Session: 01

Walking into the ramshackle open air market all attempts at conversation are drowned out. The calls of merchants hawking their wares, the clanging of tools and the general din make it nearly impossible to hear. The market is a hive of activity, the center of life in Nova Prescia. Nearly everyone in the city stops in here at least once during each day, to buy or sell or just get the news of the day.

“Since the cataclysm people have had to adapt and survive, the problem is no one remembers the times before the cataclysm. You’re too young to remember it Karil,” Bonjoe leans in close to her so she can hear him.

“I’m only five years younger than you Bonjoe.”

“Yes, but those five years are the difference between being born before and after the event.”

“But you can’t possibly remember anything from before it.”

“No, no one does anymore. People have willingly chosen to forget those memories. I think it’s part of the adaptation process.” Bonjoe stops to look at some vegetables laid out in pyramids on a table. Karil continues walking not realizing that he has stopped.

“So how can you,” she turns to find Bonjoe missing. She looks around for him but the sea of people washes up around her. Not being able to spot him she continues on her way, knowing he is heading to his shop and that she can wait for him there.

Bonjoe drops the fruit into his bag. Not seeing Karil he winds his way through the press of people.

“Hello trash urchin,” a voice calls from over his shoulder. Bonjoe cringes as recognition sets in. He slowly turns to look at his addresser.

“Hello Tomar,” he says, not bothering to cover the fact that he dislikes his older brother.

“Been digging around in the garbage dump again I see, or should I say smell.” Tomar casually leans against an old broken utility pole that has been bent over so that the light on top rests in pieces on the ground behind him. He takes a bite of a xomba fruit.

“I would be amazed if you could smell anything past your own stench brother. Why do you assail these people with your acrid body odor today?” Bonjoe places a hand on his messenger bag and slowly pushes it from his hip to his back. Tomar lumbers forward into the street to stand towering over Bonjoe.

“You should shut your mouth whelp. I could crush you with my bare hands, runt.” In demonstration he closes his hands around the xomba fruit he was eating and squeezes until the pulp and juices run down his arms to his elbows. Seeds fly in several directions as he continues to apply pressure and the fruit flattens with a sucking sound.

“As always you demonstrate you are more gorilla than man.” A ring of people is beginning to form around them now. The code of the times is to mind your own business, but when there’s a possibility of a fight in the market everyone shows interest. Though both of the potential combatants know that no one will interfere, it’s the code of the times as well.

“More what? Nevermind!” Tomar throws the fruit at Bonjoe but he has already moved to the left and the fruit hits a spectator in the chest. Bonjoe jumps up onto a vendor table, spilling all of the hand-hammered metal wares onto the ground except for a large metal pan which he scoops up and swings madly at his brother’s head. Tomar, not being the quickest of people manages to turn to face Bonjoe just as the pan makes contact with his cheekbone crushing it and bloodying his nose. The force of the swing forces Bonjoe off balance, he teeters on the edge of the table until Tomar’s hand catches him around the throat and lifts him off of it.

“It is time for another thrashing whelp.” Tomar rears his fist back, nearly the size of Bonjoe’s head and launches it into Bonjoe’s face sending him flying into the crowd who topple beneath his unexpected weight against them.

CRACK! CRACK! Two loud sharp sounds freeze everyone where they stand.

“That’s enough Tomar.” Karil says as she lowers the machine in her hand to bear on him. “You have done enough damage to your brother today, now run along and find a tire swing to play with. You know this thing is strong enough to stop even you where you stand.” Tomar’s eyes dart from the metal pipe she points his way, to her face, to the spot where Bonjoe sits on the ground wiping blood from his face.

“Fine!” Tomar roars. “But you will get yours one day Karil, remember that.” Tomar parts the crowd with his enormous hands sending people sprawling in all directions as he wades amongst them. Bonjoe gets to his feet as the people begin to move about again and the market resumes its normal clamor.

“Karil! Where did you get that?” Bonjoe pulls a piece of cloth from his bag and reaches it up to his face. When the pulp of the fruit stuck to it touches his face he looks at it in disgust and stuffs it in his pocket before wiping the blood from his nose with the cuff of his green canvas jacket sleeve.

“I went to the shop and you didn’t show up. Then I heard Tomar’s annoyingly loud voice and knew you were in trouble.”

“So you broke into the shop and took the weapon from my workbench?” She looks at the metal device in her hand, the wooden handle protecting her from the still warm metal.

“Yes. You need someone to take care of you sometimes Bonjoe. I have decided that it is me.” With that she grabs his arm and pulls him through the crowd toward the shop. When the people see Karil coming, pipe still in hand, they hastily get out of her way, a times falling over themselves in their haste.

Session: 03