The morning dawns bright and clear, though there's just a slight autumnal edge to the breeze.
Eskel spends breakfast-- heavy potato scones with jam-- with a scrap of paper that may or may not have a bloodstain on it and a stub of pencil making a list of things he needs to pick up, paired with the names of merchants he remembers as being less likely to fuck him over on supply costs. There's also coffee, which Eskel is surprised to see in so small a town so far north, but it gives him hope that maybe he'll find a little to take with him.
The market isn't as large or impressive as those in a truly urban city, but Steph will still be treated to a taste of that lively chaos. Merchants are less easily intimidated by their strangeness, mellowed by the possibility of coin as they call out to try and offer Steph jewelry or simple perfumes. A few of them still call her "madame sorceress", which Eskel will let himself find funny as long as everyone stays friendly as they go along.
Breakfast is slightly more reminiscent of things she had in her childhood, chiefly when she was able to eat at the Barnes' table, since she and her ma rarely had the money for hearty food, and she spends it trying not to stare at Eskel's pencil too much.
For some reason, out of everything that she's seen so far, it's the pencil that's the most jarring.
She enjoys the market, though, allowing herself to admire the hustle and bustle of it all as she trails Eskel between the tables and stalls. People stare at her, but not as much as she was afraid they might, and she's definitely used to ignoring the prickle that comes with being ogled at, so that doesn't bother her. When people try a little too hard to convince her to purchase something she doesn't need, she demurs in a pidgin of what German she remembers from the war and the Russian she taught herself when she was first trying to bring Bucky home, hoping that the people here won't understand her.
They might. She doesn't consider it until it's too late, though, and then she has to commit.
They don't understand but they do wave her off with an expression of bewilderment at her language, which sounds like something they don't understand but has the tones of the south in it. It's enough to cut off their saccharine overtures.
Eskel laughs.
"Nice, good plan." He says, keeping half an eye on her as they move through the market until he finds a good dry-goods stall where he can get most of the things on his list. "Keep an eye out for anything you want. We should get you your own pack and a sword if you want it, or if there's something else you're good with." He says, before he gets sucked into haggling.
"How many times can I say stand down and I'm your friend before they realize I only know a handful of phrases?" she asks, mostly rhetorically, as Eskel forges further into the market, obviously in search of something specific.
He finds it, eventually, at a stall selling bulk items she assumes he's going to be taking home, probably to help bulk up the winter storage, and she leaves him to his shopping. He doesn't need her hovering over his shoulder, distracting him. Besides. The stalls nearby are interesting enough to hold her attention.
By the time Eskel finishes haggling for his shopping list, he'll find her a few stalls down, crouching in front of a small child, balancing a piece of paper torn from the noticeboard nearby on one knee as she uses one of those pencils she found so fascinating this morning to quickly sketch the child and her little dog caught mid-play.
"There you are." He says, several sacks slung over his shoulder. "Glad you didn't wander too far." He goes on, unaware that he's probably shattered her quiet little moment. Especially when the child spots him and skitters away like mouse to hide in their mother's stall.
Her model disappears, but the look Stephanie turns to Eskel isn't recriminating: she smiles up at him but remains crouched for a moment longer so she can finish up her drawing before finally straightening to her full height and turning back to the proprietor of the stall.
"For your daughter," she says, handing the notice with the picture on the back as well as the pencil back to the man before stepping back to fall into place beside her witcher.
The man looks surprised and a little wary, but his daughter looks delighted, even showing it to her little dog. Her joy seems to soften her father somewhat, and he bows.
"Thank you, my lady. Little Joan is absolutely tickled with the present, I see."
"Sorry about that." Eskel says sheepishly. "That looked pretty good-- you're full of surprises."
The man's wife is a little less quick to thaw towards her, attempting to keep little Joan held close to her skirts, but Joan still has the bravery of youth, bolstered by her father's seeming acceptance, and darts away from her mother's hands so she can grab for the picture.
Stephanie smiles at her, fond in the way that people with no children of their own can be when observing them, and waves away the stall owner's thanks.
"It's nothing."
Drifting away from the table, she glances at Eskel and lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "I was an artist before all...this." One hand waves vaguely in front of herself, to indicate her body. "Well. Not much of an artist. I wanted to be, at least. Went to school for it and everything. When I could afford the tuition."
"Still, it's interesting to know." He says, warmly. "It's nice to now we've got talents beyond the work, right?" You're not just a killing machine, he means. And the kid seemed happy!" He says, as they meander among the stalls. "Oh, hey, that guy has some weapons and armor. Nothing fancy. Wanna look?"
All she is, all she's been allowed to be since she was defrosted is a soldier, a fighter, a wind-up toy that punches whatever's put in front of her. Steph has always had a fire burning in her, a sharp sense of right and wrong, but that never meant it was all she cared about.
Every now and then, she has moments where she remembers that.
But then reality reasserts itself, like Eskel reminding her she'll probably need to have some way to defend herself. She doesn't know what they're expecting on their journey to his home, but if he thinks she'll need armor or a sword, she's going to believe him.
Eskel's right, the man doesn't have much, his occupation mainly concerned with patching up other people's goods, but he's got a little in the way of leather chest-plates, a few very plain swords and a choice between wood and brass shields.
Eskel loiters outside, his burdens at his feet. He trusts Steph not to go nuts and spend all his coin. If anything, he expects she'll want to bicker with him about this expense.
She tries not to go for the most obvious thing to her in the stall: the shields. For one thing, she highly doubts that this merchant has anything like the one she's used to carrying — even if vibranium exists in this world, it's probably far too expensive for it to be found here, of all places — and even if either of them feel good in her hands, she doesn't want to waste Eskel's money on something that isn't terribly practical.
He's probably expecting her to return with a sword or something.
Certainly nothing that fancy, but there's a fair that are nice and heavy, edged with a brass band, perfect for percussive attacks or defense. It's probably the closest she's going to get in this part of the world.
"Something I can help with, my lady?" The shopkeeper asks, already a little baffled at her presence.
For some reason, she thinks 'I'm just browsing' isn't going to cut it in this arena.
Giving in to the niggling urge, she gestures to one of the shields on display, heavy with metal adornments but nothing that appears to be purely for form and not function. "That shield," she says. "May I see it?"
Maybe if she gets it out of her system, she'll be able to focus on more practical items.
Not only does she heft it easily, she also slips it on to her hand with the sort of practiced grace of someone who's done a motion hundreds of times before.
Adjusting the buckles one-handed, she turns slightly when she hears Eskel's voice behind her. "What do you think?" she asks, turning the rest of her too and holding the shield up in front of her. "Not too bad, eh?"
"Is that what you're used to?" He asks. "Whatever you're comfortable with." He says. "You'll have to show me how you do it, though. Never seen anybody fight with a shield before." He takes out his coin purse. "How's it feel?" He's smiling at the way she picks up the shield with familiar ease. She'll be alright, he thinks, out here in this dangerous and unfamiliar place.
"Well, if you took a shot at me, I could probably tell you. That's how I tested the first one." Not that they seem to have guns here, but still. God, she misses Peggy sometimes. What a firecracker.
Slipping her arm out of the straps, she turns the shield over in her hands consideringly, looking across the slight curvature of the front, weighing it in her hands. She'd be able to tell if she actually wanted to keep it for real if she had the space to test it out; as it is, it feels pretty decent, a little heavier than she's used to, but serviceable. She'd probably get used to it quickly enough on the road, where she'd be able to practice with it a little.
Her head snaps up when she finally realizes that Eskel's tipping out some coins into his palm.
"What are you doing?" she asks, like she's not clutching the shield close to her body the way a child clings to a new toy it desperately wants.
"What, do you wanna pick out another one?" He asks, arching his eyebrow at her as the merchant sweeps the coins out of his hands. "Cause you seem pretty attached to that one." He's going to breeze past the thing she's probably fussing about.
"You don't need to buy me a shield, Eskel," she protests. "Surely something...else was more what you had in mind."
Even though she doesn't know how to use a sword, and while she can use a dagger in a fight, she's definitely not nearly as adept at knife-fighting as Bucky is. Bows and arrows were more Clint's thing than hers, even though she could probably do alright with them in a pinch. Out of everything on display in this little shop, the shield in her hands is definitely the instrument she's most comfortable with, but still.
"I need you to have something you're proficient in. Or as close as you can get here." He says. "If that's this then...easily settled." He crosses his arms. "If that's the one you want, then it's yours."
Honestly, what's throwing her the most is probably his easy acceptance that she wants a shield for her weapon instead of something more...weapony. Maybe a mace or something.
She's used to people accepting it as her kit where she's from, but the majority of people have had half a decade to get used to the idea of Cap with a shield on her arm. Here, where she's just some nobody, she'd expected more push-back on the idea.
Crossing her own arms would probably be more effective if it didn't just serve to brandish the shield in front of her, once again showcasing how easily she handles it.
"Your witcher has a fair point, my lady," she shopkeep says as he quickly disappears the coins he's been handed, startling her. She'd forgotten he was there. "It suits you well."
It's entirely pragmatic: if he doesn't have to teach her how to use a weapon she's not familiar with, it makes her a more effective traveling companion.
He gives the salesman a surprised but appreciative look.
"You heard the man, the shield's yours." He says, with his crooked smile.
Stephanie gets the distinct feeling she's being ganged up on.
Narrowing her eyes at them both, she resists the urge to huff, knowing that she's probably being unreasonable and they both have a point but also not wanting to accept that she's wrong.
"I'm not going to ask how much you paid for this," she says, fully aware that it signals her capitulation.
"I could tell you but you don't know the coinage and it would be meaningless." He says smugly. "Come on, darlin', I've got some more stops to make and then we can circle back to the room and consider our next move." He thumps out of the shop to heft his bags back up onto his shoulders.
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Eskel spends breakfast-- heavy potato scones with jam-- with a scrap of paper that may or may not have a bloodstain on it and a stub of pencil making a list of things he needs to pick up, paired with the names of merchants he remembers as being less likely to fuck him over on supply costs. There's also coffee, which Eskel is surprised to see in so small a town so far north, but it gives him hope that maybe he'll find a little to take with him.
The market isn't as large or impressive as those in a truly urban city, but Steph will still be treated to a taste of that lively chaos. Merchants are less easily intimidated by their strangeness, mellowed by the possibility of coin as they call out to try and offer Steph jewelry or simple perfumes. A few of them still call her "madame sorceress", which Eskel will let himself find funny as long as everyone stays friendly as they go along.
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For some reason, out of everything that she's seen so far, it's the pencil that's the most jarring.
She enjoys the market, though, allowing herself to admire the hustle and bustle of it all as she trails Eskel between the tables and stalls. People stare at her, but not as much as she was afraid they might, and she's definitely used to ignoring the prickle that comes with being ogled at, so that doesn't bother her. When people try a little too hard to convince her to purchase something she doesn't need, she demurs in a pidgin of what German she remembers from the war and the Russian she taught herself when she was first trying to bring Bucky home, hoping that the people here won't understand her.
They might. She doesn't consider it until it's too late, though, and then she has to commit.
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Eskel laughs.
"Nice, good plan." He says, keeping half an eye on her as they move through the market until he finds a good dry-goods stall where he can get most of the things on his list. "Keep an eye out for anything you want. We should get you your own pack and a sword if you want it, or if there's something else you're good with." He says, before he gets sucked into haggling.
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He finds it, eventually, at a stall selling bulk items she assumes he's going to be taking home, probably to help bulk up the winter storage, and she leaves him to his shopping. He doesn't need her hovering over his shoulder, distracting him. Besides. The stalls nearby are interesting enough to hold her attention.
By the time Eskel finishes haggling for his shopping list, he'll find her a few stalls down, crouching in front of a small child, balancing a piece of paper torn from the noticeboard nearby on one knee as she uses one of those pencils she found so fascinating this morning to quickly sketch the child and her little dog caught mid-play.
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"For your daughter," she says, handing the notice with the picture on the back as well as the pencil back to the man before stepping back to fall into place beside her witcher.
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"Thank you, my lady. Little Joan is absolutely tickled with the present, I see."
"Sorry about that." Eskel says sheepishly. "That looked pretty good-- you're full of surprises."
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Stephanie smiles at her, fond in the way that people with no children of their own can be when observing them, and waves away the stall owner's thanks.
"It's nothing."
Drifting away from the table, she glances at Eskel and lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "I was an artist before all...this." One hand waves vaguely in front of herself, to indicate her body. "Well. Not much of an artist. I wanted to be, at least. Went to school for it and everything. When I could afford the tuition."
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Every now and then, she has moments where she remembers that.
But then reality reasserts itself, like Eskel reminding her she'll probably need to have some way to defend herself. She doesn't know what they're expecting on their journey to his home, but if he thinks she'll need armor or a sword, she's going to believe him.
"Yeah, alright, let's take a look."
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Eskel loiters outside, his burdens at his feet. He trusts Steph not to go nuts and spend all his coin. If anything, he expects she'll want to bicker with him about this expense.
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He's probably expecting her to return with a sword or something.
She has no idea how to use a sword.
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"Something I can help with, my lady?" The shopkeeper asks, already a little baffled at her presence.
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Giving in to the niggling urge, she gestures to one of the shields on display, heavy with metal adornments but nothing that appears to be purely for form and not function. "That shield," she says. "May I see it?"
Maybe if she gets it out of her system, she'll be able to focus on more practical items.
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Eskel doesn't stray far from his purchases, but he does poke his head into the shop to see what's keeping her.
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Adjusting the buckles one-handed, she turns slightly when she hears Eskel's voice behind her. "What do you think?" she asks, turning the rest of her too and holding the shield up in front of her. "Not too bad, eh?"
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Slipping her arm out of the straps, she turns the shield over in her hands consideringly, looking across the slight curvature of the front, weighing it in her hands. She'd be able to tell if she actually wanted to keep it for real if she had the space to test it out; as it is, it feels pretty decent, a little heavier than she's used to, but serviceable. She'd probably get used to it quickly enough on the road, where she'd be able to practice with it a little.
Her head snaps up when she finally realizes that Eskel's tipping out some coins into his palm.
"What are you doing?" she asks, like she's not clutching the shield close to her body the way a child clings to a new toy it desperately wants.
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Even though she doesn't know how to use a sword, and while she can use a dagger in a fight, she's definitely not nearly as adept at knife-fighting as Bucky is. Bows and arrows were more Clint's thing than hers, even though she could probably do alright with them in a pinch. Out of everything on display in this little shop, the shield in her hands is definitely the instrument she's most comfortable with, but still.
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She's used to people accepting it as her kit where she's from, but the majority of people have had half a decade to get used to the idea of Cap with a shield on her arm. Here, where she's just some nobody, she'd expected more push-back on the idea.
Crossing her own arms would probably be more effective if it didn't just serve to brandish the shield in front of her, once again showcasing how easily she handles it.
"Your witcher has a fair point, my lady," she shopkeep says as he quickly disappears the coins he's been handed, startling her. She'd forgotten he was there. "It suits you well."
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He gives the salesman a surprised but appreciative look.
"You heard the man, the shield's yours." He says, with his crooked smile.
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Narrowing her eyes at them both, she resists the urge to huff, knowing that she's probably being unreasonable and they both have a point but also not wanting to accept that she's wrong.
"I'm not going to ask how much you paid for this," she says, fully aware that it signals her capitulation.
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