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"Persill? Parsley and garlic, mostly. Some oil."
Parsley. You thought you knew what that was. "So it's made of leaves? It has leaves in it?"
The goose-seller furrowed his brow. "Well... I guess?"
"Okay. I'll do that one." If you didn't like it, you could feed it to Gil. He eats leaves. "Uh. I need to pay you..."
"That's right," the goose-seller said unhelpfully.
You swallowed, shut your eyes, and stuck your hand into a pocket on gut, coming out with a handful of crinkled paper rectangles. "Here you go...?"
Your rectangles were accepted and shuffled through. "That works! Thanks. I'll get your change. SCOTT, we got a leg with persill."
"Coming up!"
You stood there as the goose-seller fiddled with a register and eventually handed back a few differently-colored rectangles. "Scott," damn him, had not yet produced a leg. You stuffed the rectangles back where they came from and felt the goose-seller's maybe-sinister gaze hot on you. "By the way, is everything alright?"
Huh? Does he know you're not really Claudia? Is Us trying to send you a message? Is it so obvious that you just got absorbed and liquified and so on? Is it just the whole matter of purchasing things? You're alright with it when you already know the place, but when you go somewhere strange you always feel like you're going to mess it up. Not that you did mess it up here. (Positive thinking.) But you must've messed it up a little bit if he's asking... "No! No. Uhh. I'm— I'm fine. I'm good. Yes!"
This is what Richard is good for. If he were here, he could just step in and walk you through all of this and you'd already be done. Even Gil, for all his own issues, is useful moral support. (You made him purchase the lemonades for you last time you were here. Moral support.) But it was just you, and the goose-seller, who looked a titch skeptical. Damn your pure and honest heart. "But," you amended, "uh— I have been separated from some of my companions. Yes. And it is possible that I am not in full— not in full comprehension of my whereabouts. I might not know where anything... is."
"SCOTT!" barked the goose-seller abruptly. ("Working on it!") You startled. "Sorry, sorry. Well, that's a shame. You don't know where anything is?"
You shifted. "It's my first time here...?"
"Well! Welcome to the Iceover. There might be maps out somewhere, but in the meantime, I don't think it's laid out too complicated. This is the market— all the local businesses and artisans and food-stalls and everything kinda stretched out on the shore. Then you've got the main stuff all happening out on the ice, that-a-way— all the competitions and the ice-fishing and so on. Think they've got something running just this minute. Then, way out, I think they're prepping for the big ice-crack tradition— don't know if any of those sound like where your buddies would be? <span class="mu-i">SCOTT!</span> FOR GODSSAKE, IT'S ONE—"
(2/3)
