Snippet #1007459

Shen Baojia: The Earth Kingdom, Ba Sing Se, Lower Ring, Long Peace Street Market

"Duck carcasses, halfway to spoiling, unsmoked, half price!"
"Preserved eggs, Fish Sauce, Salted Sea Urchin!"
"5-Spice, Star Anise, Cinnamon!"
"Spiced Jellied Llamasquirrel!"

Such was the eternal melody of Shen's personal hell. Salesmen slimier than the eels hung up last month slithered through the streets with their overloaded carts, hawking their goods for the cheapest prices, fighting with other vendors in the cramped, smelly alleyways, kicking the fowls that roamed at their feet, eying for street rats and out of place women that might try and distract and swipe.

Only humans could live so close together in such filth. Buzzard-wasps might have been a close second for "close-knit communities" but at least they kept their hives orderly, and Shen was relatively certain that any fluid to be found in this alley was not honey.

To think, Shen used to write poetry in his spare time, that was his favorite distraction, seeing how the calligraphy could really move, breathe with the words, and how he could construct a smooth rhythm, say more than just the words.

Shen used to think language was the greatest construction of man. Now he realized all it was good for was a distraction.

"This is your five-spice?" He would say, picking up the clear jar, opening it, taking a great whiff, taking a handful and dumping it out on the small exchange board.

"Put that back, put that back, don't go messing up my place of business!" He would yell, and Shen would grudgingly pick up the glass container, sweep the spice back into the container, show the suspicious vendor the refilled jar, and walk off as nonchalantly as possible.

Relaxing at one of the more putrid looking fountains, Shen pulled his small bag up onto his lap, perusing the spices he'd successfully swindled that day.

In seven different containers were seven different spice blends from four different vendors, he figured that by now they had all realized their spice jars were diluted with grit and sand, and could only brood over their losses.

Shen could bring this up to a more respectable market, make a quick profit and be off to the other side of the city without a hitch. He'd done it all too often, and had acquired enough money to afford a halfway decent home closer to the Middle Ring, which meant a bit higher society than he'd been used to. He would miss the Tea Eggs though, grimy as Long Peace Street was, its Tea Eggs were the best he'd ever had, probably because they'd never been bought before, and had been marinating most of the merchants' lives.

Estimating the weight of his most recent "sales" and figuring he could do another half as well at a finer market, Shen casually dumped the sand from his sleeves, the secret to his trick, and threw the sack over his shoulder, ready to take another step closer to the life he'd left behind.

"There he is! That's the guy!"

Words which never seemed to indicate random acts of generosity or promiscuous women. It always meant violence, and for Shen, that meant finding a nice big crowd and hiding as quickly as possible, a luxury he never had in the desert.

"Shit."

Drop to the ground, kick out foot, catch a tile, make airborn, spin to a standing position, punch the tile, make one leftward sweep to disorient enemy with the sand and run like hell.

Each part fell into place perfectly, Shen had seen the slightly raised tile, just out of reach, his foot caught it long enough to Earthbend it up, getting up was probably the hardest part, and the plan fell into place perfectly, as his fist bent and disintegrated the tile, sweeping up the sand into a storm sudden enough to catch the men off guard.

Earthbending was all about knowing your surroundings, and Shen couldn't help but feel a bit of pride after finally pulling the stun trick off. Kicking down another alley, Shen ran up against a brick wall, and swiftly pulled out a few of the bricks for handholds with two sharp movements, climbing up and over the wall, Shen landed on the other side with firm footing.

"Land like a Crane, that's what they always say, land like a crane."

Of course "they" never added don't get hit by a brick from the wall directly behind you. Falling flat, Shen felt disoriented, but with a great snort like an angered bullmoose, he kicked one leg back, throwing a sudden rush of dust up around him, and sinking the three men who had followed him thigh deep into the street.

Getting up, Shen shook his mop of hair, brushed off his torso and casually walked down the aisle, bag of stolen spices hanging casually over his shoulder, Long Peace Street forever behind him, as he walked into the crowded street before him, quaintly out of reach of his trackers, amidst the noise and haste.