Subject: 'Chalk?'
Posted on: 2016-07-01 12:10:35 UTC

Stockins wasn't certain if he had chalk. He was, however, certain that he had many pockets, many of which were slightly heavy.

'Don't doubt it,' He said, rummaging through legions of the things. His hands went all over, up, down, left, right. His rags rustled like flimsy trees in the wind.

'Miracle ointment,' He muttered, replacing the flask. 'Snake oil,' He murmured, replacing the bottle. 'Liquid dishonesty,' He grunted, replacing the waterskin. 'Actual captured spirit of a lawyer,' He mumbled, glancing at the dark, smoke-filled jar. A pair of very eye-looking objects looked at him from within. Stockins glared back, and replaced in his pocket.

'Chalk!' He exclaimed, holding the dusty, slightly dirty stick of chalk out for Alex. 'Y'can have it free. Chalk market's bloody crashin', these days. Chalk salesmen crouched in dirty corners, livin' in boxes. Tragic. Ought to have variety in your wares, y'know?'

((Never seen fire-eaters. Probably ought to do some of that old research stuff, eh?))

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