he didn’t like what he was hearing.
“Hey! Supply and demand ! The flocks of parv-kine were pretty slim this span, so I got to go up on my price. Do you want it or not ?!” the gruff man bellowed.
“No, you can keep it!” Tim said with agitation, walking away. He certainly didn’t want to miss his ritual portion of luscious Parv-bacon, but he wasn’t going to pay that much.
“200! I can’t believe that! That’s extortion! That’s robbery! That’s…”
“ Not the end of the world .” Beaver interrupted.
Timmy was so high-strung, yet Beaver could always calm him down.
“There are many other vendors …” Beaver said, trying to talk some sense into his friend, “you might find it cheaper elsewhere.”
“Well … I really don’t have a stomach for parv-bacon today anyway.” he shrugged, casting aside his disappointment.
“Maybe I’ll get some sim-berries… Oh! this looks good !“ Timmy said as he began to scatter among the aisles of trinkets and foodstuffs.
Beaver shook his head in agitation, and thought to himself-- let the buying spree commence.
Other than the murals, Beaver was never very impressed with the Bazaar. He would not buy anything, except for the occasional Occal-fruit; but even then it was in great moderation. By ancient or even mid-ancient standards, Beaver was very rich. Through his workjob, Holopram promotions, and bonuses from the Catholic Parlament; (for ending the lives of rebellious miscreants) he had amassed a great fortune of several million Goldpence. However, he did see a need to use any of it.
Logically, he thought that binging and purging, massive amounts of drugs or food just because you could, was worthless and stupid. Perhaps, it was a part of his sociopathy, making him numb to the inner feelings of want or greed. Or, unknown to him, he was holding on to all of it for a greater purpose. Either way in the face of commerce, the Bazaar was nothing more than a great nuisance to him. It was just something that he put up with every Decision day, for Tim’s sake.
Timmy, on the other hand would binge spend every GP in his possession each Decision day. He would buy lots of consumables, but also forbidden things like medicines, tools, chemicals, and other contraband. He would then take all of his newly acquired possessions to an abandoned building; he called his dugout . (Whatever a dugout is …) Then, he would hide it all in a mystery place, like a squirrel gathering chia seeds for interval. Not even Beaver was allowed to enter the building, when he was hiding his foraged swag. His spoken reasoning for it all was “ What if the Academy falls and there is another conflict? How would you survive? ” Beaver would always stand in the pathway every decision day, rolling his eyes as Tim stocked his hidden doomsday bunker .
“Are you done yet?” Beaver said with a sigh.
“Almost … I just need to get one more thing.” Tim said with his arms filled with newly-bought miscellanea.
“You are such a hoarder .” Beaver again puffed with an air of discontent.
“ So …” Tim said, as if to shrug off Beaver’s growing restlessness.
The Bazaar suddenly began to thin out from its vast crowds. The noise level from a bustling center of merchandise dropped drastically as each of the Academy faithful began to flood the transports. Everyone knew that it was close to dark, and dark meant tally time .
The Tally was an evil part to the Academy’s so-called benevolence. If you were not in your assigned domicile by the exact tict of the tally , you were to expect a night of sheer torture in the sleep chamber. This Tally, also was in place for coming to work and going home. Regardless of the situation, if you were the slightest of late, the nice ceil-bot would become a vixen of great sadism. It would perform its task by sending shockwaves of electrified pain throughout the body. How long this conditioning would commence was based on your tardiness:
One tict or less meant
“Hey! Supply and demand ! The flocks of parv-kine were pretty slim this span, so I got to go up on my price. Do you want it or not ?!” the gruff man bellowed.
“No, you can keep it!” Tim said with agitation, walking away. He certainly didn’t want to miss his ritual portion of luscious Parv-bacon, but he wasn’t going to pay that much.
“200! I can’t believe that! That’s extortion! That’s robbery! That’s…”
“ Not the end of the world .” Beaver interrupted.
Timmy was so high-strung, yet Beaver could always calm him down.
“There are many other vendors …” Beaver said, trying to talk some sense into his friend, “you might find it cheaper elsewhere.”
“Well … I really don’t have a stomach for parv-bacon today anyway.” he shrugged, casting aside his disappointment.
“Maybe I’ll get some sim-berries… Oh! this looks good !“ Timmy said as he began to scatter among the aisles of trinkets and foodstuffs.
Beaver shook his head in agitation, and thought to himself-- let the buying spree commence.
Other than the murals, Beaver was never very impressed with the Bazaar. He would not buy anything, except for the occasional Occal-fruit; but even then it was in great moderation. By ancient or even mid-ancient standards, Beaver was very rich. Through his workjob, Holopram promotions, and bonuses from the Catholic Parlament; (for ending the lives of rebellious miscreants) he had amassed a great fortune of several million Goldpence. However, he did see a need to use any of it.
Logically, he thought that binging and purging, massive amounts of drugs or food just because you could, was worthless and stupid. Perhaps, it was a part of his sociopathy, making him numb to the inner feelings of want or greed. Or, unknown to him, he was holding on to all of it for a greater purpose. Either way in the face of commerce, the Bazaar was nothing more than a great nuisance to him. It was just something that he put up with every Decision day, for Tim’s sake.
Timmy, on the other hand would binge spend every GP in his possession each Decision day. He would buy lots of consumables, but also forbidden things like medicines, tools, chemicals, and other contraband. He would then take all of his newly acquired possessions to an abandoned building; he called his dugout . (Whatever a dugout is …) Then, he would hide it all in a mystery place, like a squirrel gathering chia seeds for interval. Not even Beaver was allowed to enter the building, when he was hiding his foraged swag. His spoken reasoning for it all was “ What if the Academy falls and there is another conflict? How would you survive? ” Beaver would always stand in the pathway every decision day, rolling his eyes as Tim stocked his hidden doomsday bunker .
“Are you done yet?” Beaver said with a sigh.
“Almost … I just need to get one more thing.” Tim said with his arms filled with newly-bought miscellanea.
“You are such a hoarder .” Beaver again puffed with an air of discontent.
“ So …” Tim said, as if to shrug off Beaver’s growing restlessness.
The Bazaar suddenly began to thin out from its vast crowds. The noise level from a bustling center of merchandise dropped drastically as each of the Academy faithful began to flood the transports. Everyone knew that it was close to dark, and dark meant tally time .
The Tally was an evil part to the Academy’s so-called benevolence. If you were not in your assigned domicile by the exact tict of the tally , you were to expect a night of sheer torture in the sleep chamber. This Tally, also was in place for coming to work and going home. Regardless of the situation, if you were the slightest of late, the nice ceil-bot would become a vixen of great sadism. It would perform its task by sending shockwaves of electrified pain throughout the body. How long this conditioning would commence was based on your tardiness:
One tict or less meant
Similar Books
