fifty three centimes as the price, but decided that a single centime wasn't worth having to go through any more theatrics. "Agreed," he said, counting out the required coin. He handed the money over, and the merchant passed him one of the garlic cloves.

"Good eating and good afternoon effendi," the spice merchant said as Msaka moved away.

Msaka looked around the market a for a few moments longer, then started towards the southern exit of the plaza. As he emerged from the crowd, though, a small figure suddenly stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Msaka looked down to see what appeared to be a small girl looking up at him with an innocent expression.

"Scuse me," the little girl said. "Are you one of the kattas that was here last year?"

Msaka blinked. He knew about the kattas, who lived in and around Raseir. He'd heard them spoken of often enough during the caravan trip, but from the descriptions he'd been given, he didn't see how anyone could mistake him for one of them. Then again, if she was as young as she appeared to be, this girl might not be old enough to understand the difference.

"No, I am not," he replied, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible. He wasn't pleased at the interruption, but he certainly didn't want to frighten the child and risk a scene developing.

The girl's face became downcast. "Oh," she said, sounding very disappointed. Msaka was about to step around her and continue on his way when her face brightened again and she asked, "Do you purr like a katta?"

"I... what?" Msaka blinked, not having expected the question. Recovering quickly, he answered, "Not usually."

The girl's eyes lit up. "But you can? Oh, please do! I want to hear it!" she exclaimed.

Msaka felt himself growing flustered. He'd been prepared for a lot of things happening in the city, but this certainly wasn't one of them. Thinking quickly, he said, "Very well. But after I do, I will have to leave." He wasn't thrilled about performing for anyone, but if it'd get him out of this predicament quickly, he'd put up with that.

The child nodded, still looking up at him with the same innocent expression.

Msaka breathed in, then released a long, low purr, feeling very self-conscious as he did. He hoped silently that no one else was paying attention. He suspected that anyone who was passing nearby would notice the sound though, and glanced quickly around after finishing. Several people had indeed noticed, and stood watching the spectacle. Msaka felt himself blushing, and decided to leave before anything else happened.

Before he could do so, the little girl, who had giggled with delight at his purr, stepped forward, wrapped her arms around his legs, and hugged him. She then stepped back, looking up at him again. "Thank you," she giggled, then turned and scampered off into the crowd.

Now thoroughly embarassed, Msaka hurried away, feeling many pairs of eyes watching his departure.