for what it’s worth
source: touchstarved
wc: ~3k
summary: lunari weighs what it means for something to be valuable. (also, vere is there to be his usual bitchy (affectionate) self. go figure.)
contains: implied lunarixvere / usual bitchy dynamics / some lunari twauma / violence, but that's to be expected with the source material /
author’s note: hiiiiiii @laymes-art love you <3
Marketplaces were but an assemblage of allure.
Many would think so, and Lunari was no exception, except the way in which she did held far more weight than it both rightfully should and comparatively, when weighed up against the opinion of an average person, that is.
Her eyes, a gaze hazed over with a misleading glassiness, scans the crowds with an efficiency that bespoke a worrying amount of experience—at least, to her enemies. For Eridia’s marketplace, the amount of people either milling about or offering wares could be considered the norm for the hour; the late afternoon meaning it had just gone from being at its busiest to slightly less so.
Lunari’s fingers would always tingle at times like these, an itch that, while not to any degree approaching unbearability, was most certainly still there. It was the kind of restlessness present in the way her instincts meant that she was seeking out weaknesses wherever she looked. Which, while not done in a particularly active way—it wasn’t one of those days where she was actively looking out to exploit said weaknesses—was still something that had long since been inbuilt into her.
That merchant with all the blindspot around his wares. The woman with a dangerously dangling bag. The performer, with only a simple hat out for coinage.
It was most likely a good thing that Lunari was able to spot so many of these details—it meant that as a whole, the atmosphere wasn’t one that was breeding paranoia for the fellow man, nor was there an ongoing decay of trust, not a suspicion that one was always in danger of backstabbing—literal or otherwise. Sure, there were monsters, and paranoid certainly existed for them, as well as that damned fog that signalled their arrival, but at least it was fear of a common enemy and nothing else.
Must be nice.
The thought isn’t a resentful one—at least not in this very moment. It is simply a passerby of a musing, a reaction without the drive to do anything other than to let it exist.
‘—wares! Get your wares here!’
She makes eye contact when Lunari goes to find the source of the noise, and a friendly merchant gives her an acknowledging smile. She did not begrudge him for what would no doubt be a sales attempt; a living was a living, and selling wares was only barely above the difficulty of selling yourself as a ware. Lunari would know.
So Lunari approached his stall—the man had a nice smile, and paired with features that, while nothing to write home about, were still pleasant to look at. His neat brown hair with matching skin and eyes were graced with an openness that was surely welcoming, a combination that was a boon to have in his particular occupation.
‘Greetings, my good madam.’ He gives a bit of a bow when Lunari approaches him, one she feels at least some obligation to return. ‘Tell me, did you so happen to be in the market for hand-crafted woodwind instruments?’
Something in her stills, though it is only for a heartbeat. It wasn’t his fault—there was no way for him to have known, so she gave him a brilliant smile of her own, even if the soft quality to her gaze had steeled—not into anything particularly hard, but enough it served as adequate protection.
With gentle hands, she takes the flute, muted blue tracing over the meticulously carved lines and swirls as she turns it over in her hands—cautiously, attentively. Love and care had gone into this, poured into what had surely been a stiff block of wood until potential had been whittled into something more realised, into something more beautiful. Karu would have loved this, and had they had enough luck with their initial plans, perhaps Lunari would have bought it for him.
A wound, still raw. Quietly, it festered, though whether a sign of healing or of infection, it was too early to be truly determined.
‘The craftsmanship on this is beautiful,’ Lunari says, and she is being genuine. ‘Whoever worked on this must’ve really had a lot of skill.’
‘I’ll let them know.’ The merchant is beaming, smiling with enough pride that Lunari is certain that if he is not the craftsman behind the craftsmanship, then he surely knew them well. He knew them, and held a definite fondness for them. ‘They worked on all of these, actually,’ he continues, presenting neat rows of instruments with a flourishing arm.
In lines of music and that which made them, Lunari thinks of those she’d lost on her way to Eridia. It’s not a long reverie—she’s not the type to let her thoughts entrap her for too long, but there’s a moment of vivid, plunging clarity, a singular bright flare before it passes.
The flute is handed back, and Lunari offers an apologetic look. ‘I’ll have to return back, I’m afraid. But you’ll see me again, I’m sure.’ A commitment that is non-commital, a polite and well-mannered acknowledgement of his efforts. They both knew the game being played; one that surely the merchant must have danced the dance of before.
And he only bows, nothing in his expression indicating disappointment. ‘Of course, madam. I look forward to seeing you again. In fact, it would bring me much joy to see someone as lovely as you gracing my proverbial doorstep.’
With one last smile, she leaves him, walking past a few more stalls before ducking into a less populated alleway.
A hushed sigh is all Lunari uses as an outlet, releasing all the tension in her body. She’s fine for the most part, of course, most definitely, but it was never nice to have a still healing, still recovering hurt of a thing prodded at while it stung. Lunari would have the bark to bite if there had been foreknowledge, but that was the thing—there wasn’t any.
There wasn’t any, and while there were many arguments to be made in regards to the type of person she was—morally upstanding was so far beyond her the thought was an absolutely laughable hilarity of one—she was not one to lambast the undeserving.
‘All by yourself, darling?’
Lunari’s head whips up at the voice—unfamiliar, and while the tone is mild at best, something about it makes her skin crawl with unpleasant tingles. ‘Don’t look so alarmed, love. I won’t hurt you. Just thought you might like the… company, is all.’
The emphasis on the word is not lost on her, but a cruel, sneering amusement is beginning to bloom like an errant weed—Lunari might not be the type to lambast the undeserving, but she had no issues when it came to those that did not fall beneath this category. She did not.
‘Listen, little man,’ her eyes bore into his, narrowed into frosty slits, even as she gave him a slight grin, one that bordered on a smirk. It’s a warning, even though she’s absolutely certain men like him wouldn’t take it as one. They never do, and her hand closes around a soothingly familiar coolness, hidden in the depths of her large sleeves. ‘Perhaps I would entertain you any other time—’ a lie, but he did not have to know that ‘—but right now, I am not in the mood.’
That seems to amuse him, and her grip tightens into readiness as she waits for the right moment. His features were similarly nondescript; black hair and dark eyes both in promise and in actual colouration—one man amongst many that Lunari was certain she’d forget within the week. There were always men like him.
‘No? Are you sure I can’t convince you? Perhaps…’ and he begins to reach out, ‘I could help improve your mood—’
His last mistake. It takes once swift, brutal movement to break his nose, and another to smash her baton into the side of his head. The two were likely enough on their own, but whatever lingering feelings from before had fused with her current annoyance, igniting into the exact kind of ire that had her bringing it down on him again. And again. and Again.
‘Now aren’t we being a bit beastial today?’
For the second time in a short period, Lunari’s focus jerks from the mess she had made to the one she might make next—though that vastly depended on a variety of factors.
Vere’s smile is a poisonous one—as pretty as it belied hidden fangs, metaphorical and literal. The irony in his words no doubt seemingly amused him—the bright amber gleaming with a certain glint that told Lunari he was incredibly entertained by the show he was being given.
Perhaps out of a desire not to feed him more than he deserved, some of the fire within her dims. ‘Ah, another stalker. Just my luck, really.’
Something contemptuous curls Vere’s lips, even though his smile still remains in place. ‘Stalker? Don’t flatter yourself. You were making so much of a racket that it’s a wonder you’re not being swarmed by the guards right now. I’m only here because I had nothing better to do.’
‘How kind of you to imply that I’m better than nothing.’ The barb is a pointed one, but despite it, and in spite of the fact that Lunari would not admit to this fact under extended torture, she could feel something almost warm in her chest. Comfort. Or familiarity, at least—here, she found a place where the polite mask of Lunari could sometimes… slip.
‘But if you truly have nothing better to do, I’m going to go back and explore the markets. You can go get your rocks off somewhere else.’
‘Then perhaps I shall join you,’ is Vere’s response, eyes sliding shut into something satisfied. Momentarily, for his eyes flash open once more. ‘Count your lucky stars.’ His voice is a lilt, one that seemingly bordered on a titter—implying a hidden joke that Lunari was never able to grasp. It was always like that with Vere—a push and pull that yanked and shoved, never letting her find a stable foothold. Maybe that’s why she hated him so much. Maybe that was why she didn’t.
And to her surprise, Vere does stick around.
She pays in jibes and taunts, in smart comments traded for anything she said or did—but strangely, Vere’s digs did not feel as deep. Perhaps a part of it was because he was sticking around, seemingly of his own volition, despite all that he had to keep leashed; perhaps the other part was because Lunari genuinely did not feel that the cutting remarks were as cutting.
Though they definitely still counted as cuts.
‘You surely realise that keychain was disgustingly overpriced? Even I didn’t think you were that much of an idiot.’
For some reason, this unsubtle jab hurts the least—Lunari simply gives him an easy shrug as she affixes said keychain to her bag. It’s an adorable facsimile of a flower, colour matching the soft red shade of her jacket. ‘I believe I can make that kind of judgement, not you. Do you even have any money?’
Vere doesn’t bother answering the question, instead continuing his original thought. ‘Just look at it.’ A haughty sniff. ‘Poorly made; something you’re likely to lose or damage easily just going about your business. Hardly worth the display nor even the coin lost.’
‘Look, I don’t know if it’s because you’re incapable of empathy, but something like this was made to be seen and loved.’
Vere scoffs. ‘How very… sentimental of you. Well, if you’re going to find something as inane as that within something so cheap, I won’t stop you. I’ll congratulate you on having such low standards, even. We need more people like you in the world to accept the bare minimum.’
A few seconds pass in silence—maybe a heartbeat’s worth or two. ‘You know, Vere,’ she starts, and she feels the lines of his body piqued into a curiosity. Very, very rare was it that she said his name—it was far more likely to be an insult that would be paid back in kind, again and again until Vere grew bored. ‘I’ve touched some of the most expensive things in the world.’
She’d pocketed them too, not batted a single eye nor had it shed any tears as she pilfered rare items, artefacts, works of art—to name a few. To name very, very few, each passing her hands and staining them in a way that could not be washed clean. All for the sake of those that would not even spare her a single thought should it have come down to it, all for the memories that would never leave her. All for naught to show but bloodied hands and an even bloodied soul.
Vere had not said anything in the midst of her thoughts, not even the slightest of disparagings but he was still here, so she continued. ‘People can be so fucking stupid when it comes to money, you know. Absolute idiots. For every valuable thing that exists in the world, there are at least one hundred men vying for it. Wanting to pay in coin. Or in men. Or in blood. But you know what the thing is? They don’t even want the thing itself. It’s always about how much they can get for it in the future. That’s what it’s all about. A fake potential, not ever anything real.’
Here, she meets his gaze, steeled softness meeting glowing sunset. ‘I never want to be that fucking stupid. Maybe the keychain is overpriced. Maybe it will break, or chip, or lose its colour, and do it quickly. But it is far more real than anything those men and those before and after them will fight to kill themselves over, and at least this will last long enough for me to enjoy it.’
Lunari doesn’t stop to gauge Vere’s response.
Instead, they continued on their way, glancing around and browsing until something caught their eye. People gave them a wide berth—likely because of the beastman at Lunari’s side, but she did not overly concern herself with it. Let them stare, and let them avoid her—it certainly was no skin off her back.
It’s not until they reach a fountain in the middle of the marketplace plaza do they stop. There, a man has a set up worth interest: pages of sketches lined up in neat rows on some kind of blanket, features etched with hands, gentle and a gaze even more so. There was a variety to the people he drew—children and the elderly and everyone in between, human and beastmen and even something that fell out of range of either.
‘Hmm. Nice to see some talent still exists here, I suppose,’ is Vere’s remark of the minute, and while he could have worded it more nicely—then again, he could word many things more nicely—she is inclined to agree with him.
Watching until a certain itch in her fingertips builds to boil, Lunari finds herself striding towards the artist until he looks up at her. Sleepy eyes seemingly belied his talent, and he gave her a small nod of acknowledgement before she found herself reaching towards her pouch.
‘A tip, for your hard work,’ she says, pushing some coins into his hands.
She hadn’t let him refuse, and it’s only until after they leave once more that Vere has an apt response. ‘I’m surprised. Thought you only liked ugly things.’
Her bark of laughter is a little on the derisive side, but there’s no true bitterness in it. ‘I never said that’s what I liked. If that’s what you got from what I said earlier, then maybe you’re also an idiot as well.’
‘I hardly expect an idiot to be the arbiter on who else is an idiot.’
‘Wow, how cutting of you. I’m truly wounded.’ Lunari holds a hand over her heart, but quickly drops it. ‘But you were wrong, so perhaps we shouldn’t go pointing fingers. Ugliness isn’t what I look for, nor is beauty something I find issue with. In fact, beauty is what makes something worthy, even if it’s not the obvious kind.
‘Alright. I’ll bite. What makes something worthy? What gives it value, hmm? Not that I don’t expect an answer that isn’t disgustingly tender-hearted.’
At this, Lunari smiles. Vere showed his interest in interesting ways, a curiosity disguised behind blithe and sometimes even cruel words. It was very much like him, which is why she does not bother calling it out. Instead, her hands reach for the flower dangling on her bag once again, and her answer is a simple one: ‘How much you love it.”
Before Vere has the chance to respond, his ears perk visibly—a strangely endearing gesture, but not one Lunari focuses on, because she hears it too. Music.
Her body floods with excitement before she’s able to comprehend it completely, and immediately, she dashes towards the sound. From the well, sound of it, it’s a live band playing an even livelier song, a tune with woodwind and swing and a hearty singer to tie it all together.
Quietly, Vere watches her leave him. He watches as Lunari twirls into steps so practised she must have had a past life before coming here, before arriving in Eridia. Something passes and flits through his gaze, a feeling he doesn’t bother to name, but it pricks in the moment he allows it to last.
She’s drawing quite the crowd. He’d almost be impressed, but instead he takes it as a chance to slip away, not bothering with the annoyance of a proper farewell. He’d deal with her definite annoyance of appearing and disappearing the way that he did later—for now, he had something to immortalise in sketch and in paper.
Something that might some day hold some value.
