Benjamin – Citadel #1 ‘Keep Out’
Rather than wasting more time multitudinously pondering what to expect in the so called ‘Gérard’s Wholesale Goods’ a me walked up to where the door should be and was rewarded with it industriously meeting my expectations as I passed through its now void aperture.
The interior resembled something like a bank, with a counter, two receptionists residing behind it and behind them was a wall with large pigeon holes that labeled bags rested in.
In front of the counter stood two orderly lines of people, with bags slung on their backs, queuing up to likely employ their offered services. Someone behind me wasn’t impressed with me taking up the entry way and to their rude, if instructive ‘move it’ in a thick Slavic drawl, a me quietly obliged them to take up a position near the back wall, in a bid to continue to observe exactly what type of trade was taking place.
The people from the queue would engage with the stores two employees and either fill or empty their bags with bits and pieces of what I recognized as monster parts or resource gathers. Once the trade had been concluded with a simple handshake and a few more murmured words, the two parties would go their separate ways without much fuss or fanfare so the next person in line could repeat the process.
The most interesting thing was that the employees were consulting lists in their hands and every five or so minutes, a portly fellow with a mustache, dressed in [Elevant’s Essential Gear] would come from the back room and replace them without a word.
Figuring I had a general idea of what I was collectively wading into, I weighed up the benefits of engaging with the brains behind such an operation and saw only minor downsides from where the me’s stood.
My multiplicative reasoning mainly stemmed from what little knowledge Bruce had managed to teach me about the free market.
Just like that, my years free of flashbacks had reverted to zero as a me is back there again.
Unfortunately I only gained a small part of his Sunday market derived wisdom before the inoperable prostate cancer had spread throughout his bowel and he couldn’t do much more than laugh deliriously at midday television, owing in no small part to the level of morphine that now addled his brain.
Frustratingly, I could do little more for the man who had taken me in and shown me boundless kindness, understanding and compassion, then change his colostomy bag and give extremely awkward assisted showers where our gazes could never meet.
The light in his eyes gradually waned as the ineffectual doctors’ visits grew more and more sporadic, whilst he wasted away before me. Being the good catholic he was, the old bastard had the canny foresight to make me promise not to take matters into my own maladjusted hands.
Instead the old cantankerous fucker charged me with living on without him.
Grudgingly I adhered to his wishes and didn’t end his torture or that of my own, no matter how many times the voices would taunt or goad me.
So as he coughed a fresh spray of blood whilst telling the newly instated palliative care nurse she had a fetching behind, I silently cursed the compact he had so shrewdly tricked me into.
When he could barely raise his head off the pillow, let alone reach for the faded TV remote, I fought against my own impotency and took to reading to him from some of my favorite fantasy novels.
Although he was well and truly past the point of comprehension and would have angrily poked holes in the plots by calling them ‘fantasy hogwash’...at least if he was still in the least cognoscente. I like to think that somewhere past the pained grunts and fitful shifting, the sound of my unevenly and often broken voice, helped to slightly ease his passage.
As bare consolation, the me who experienced the memory was not trapped reliving the torment over and over again, which so frequently accompanied dwelling on my formative years.
Wiping away the tears for my stand in of a father figure the triumvirate did what Bruce would have wanted and continued to weigh the opportunity before me.
The choice of contact points seemed to be the option of waiting to try and talk to the large guy or going through the easily accessible traders. Deciding that interaction without causing a scene was best if I planned to have any positive business relationship in the near future, the Triumvirate went with option B.
Now generally speaking, I’m collectively inclined to loath all people equally, however, given the current outcomes of female related interactions in my day thus far, I elected to give the female servers line a wide berth and joined the probably homosexual, effeminate male server’s line instead.
After having made my completely rational choice of employee to interact with, a me noted the return of the impatient average looking guy with a Slavic accent and he joined the queue next to me almost simultaneously. Waiting patiently for my turn I was a little annoyed to see the queue next to me reduce much faster than mine as the attractive light brow haired female receptionist seemed to conduct the trades with an efficiency her male counterpart seemed to sorely lack.
So it was that the man who had asked me to move before, got to the front of his queue while I still had two people in front of me.
Grumbling to my selves about having being screwed by the fairer sex for the third time today, the me’s were mildly consoled when the guy from before raised his voice angrily at the woman.
“I just bought the hides from you not fifteen minutes ago! What do you mean there are no refunds!”
Pointing to the clearly visible sign that had a white background and bold black block lettering, which sat at the top of the cubbied bags behind her, she replied patiently with a strong French accent.
“I apologize but it is az ze sign sayz sir. Zere. Are. No. Refundz.”
The man went a deeper red as he yelled.
“I DO NOT CARE WAT YOUR SIGN SAYS! THE LEATHER WORKER SAID THEY ARE WRONG RARITY AND CAN ONLY USE THEM TO MAKE HATS FIT FOR A MULE! NOW GIVE MANAMOTES BACK LITTLE GIRL OR THE TROUBLE WILL BE BIG!”
Against my better judgments, one of me believes we should rescue the woman from the unreasonable man, but that was quickly vetoed as my other selves pointed out that it wasn’t my business, and no actual harm could come to her while she was within the confines of the Citadel in any case.
Much to the woman’s credit, she kept her composure whilst replying evenly.
“Sir, All. Salez. Are. Final. Now if you could make way for ze next cus-“
Her near indifferent dismissal was apparently enough to tip the blonde headed Yugoslavian over the edge, as he unsheathed his twin short swords and began lunging over the counter only to bathe himself in bluish white light as he was removed by the ever diligent Citadel’s anti harm system.
Clearly used to such displays the woman straightened her leathers and said.
“Apologiez for ze spectacle sirz and madam’z, ere at Gérard’z we pride ourselvez on honesty and integrity and we expect ze same of our customerz….Next pleaze.”
Jolting the red headed burly woman that was still rubbing their eyes from being so close to the teleportation’s corona, she obediently acquiesced with the politely smiling French woman’s request.
After another two minutes, I reached the male receptionist who whilst still being excessively effeminate, was also painfully slow at his job.
“Well aren’t you tall one! My name is Paul…How can I help you today?”
Smiling politely in return to the overly friendly brown haired, Caucasian man, a me replies.
“Hi mate, I was wondering if I could have a word with your boss?”
As if on autopilot the guy’s jovial manner becomes monotonic as he retorts.
“Sorry sir but my employer is a busy man and is currently indisposed…”
A me fixes him with my ‘cummon don’t bullshit me’ face, leading him to add.
“…If you want to buy or sell something I am more than able to accommodate you.”
Irritated by the man’s lazy stonewalling, we elect to mess with the salesman’s automated response system, and a me enquires.
“Alright then, how much would you pay for twenty or so thousand, rare, level ninety plus lesser basilisk scales?”
All chatter in the store ceases, with the me relegated to danger watch reporting that I have drawn the bug eyed stare of everyone in the joint.
Churlishly it points out that spectacles like this was also what we specifically agreed to not to do!
Ignoring my self's whining another me stifles a smile while the effeminate Paul quickly recovers and blusters.
“At Gérard’s fraudulent sellers are banned from the premises! So unless you can provide proof I’ll have to ask you to take your damn ponzi scheme elsewhere!”
The me on face time smirks at the glaring while another me opens a tennis ball sized access to my [Lesser Dimensional Pocket], perpendicular to my outstretched hand and wills out a stack of 10 of the [Lesser Onyx Basilisk Scales].
While his face goes white and the me on danger duty chuckles at the contents of the whispers that travel back down the line. Closing the access point to Mr Pocket a me far too smugly begins to smugly stack the monster scales, one by one on the desk in front of the now frozen clerk.
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
After he manages to recollect his wits, Paul looks to the female employee to his right like she is in possession of something that might cure him of some imminently fatal ailment. However the woman attempts to use a series of vigorous eye gestures to communicate what the poor man should do.
A me quirks a brow at the exchange while another me notes the guy apparently didn’t take the extracurricular eye-language course the French girl graduated from, as he looks even more helpless than he did mere moments ago.
Harrumphing at the other hapless employee, the French lady apologizes to her current customer who seems more interested at what’s happening in my line than with their prospective business in any case, before the French woman directs.
“Why don’t you let me andle zis cuztomer Paul and you can andle ze ozer line...”
Tension drained from the overtaxed man as he nodded gratefully and gladly excused himself from our direct line of smirk.
Following which, the woman turned to me in a controlled manner and continuied.
“Allo sir, my name iz Giselle and I am ze senior salez person ere today…If you will allow me a moment to physically inspect ze goodz to confirm zeir quality?”
Nodding my agreement, she reaches out and tries to lift the scale off the top of the short stack, only to find she is completely unable to budge it.
Taking collective pity on her, a me offers.
“Do you need a hand with that love?”
Glaring at me like I’ve just leveled a grievous insult, Giselle shakes her head in the negative as she tried anew to budge the disobedient magical material. Refusing to be outdone by a lone scale, she applies both hands to the task, face gradually reddening as she does so.
Eventually, her visible remonstrations bear fruit as the scraping of scale against scale emanates throughout the cozy storefront. After a couple of seconds of a sound like nails on a chalkboard fills the space, Giselle finally manages to dislodge it from the stack while a look of relieved triumph suffuses her once adorably contorted features.
However her victory is short lived as there’s a *thunk*ing sound, indicating that the scale has landed face down next to the stack of its nine counterparts.
Feeling collectively mischievous in the face of her obstinacy a me attempts to apply the same ocular communication skill she had just a few minute ago, to offer my quiet assistance.
This however, seemed to be the entirely wrong approach as she lets out an exasperated huff before saying in a politely annoyed tone.
“Wait ere a moment pleaze sir, I will ave to go an fetch ze manager.”
Not waiting for my response she escapes into the door to the right of the bag cubbies, leaving me uncomfortably alone, with all the staring people.
Yet thankfully, it doesn’t take long for her to return with the portly mustached fellow who had been surreptitiously changing the lists.
Both of them now stand before me as Giselle offers by way of introduction.
“Zis iz ze gentleman I waz telling you of papa. Might I introduce, sorry sir, but wat waz your name again?”
Reciprocating the smile the new arrival gave, a me supplies.
“The names Benjamin I was told the owner, which I’m assuming is you, wanted to talk to me about a business opportunity?”
The woman looked annoyed for a completely new reason and opens her mouth to let me know what about, when the moustache’d man who’s smile has yet to falter offers.
“Ahh Sir Benjamin, we meet at lazt, my name iz Gérard az I’m sure you already know…I see you ave also meet my lovely daughter Giselle…I ope she was not to rude?”
A me chuckles at the indignant glare she shot to her father then me, before she stomps off into the back room, leading a me to reply affably.
“Pleasure to meet you Gérard, Ben or Benjamin is fine, no need for pointless titles. Also please relay to your daughter I was impressed by the level of her professionalism... So what business did you wish to discuss exactly?”
A now beaming Gérard offers.
“You are to umble sir. I am sure she will be glad to ear that, from one such as yourself…As to ze business, I think that is best discussed…in private no?”
Nodding good naturedly in response, Gérard touched something behind the counter clapped his hands together before turning to the eavesdropping Paul and while instructing.
“Finish seeing to ze remaining customers please Paul, zen ze store will be closed for ze rest of ze day.”
Apparently conflicted between professionalism and self-interest, Paul’s own financial well being obviously won out as he asked nervously.
“Certainly sir…but…will I be paid for the whole day?”
Gérard who had taken to intently studying the wyvern scales on the counter absentmindedly replied.
“Hmm? Yez yez but of courze…”
Looking up after a thorough inspection he inquired eagerly.
“You really muzt tell me where you found such high quality materials my friend? I am not ashamed to admit zat we ave been unable to meet ze crafterz greater and greater demandz recently, for higher level materialz…”
Seeing no harm in giving some general information as a show of good faith, despite Bruce’s teachings of always keeping your cards close to your chest when making trades, a me supplies.
“Well I won’t say where I got them specifically, but I have found similar quality materials in most of the Delta Zones.”
Rather than replying, Gérard instead takes to searching my face with a serious expression for an uncomfortable few seconds before he relents and rejoins.
“If it waz anybody elze I would have called zem a liar an kicked zem out of my shop! But ere we stand, in ze middle of a mazzive magical building owned by you...So I will take you at your word… Though if you will allow a simple merchant hiz dreamz, I would be willing to buy ze exzact locationz where zey can be found?”
By now Paul was bidding farewell to the last customer, who couldn’t help but keep sending glances our way, Unwilling to talk anymore on the subject with company and noting the direction of my gaze Gérard instructed.
“Sank you for all your ard work my boy, zat will be all until tomorrow.”
Flicking his eyes to me one more time Paul grudgingly obeys by way of a polite.
“As you say Mr. Gérard…Till tomorrow then…”
And made a swift exit to leave the two of us alone.
Now unhindered by prying eyes I collectively feel free to answer the man’s earlier request.
“It’s not that I’m against giving the information on where to specifically hunt monsters for the materials, but once I do, then the materials will potentially disappear and the one-time fee will be gone.”
Scoffing, the Frenchman rejoins.
“It iz but a simple matter of signing a contract made with my clazz, with ze required non-disclozure detailz in it!”
All of me just barely halt the urge to slap our forehead like the common sense absent thing it was. Of course there would be a class that had contracts if the system employed a Charisma attribute!
Unwilling to share my collective incompetence with the man, a me asks instead.
“How about I just supply you guys directly?...By the way you still haven’t told me why you wanted to meet?”
Clearly unhappy with my response, he countered.
“While I would not say no to anything you ave to sell, I doubt you could supply ze required amountz consiztently…But you are right, zis iz a side matter, ze reazon I requezted to meet iz because I believe I can be of great azzistance to you and ze citadel.”
Nodding my encouragement he continues.
“I and my company would like to tender our services, in a bid to set up and overzee a merchant’z guild wizin ze Citadel to benefit thoze zat live wizin itz wallz firzt and foremozt.”
Universally un-surprised at the pitch a me rejoins.
“I don’t have a problem with it at all, but why bother when you can buy and sell everything through the terminals already?”
Seeming to relish the chance to expound on his planned sales pitch, he eagerly counters.
“Oh but zat iz ze sing! Me an several ozer traderz ere locally ave observed quite a few instancez of price fixing over ze pazt few monthz. It az gotten to ze point zat local buyerz ave near instantly been priced out of ze market after all of a specific items quantity has been procured an relisted at hugely inflated price. Naturally zis leavez our local crafterz unable to advance becauze of it.”
Having experienced this exact thing first hand in mmo’s over my gaming misadventures all of me begin to empathize with his plight, though still unclear what he hoped to achieve a me prompts.
“Again do you really need me for this? Also how would setting up a guild help stop it?”
Near jubilant at reaching the finale of his pitch Gérard adds.
“So we can set up our own market ere, free of ze whims of ozer settlementz machinationz! An if you personally endorze such a sing, zen who would dare doubt itz validity? ”
Shrugging a me replies.
“So long as you don’t charge people crippling taxes or use it to try and rip people off with price fixing of your own…I would be fine with putting my name on it.”
Relief and excitement works across his features, and a me sees its now time to push my own agenda as one of me did a quick mental inventory of the nearly full two football stadium sized space, that was close to bursting point, which I’ve come to affectionately identify as ‘Mr Pocket’.
“Now that’s dealt with, how many monster materials would you be willing to buy from me?”
Face flicking back into business mode, the Frenchman asks.
“What rarity and quantity are ze goodz?”
One of me notes his reactions in delight as another me is consumed by listing the contents of Mr Pocket.
Initially, it seemed like the guy thought he had just hit a jackpot at the casino, but as a me pressed on, he seemed to think the horse he owned had just come first in the Melbourne cup. However, as the me continued, his complexion began to take on a decidedly unhealthy pale sheen and it was but a few seconds later was when the true sweating started.
I ended up having to pause about two minutes into my recitation to check the bloke was still in fact alive. Though after successfully confirming that he didn’t require immediate medical assistance, the me hastily resumed it's organized accounting of a decent sum total of Mr Pocket's contents.
Sadly I only managed to get through about a fiftieth of my materials when Gérard looked at me in a pleading fashion as he weakly added.
“You ave made your point mizter Benjamin, now if you would pleaze give zis poor merchantz heart a break, I’ll get my daughter in to make a list of ze itemz, while I go an find an ealing potion, before aving a lie down.”
Smiling and nodding at the Frenchman in agreement, he pressed a button on the counter and looked like he was getting ready to bail out.
Collectively feeling I have sufficiently softened him up enough by proving my invaluable nature to his own interests, a me then asked about what we were really interested in.
“So Gérard…That contract skill of yours you mentioned…How exactly does it work?”
Caught off guard for a moment he mopped his moist brow with his sleeve, before acquiescing and begining to expound on the abilities and limits of the skill.
To cut a long winded explanation short, his Initiate Merchant class gave him the ability to create a [Lesser Contract] that bound two system initialized entities by certain agreed upon terms. The contents of said contract where reasonably open ended, with the ability to include currency to be exchanged, an amount of goods, quality of items, time limits, satisfaction level of either parties, action or actions to be undertaken, information or ideas and even where things could, would or should take place.
There were certain things however that were un-tradable like classes, territory and people, though he seemed to think that some of those limitations would be lifted as the class and skill advanced further.
After he had finished giving me the rundown, the man was bemoaning the fact that his daughter hadn’t appeared yet and pressed a button behind the counter agitatedly, and a me couldn’t help but smile at the consensus the triumvirate had reached.
Electing now was a good as time as any to make my pitch a me supplies.
“Well that indeed sounds like just the skill I have been looking for…..I’ll be honest with you Gerard, I don’t trust you.”
This ceased his creased brow glaring at the counters unresponsive button as his eyes fixated on me in alarm, he was about to protest but a me hold up my hand and continues.
“Don’t take it personally though mate, I don’t trust anyone. Period. That skill of yours though…that all but nullifies my at times, often warranted suspicion of my fellow man…So if you would be amenable, I would like you to draw up a contract between the two of us, which will be extremely profitable for you for what will likely be pressing a simple button at a specific time…”
Watching his expression shift to match my own impassive poker face Gérard slowly removes his pudgy digit from the counter and asks while narrowing his eyes slightly.
“What exactly would zis button do?”
Seeking to reassure him a me counters.
“Don’t worry, I believe it’s nothing world ending, and I can also assure you that to the best of my knowledge, no humans are going to suffer because of it either…No scratch that…I can almost guarantee it will be to the human races benefit.”
Looking at me in study for a moment, his pallid complexion seems to have recovered, when his daughter sees fit to grace us with her presence.