Masma was worried. It was market day again, and the pantry was looking rather bare. She couldn't put it off any longer. She had to go.

Standing in the kitchen, basket ready, fidgeting with her shawl, she wondered how it had come to this.

She used to love market day. The noisy merchants bringing news, the cheap trinkets she could (sometimes) afford, the smell of fresh apples brought in from their sister village to the west…

Now she dreaded it's arrival every week.

He was to blame, that damn hooligan. Ever since he'd interfered with her perfect afternoons looking through books rare book merchants brought in each week, her Thursdays had become a hellish exercise in anxiety.

-*6 Thursdays ago*-

There she'd been, minding her own business by the book merchant's caravan, when a cut-purse had dashed by, making off with her…well, her purse. That's what they were named for anyway.

She hadn't been overly concerned – it had been over 2 months since she'd been pick pocketed. She was overdue. The ridiculous crime rate this tiny village managed to support was impressive. It was also the reason why she had an "outside purse" and a real one.

She kept her outsidde purse half- filled with Iron bits, the smallest unit of currency there was; she sometimes used it to pay random snacks (she loved street food - Dysentery be damned), but mostly to distract the street-urchins from her real purse. Like any sensible villager.

So, there went her outside purse. After a moment of watching the thief, she returned her attention to the book in her hands. Until she heard the distinct sound of a scuffle from the corner alley she'd seen the boy enter.

Like any local villager, she took that as a sign to exit stage left. Maybe head towards that potato stand on the other side of the market.

Putting down her book wistfully, she turned to leave and came to an abrupt halt.

For some reason, this section of the market had been completely emptied. There, across the street, was the stall she'd just bought apples from – unmanned, tent cloth flapping in the wind. Masma took a quick look around the alley that the walls of merchant's caravans had formed. There, in the dark shade formed by the tent against the town clock, stood a group of young men. A more careful glance around revealed more guys milling about this section of market in similar groups of two's and three's.

Damn.

How had she not noticed this? No wonder everyone had left. Lost in reading the book's introduction, she'd completely missed the arrival of the local criminal overlord's gang.

They had moved into the area 6 months ago, terrorized the Night Watch and picked off the majority of the criminal vermin that populated this village's underbelly. After a flurry of activity that incited general anxiety in the public, they had mysteriously quieted down.

Now, apart from collecting tribute from the local gangs and disciplining the occasional rogue, they seemed to do nothing at all. Of course, by that Masma meant nothing except appear in public places to spread panic and terror like they were doing right now.

At least it was just the henchmen making this public appearance, and their leader was absent as usu-

Never mind.

Masma sighed inwardly at her luck as the Hooligan himself stepped out from behind the alley she'd heard the sounds of fighting come from. Behind him, one of his minions hauled the struggling thief.

Ah. She was probably going to have to witness his beheading or something, now. Lovely.

The Hooligan was tall, imposing, and had his hair long and held back in a loose ponytail. The the black robes he and his gang wore didn't give room for much in the way of description. In spite of this, one got the distinct impression that the Hooligan was fit. Suddenly, he turned and headed down her way, facial expression speaking of extreme levels of boredom. The lines running from his eyes down to the corners of this mouth gave the vague impression of a scowl. This only enhanced his bored look. His eyes though, told a totally different story. They were intense. So intense that their blackness seemed an even blacker black than the usual kind to Masma.

Wait, his eyes?

Damn it, she definitely wasn't imagining it. This hooligan was staring directly at her!

While before she had hoped he would dismiss her presence and carry on with this public execution - or whatever he was going to do to that thief - now she began to get slightly worried. The Hooligan and the struggling thief drew closer, accompanied by the ripe smell of the thief's unwashed body. She was frankly surprised that she only had to suffer the amount of stench usually attributed to one body, Most of slimy criminals among the villagers had the uncanny ability to smell like an entire crowd of sewer-dwellers. Apparently, Hooligan and his crew took personal hygiene seriously. Wonders never cease.

Suddenly, the main henchman - who she was having trouble pinning down as a man with all that long blonde hair - made a violent movement in her direction. She flinched, but he was just tossing the thief at her. The cut-purse lay in a crumpled pile at her feet, groaning.

A deathly quiet voice spoke.

"Now, vermin, what do you say?"

Looking up from the thief, she looked at henchman no.1, but he hadn't spoken. That only left his boss. She gulped and peeked up at him from her lowered head. He was staring intently at the thief.

"S- S- Sorry!"

Smelly Thief's voice was thin and reedy, and it was hard to make him out with his teeth chattering like that, but she got the gist of what he was saying. He reached up toward her, his grubby fist clutching her now-stained purse. She didn't want to take it. Goodness only knew where his hands had been. Also, what the hell was this? Why was Baka Hoolingan Overlord making this man return her outside purse?

Confused, she glanced at the Hooligan. He stared intensely back. She understood the message.

Take the purse or I will string your corpse from the village gates using your entrails.

Gulping, she took the purse, holding it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger. Overlord blinked.

Approval?

"Maa, Itachi. Are we done here? I got shit to do, un!" Hooligan no. 1 spoke.

He directed his intense stare at blondie, who seemed completely unfazed, then turned - without so much as a word to her - and left.

-*NOW*-

Gathering up her wits, Masma picked up her basket and headed towards the door.

Worrying, waiting for the other shoe to drop, wondering if he would show up again expecting some sort of reward - or show up for any reason whatsoever – was useless. He hadn't shown up for 6 weeks. What were the chances he'd show up now? She was probably safe

She sailed out the door.