Who: Tico Moreno, Eppie Cardiff, open(?)
When: Late Afternoon
Where: Eavesdown Docks

Considering everything, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that a place like Eavesdown was a little too much for Tico. The cacophony of life that greeted the unsuspecting target as soon as he set his foot outside Huria was perhaps one of the most overwhelming of the ‘verse and even though he was all for experiencing new, on Persephone this was taken to ridiculous lenghts. The clamor of people yelling and laughing and bargaining, and of ships landing and taking off made Tico’s ears ring, of the dozens of smells he could discern only a handful made him even remotely curious as to their origin, and the sights – they were the worst. Which, of course, made them the best, but it didn’t make his head hurt any less.

In his attempt to take everything in at once Tico didn’t bother with watching where he was going and almost ran into an annoyed-looking spacer. A group of young men, dressed in style more appropriate to the broad boulevards of Londonium, was playing cards next to an ancient-looking woman selling chicken. Besides her there was another vendor, this one with dogs in his cages, and behind him yet more people, with faces and dresses and hairstyles Tico had never seen before. And then, there, above the heads of a small crowd gathered to witness the spectacle, a boy floated in the air.

If Tico had remembered that he had just moments before been on his way to restock Huria’s medical arsenal, he would have probably protested that a nine-year-old, suspended in mid-air with a rope apparently attached to nothing as his only support was a valid enough reason for loitering. That purpose, however, with all its presumable importance was irrevocably chased away by more immediate concerns.

A boy. Floating. In the air.

His mouth slightly open, Tico edged between two other spectators, too confused to even remember to berate himself of getting sidetracked. Once, on St. Albans, Uncle Lalo had made a coin disappear from his palm. This was something quite different.

Who: Tico Moreno and Jonah Bryce
When: Morning
Where: Kitchen, Huria

The idle hours following the drowsy breakfast found Huria’s kitchen nearly deserted. Tico alone was seated at the table and immersed in a rather curious activity.

Holding a fork between his thumb and forefinger he pinched two of its tines and then, swiftly but gently, pressed its end against the table’s worn surface. A soft humming noise filled the air and his mouth twitched, curving into a smile. There was a pile of mismatched forks lying on the chair next to his, apparently waiting for their turn.

This was Tico Moreno, having fun.

He couldn’t use chopsticks, not even if his life depended on it. They hadn’t been that wide-spread on St. Albans and so there had never been any real need to practice – not at least before he left for Collegium, and then there had been a thousand other things to see and learn, and eating had seemed too mundane a chore to waste much time and energy on. So, when joining Huria’s crew, he had been delighted to find that whoever had equipped its kitchen had remembered those who just couldn’t make their food stay between two measly sticks long enough for it to reach their mouth. How most of the galaxy managed with such an illogical mode of eating was beyond Tico’s understanding.

Placing the fork on the table in front of him Tico picked up the next one in random and repeated the procedure. This time the produced sound was less clear, and so the smile transformed into a frown and the second utensil was placed to the left of the first one. Then he grabbed the third one, and the cycle began again.