Market of Destruction

Now, let me tell you tales of high adventure......

DaddyBear the Minivandian looked up from his scroll of wisdom as his mate approached him.

"Mate of mine, I tire of the flesh of the semi-flightless bird.  The children and I would like to eat meat pies made in the style of the Italians tonight." Irish Woman purred as she laid her delicate hand upon his shoulder.

"Of course, love of my life.  Do you wish to prepare this delicacy yourself or should I purchase them from one of the merchants in town?" the Minivandian answered.

"I have contacted a merchant, the Hut of Pizza, who has agreed to have several pies ready for you in a few minutes." she replied, her Celtic green eyes shining in the lamplight.

"Then I shall go hence, and fetch our dinner from the good merchant.  Do you wish for me to get anything else for you, my love?"

"A flask of the bubbly concoction of Atlanta to mix with my corn liquor tonight.  Oh, and your son, the last scion of my house, requires milk and eggs.  He has been eating as if he were a horse in the field.  I fear that he is about to sprout like dragonbane under the June sun."

"I shall stop at the Walled Market to get these items on my way to fetch dinner, then.  I need to pick up a few things for myself."

"Do you think that wise, my lord?  This is the day after the day of Thanksgiving and the heralds have sung songs of bedlam at all of the markets this morning."

"I shall not go unarmed, and the rioting should be over by the time I arrive."

"Go carefully, my love.  I would not wish to lose you to a harpie of the Soccer clan because she thought you might have eyes for the same gadget she lusts for."

"So I shall, my darling.  I shall be back within the hour."

DaddyBear armed himself with Vaslav, his mighty Czech pellet thrower, and Gnarlthing, his blade of sharpness and stabbiness, then made his way to his trusty steed, Silverrust.  Driving through the countryside to the Walled Market, he could see evidence of the horde that had descended upon the market district.  Metal carts, normally kept neatly lined up by the store owners, were strewn throughout the lot of parking, and refuse from the boxes of gadgets were blowing across the ground like brightly colored tumbleweeds.

As he approached the entrance to the market, he saw that the signs and handbills that were normally affixed to the windows had been ripped down in a crush of humanity.  The young lady who normally greeted him on entering the store was sitting on the floor, hugging her knees, and crying softly.

DaddyBear made his way to the food area, and found the milk, elixir, and eggs that were required by his lady love.  The shelves of food were in disarray, and several work crews were making heroic efforts to reorder them, but DaddyBear could tell they would be working through the night to bring things back to normal.

Out of curiosity, DaddyBear took a walk through the aisles of the magic elf boxes.  He wished to see if any remained, and to see if prices had come down.  He found to his surprise that all of the magic elf boxes, be they large or small, were gone.  The leader of the group that cared for this area was walking through the lane of the portable magic elf boxes, his blue shirt rumpled and torn.  He had a look as if he could not see what was in front of him, instead focused on something thousands of yards away.  DaddyBear heard him speaking, and leaning in found that he was mumbling "I'm sorry, we only have two of those.  Please get back in line." over and over.

Leaving the poor wraith to his fate, DaddyBear hurried to the front of the market to pay for his items.  There he found things mostly in order, but the young man to whom he gave his items and money wore one arm in a sling and looked as if he had warred against the foulest of trolls that day.  Inquiries as to his state only brought a blank stare and a growled answer of "Black Friday".  DaddyBear made a sign against evil behind his back at those words, and prayed to the gods of his ancestors that he would never meet a Black Friday, which must be a curse upon whatever land it decides to ravage.

DaddyBear walked back to Silverrust, looking back over his shoulder at the devastation, but also watching those around the lot of parking.  The horde that had done so much damage might still be in the vicinity, and he had no wish to be mobbed for his milk, eggs, and bubbly elixir.

Upon reaching the Hut of Pizza, DaddyBear found the same shell-shocked faces, and was amazed at the number of meat pies that were waiting for others to pick up and take to their homes for dinner.  The wizened crone who waited upon him whispered at how they were almost out of cheese, and had made an urgent call for help from their supplier.  DaddyBear thanked his ancestors for bringing Irish Woman to him, she with the foresight to order dinner before the hordes decided on Italian pies for dinner.

Thus did DaddyBear acquire the food his family required, and upon returning to his freehold, he thought long and hard about his decision to stay close to home that day.  Had it been an angel that told him to stay away from the markets this day, or had one of his ancestors joggled his mind into staying home with the Young Prince instead of trying to find a new boomstick or the magical brass talismans needed for them to create fire and smoke?  In the end, he imbibed a dose of bubbly elixir of Atlanta mixed with the fine corn liquor of Kentucky and just thanked his luck that the horde had stopped at the Walled Market and not his village.