Told You I Didn't Do It

Just west of the Northern Highbridge and east of the arena, commerce blooms. Noisy and bustling, most anything may be purchased here for a price. Vendors from all cultures sell their wares from exotically colored carts, and the smells of different nations and far-off city-states mix with local ones from Alexandria and its riverbanks.

For all its commerce, visitors are advised to keep hold of their purses. Even the merchants possess a certain, cunning look. Most are positioned at carts or stalls as opposed to a formal storefront, with trade here being mobile, and visiting from all parts of the world.

Though the quality of goods suffers here compared to Upper Alexandria, the options are more diverse. Too, the oversight of the Watch is slightly less, and during times events are held at the Arena, chaos abounds. After dark, the square becomes a hangout for bards and other entrepreneurs whose business is best conducted by night; the shadows at the edges of the square often contain furtive figures engaging in their own brand of business.

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Ahh, the markets of Alexandria. Always vibrant, always in motion, always something going on. And, of course always the guards, keeping a watchful eye to make sure everyone is behaving, nobody is thieving, and sometimes taking a little cut here and there from the merchants -- depends on the guard in question, really. Currently, a basket of shopping -- mostly food -- is sitting on the ground, most of the contents still intact, aside from a packet of olives (a mite pricey but a treat when they're not dunked in a mud puddle). Delilah is standing nearby, looking entirely exasperated while one guard is keeping a hand clamped firmly on her shoulder, and a second one is busy manacling her hands behind her.

"Look, boys, I'm telling you it wasn't me," grumbles the golden-haired sorceress. "Nor was it me last time you arrested me, when that tavern caught fire. It wasn't me either when you arrested me for stealing from the water fountain. Remember that?" She pauses, inhaling, just long enough for her impudent streak to kick in. "Of course it *was* me who beat you at cards which I'm sure is why you're bitter."

The guard holding her shoulder cuffs her across the side of the head, not hard enough to cause any damage but enough to make her wince. "Go find the other one," he instructs his compatriot. "Looks the same, black hair, snotty expression. She won't be far, they're always in cahoots. *Always*."

"Yo," says a sullen voice behind the group of guards. "Sounds like someone's talking about me."

How the *hell* did an armored woman sneak up on *Guards?*

"Just so's you know, if you're arresting her for somethin', she didn't do it. We don't get into trouble 'less we're gettin' in trouble together, an' she's been shoppin' on her own for the last three hours." One eye falls to the food scattered around the mud, and an eyebrow rises. "...You gonna pay for that then, Mister Sergeant Sir?"

"Hi, sis," Greets Delilah, just as amicably as if she weren't manacled. "Someone stole a *very* expensive bottle of brandy from one of the merchants and they figure it was me. Apparently I'm guilty just for being here."

The guards, for their part, both whirl around; the offended one keeping his hand on Delilah's shoulder as if worried she might promptly make a break for it, and the other one who takes the second set of manacles off his belt and starts towards Donna, after getting over his initial shock that she was just... there. He still looks a bite white in the face, too.

"Well, if you get in trouble together, you'll be happy to get arrested together, too. Hands behind your back, woman." He glances down at the spilled olives, and shrugs. "Had to do a search, not my problem."

Snotty attitude, was it? Yes indeed, Donna crosses her arms over her chest, the spiked bar prominent on her right gauntlet. "You got a crime we're bein' arrested for, or is it just Tuesday? Cos I could *make* it your problem, Guard Sergeant Norrington, throwin' currently law-abidin' citizens into prison just cos' you're feelin' bored. I could make it your problem *real* easy."

Tap tap tap goes the armored glove on the expensive mithril armor. "*Or,* she says after a moment, "you could tell us what's goin' on, an' we could *help.* Don't even need t'draw funds t'pay the Guild fee even."

"Or I could just see what your sister is hiding under her robes right here instead of waiting until we're back at the jail," drawls Norrington, punctuating the comment by grabbing at said robes and pulling them upwards on one side, up to above the knee -- punctuated by a paniced "HEY!!!" from Delilah. She immediately tries to jerk herself away, but with noodley arms that are manacled anyway and a much stronger guard's hand still on her shoulder, she doesn't make it overly far.

The other guard, a much softer-hearted lad the other guards all just address as Squirrel for some reason (to the point that nobody even knows if he has another name...?) just kind of grinds to a halt, looking Donna up and down, and going decidedly white once again. "I, uhh," he stammers out, nearly dropping his second set of manacles.

"Someone stole a bottle of brandy from Iverson's Curios," Norrington finally decides to explain, letting Delilah's robe drop once again. "And the ditzy member of your pair here was the only one in the shop. It's a two hundred year old bottle and it's worth more than the pair of you put together, apparently. Iverson would like it back, and whoever took it in jail, so." He shrugs.

"...So the next time you try an' yank off *my sister's clothes in the middle of the street,*" Donna says warningly, "you had best have some wages saved up for sick leave."

Indeed, her left-hand gauntlet, visible only a bit beneath a scale-armored arm, begins to creak with the sound of stressed metal. "How many days you want off, Sergeant? An' that goes for anyone else as wants to get handsy with *my fuckin' sister.*"

Hopefully, the message is gotten across, as she turns her eyes to Delilah. "Hey D. You anywhere near that locked cabinet Iverson keeps around just in case a nob decides to slum it?"

"Uhm. What?" Delilah looks up at Donna, her mind clearly not piecing anything together straight away; her mind seems to be rather solidly locked on what just got threatened a moment earlier. "Near the...? No, I wasn't, why?" She wiggles her hips and shuffles her feet a little, trying to get her robes to hang properly like they were before.

Squirrel, for his part, just backs off about eight steps, until he's standing behind Norrington instead of in front. "I didn't do anything," he squeaks.

Norrington glances at his compatriot with a deep, downward turn to his lips, before his attention focuses on Donna once more. "So, if you think assaulting a Guard Sergeant is a good idea, give it a try," he replies. "But, this is hardly the place for a beating, so I'll tell you what. Let's all wander over to Iverson's, and I'll give you your chance to work things out." He pauses, glancing sideways at Delilah, then back to Donna. "This one stays in the manacles for the duration, though. No negotiation." He pauses, then hisses sideways to the other guard, "Grow a spine, you're a man, act like one."

"I think if I do my month for giving a Guard Sergeant a good beating, my paladin buddy might even give me a pat on the head," Donna says quietly, but with real menace in her voice. "Pretty sure the churchy types frown on Guard abusin' their badge for a cheap ogle. Frown *real* hard."

Once the subject of the shop is broached, however, she brightens considerably, as if she hadn't *just* hinted that perhaps she may come off *better* should she deliver a beating. "Y'know, that sounds like the first smart thing you said today! What're we waitin' for, then?"

"Can I just-"

"No," snaps Norrington, cutting off anything Delilah had been about to say. "Go get Merkle and Grits and tell them to meet us at Iverson's," he adds to Squirrel, who makes like his namesake and beats feet into the crowd with no further word; just an air of relief. "Alright then, off we go." The guard takes Delilah by the arm and marches off, leaving the basket of shopping sitting on the ground, discarded olives and all.

"Slow down," protests Delilah part way, but no respite is given; it doesn't take more than a couple minutes to reach Iverson's anyway. It's a large wooden building, the lower couple of floors all devoted to wares of virtually any and all varieties. There's something for everyone; cheap trinkets to some of the really special stuff. Iverson, a wrinkly old prune of a gnome, is busy pacing up and down vigorously in the main hall when everyone enters.

"...Delilah?" asks Iverson. "Did you actually take my bottle of Black Brass Whiskey Number Five, second bottling? Why, I'm... I'm *shocked*. And Donna, you should know better, even if she doesn't."

On the way there, Donna does what she can to help Delilah along. Mostly in the form of keeping a hand on her sister's shoulder so nobody takes a tumble on the way. When they get to the shop, the dark twin, having no reason to even begin to *look* guilty, simply shakes her head. "Iverson," Donna sighs, "you *know* we don't like whisky. An' besides, even if we did, we'd just crash a nob's party and get some from an open bottle. C'mon."

The guard is just utterly ignored, because it's clearly not him that anyone has to convince. "Jus'... when'd you notice it was missing?"

"Could you let go of me please?" Delilah inquires of Norrington, who just shrugs his shoulders but seems deeply disinclined to actually do so. The golden haired twin sighs openly, and shakes her head. "I didn't take it," she declares, her voice sounding like it's been forced through a strainer.

Iverson pulls a monocle from his waistcoat pocket, takes a moment to clean it with a handkerchief, and perches it up on in front of his eye. "Well... Of course I believe you, Donna." He waddles up to her, collecting one of the multitude of stepstools that occupy the place, so he can plop it down, climb up onto it, and have sufficient reach to be able to pinch Donna's cheek like he's her grandfather or something. "Of course you don't like Brandy. It's just that it vanished while Delilah was here and I told Norrington that because I wondered if she might've seen something. That's all."

It's amazing, what advanced age will convince people to put up with. The cheek pinching, Donna suffers with a tight smile, and a significant look over the shopkeeper's head, to Norrington. "Would'ja lissen to that, Sergeant," she says, showing her teeth. "Mist' Iverson didn't think D took it at all. An' it could be she saw somethin' as might help you catch the *proper* thief. So. D. Once this *good Sergeant here gets them manacles off,* what say you tell us what y'saw?"

Delilah looks at Norrington expectantly; Norrington, however, just shakes his head. "Not until I have another suspect to put in the manacles. Can't go back to the jails empty-handed, afterall, and your sister is a known trouble-maker." He pauses. "As are you." He smiles at Iverson, "Don't worry, Mr. Iverson, we'll make sure your reputable business is looked after. Won't we, Delilah?"

Delilah, for her part, opens her mouth, shuts it, looks at Norrington, then looks back to Donna. No words are spoken, but 'what do I do?' is writ clear upon her visage.

"All *right,*" Donna says through clenched teeth, "Did you *see* anythin' while you were shoppin', D?" Norrington is definitely going on her personal shit list, oh yes.

Norrington seems to be oblivious to any shit lists; he's far too intent on Delilah, right at this moment. "...Yes," Delilah finally mumbles, after a lenthy pause, gathering her thoughts. "There was someone else in here while I was here. I didn't really pay much attention to them because I'm a sorceress and I was *shopping* and I'm not a guard on duty." She sucks in a deep breath. "They were a bit taller than Iverson but not by much, they were wearing a raggedy cloak that used to be white, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't a halfling, it was a kid."

"An' there's your suspect, Sergeant," Donna says. "You wanna let my sister go an' do your job, or you want I should go to Temple District an' get someone who can prove to you she's tellin' the truth?" Perhaps she's a bit more testy than she needs to be, but she's not the calm one and this entire situation is *getting to her.*

About this moment, the other two guards arrive; they come just in time to hear Donna's testy demand, and look at her, then at Norrington. Delilah, also, looks at Norrington, perking one eyebrow upwards. Norrington looks back and forth between the two sisters; he grinds his teeth, then undoes one of the manacles around Delilah's wrists. "See you when your sister isn't around to play detective," he half-whispers to her, before undoing the other manacle. "Have a pleasant afternoon, ladies," he nonchallantly declares, more openly. "We'll find the thief, Iverson, don't worry." He spins one finger in the air, and together the three guards make their departure.

As the guards depart, tension starts to drain out of the dark twin. "Thanks, Mist' Iverson," she sighs. "Sorry for the trouble." And even as she speaks, she's crossing the shop to loop an arm around her sister's shoulders, because she heard that promise, and she is *not* going to let this happen again. "D... Next time you play cards, maybe don't brag so much?"

Iverson grumbles in his manner and wanders off, fetching a feather duster to go and dust a bunch of stuff that doesn't need dusting. It's his usual 'I'm fine and everything is fine and I love you two' reaction, just coded with 'old prune gnome' mannerisms.

Delilah wraps har arms around Donna's shoulders in return, breathing out a big sigh of relief. "Hey, I never bragged until he got cute about it," she protests, "It's not my fault he had his eyes on my bosom instead of his cards." Just the same, there's no particular fight to her words. "What's he going to try to pin on me next? Milking someone else's cow? Stealing the crown jewels? Being outside in the daytime?"

"Hell if I know," Donna mutters. "But if I find out he's arrested you for nothin' again, I *am* gonna share a cell with'm even if it means I gotta relieve that jackass of his teeth t'do it."

Delilah squeezes her sister once more. "Thank you for sticking up for me," she murmurs. "I don't know what I'd ever do without you. ...Just don't get yourself in too much trouble over him, okay? Worst he can do is lock me up until the magistrate lets me back out again." She bites her bottom lip, and hunhs. "...I guess we'd better go see it that basket is still sitting on the ground with all the stuff I bought," she adds, ruefully.

"Fuckit," Donna says, returning the squeeze. "We'll jus' replace it, my shout. 'Sides, ten silver says it's been picked over by folks who're *way* hungrier than we are, let'm have it."

Of 'not getting in too much trouble,' the twin with the literally explosive anger issues remains quiet.