“Identification please.” The guard said.

Levy shifted the pouches from one arm to another before reaching around to pull a translucent blue card out of a side pocket of his pack. He passed it over to the guard and waited as she looked from the Levy picture to him and back to the picture. Satisfied, she handed it back to him before continuing with the routine questions.

“Anything I should be worried about in any of your packs?” She eyed them over for a moment before turning her gaze back to the blond.

Levy shook his head and raised the pouches of scrap.

“Just scrap in these, and traveling supplies in my rucksack.” He replied.

Just before she could ask, Levy dropped the scrap and pulled his pack from his back, opening it for her to inspect. They always asked. When she finished her search, she waved him clear, letting Levy return it to its place over his shoulders. The rhythmic clunking and sliding of chains rang out as somewhere unseen someone turned the mechanism that hauled the small portcullis clear from the entryway. He picked up his pouches and was about to clear the gate before she stopped him again, drawing his sand cloak to the side, exposing the pistol strapped to his left thigh. The gate stopped moving.

“You have a permit for that?” She raised her brows, clearly suspicious.

“Right, forgot about that.” He let out a chuckle of embarrassment before pulling the paperwork out of the same pocket as his I.D. called home.

It didn’t take her long to look it over. Instead of handing it back to Levy when she was done, she nestled it neatly back into its pocket. With another wave of her hand, the gate went into motion again and, once he was clear, slid back down into place.

The city was quiet, for the most part. Only an hour into the day, most places were just beginning to open up or were getting ready to. Levy made his way down the polished red-tinted stone streets and into the busy part of the city. There were two main parts to Foolshope: The outskirts where people lived and the city center where shops were set up. Most houses in the outskirts were built from stone and bits of scrap metal and wood were often used for decoration or repairs if they were needed. Scrap metal was especially valuable for covering window holes. Then, making his way into the city center he walked past quaint shops with makeshift fences and homemade signs, market squares with carts and stands, and covered pavilions for other sorts of activities. The closer he got to the actual center of town, the more “con-man-esque”, as he liked to call it, the buildings got. The more popular term was business-like but Levy felt as though that was a misleading title. The buildings were bigger and more extravagant with castle-like exteriors and fancy windows. It was like a competition to prove how rich you were. Levy hated it. It was a clear display of their goal. The only reason any company made anything to benefit Foolshope, was to get money out of the people. And that they did, with ridiculous prices. Yet another reason to not visit the city. 

Unfortunately, through the city center was the fastest way to get to the scrap depot: A long, warehouse-like building that sat on the border of the company buildings and the other shops. It had a few large doors on the long ends, one of which Levy found open. He dusted the crumbs of his lunch from his hands and made his way into the dimly lit building only to find it empty of people. There were large piles of scrap sorted by size, color, and material throughout the building, but other than that, the place was unoccupied.

“Levy, my boy. It’s good to see you again!”

A large hand found its way firmly onto Levy’s shoulder, stinging his skin as it did. When he looked to the side, he found a large man much taller than himself with a thick handlebar mustache standing next to him.

“I should have known it was you, Wate.” Levy winced, rubbing his shoulder as he recovered. “And I haven’t been a boy for some time now, you know that.”

Wate led Levy further into the building towards the back, looking at him with a cocked brow. Then he stopped and looked him up and down.

“What?” He looked puzzled.

Levy grumbled and rolled his eyes.

“I’ve been an adult for 6 years. I wouldn’t be scrapping for you if I wasn’t old enough.” Levy gave an exasperated sigh.

There was a moment of silence before a large smile washed over Wate’s face and he let out a chuckle. He let his hand come down again hard, this time on Levy's back, nearly sending the smaller man to the floor.

“Ahh, I’m just messin’ with ya.”

Annoyed, as he often found himself with the large scrap boss, Levy took a moment to collect himself before continuing along the path Wate was leading him. In the back, there was a large pile of unsorted scrap and a table and a few buckets, seemingly for hauling sorted pieces to where they belonged. A ways from the larger pile, Levy opened up his pouch and dumped what he’d gathered to be assessed for pay.

“It’s not much, but I’ll take what you pay me.” Levy said as Wate looked over his findings.

After sifting through the scrap for a few minutes, Wate finally stood and gave Levy a pitying look. Levy’s shoulders fell.

‘This isn’t going to be good.’ He thought.

And sure enough.

“The best I can do for ya is 15 coin.” Wate finally said.

Levy’s jaw dropped and his eyes went wide.

“15! Two weeks ago this would’ve gone for 30.” He felt his face grow hot with anger.

It may have been a bit of an exaggeration, but not by much. He knew things hadn’t been improving in Foolshope, but were they really going downhill that fast? Wate shrugged and pulled 15 coin from a pouch around his belt.

“Take it or leave it.” He said simply.

Levy looked from the scrap boss to the coins and chewed at his lower lip. He couldn’t decide if it was worth haggling or not. With a sharp exhale, he made up his mind.

“Can you do 18?” He narrowed his eyes, giving a serious look to Wate.

Wate’s eyes searched Levy’s, looking for any sign that the younger man would back down. He found no such intent. Levy would get his due.

“16.” Wate concluded, drawing another coin from his pouch, plopping it onto the pile.

Then, without letting Levy get in another word, he grabbed his hand and dropped the coins into them. The two held a glare for some time before Wate pulled his hand away, shoving it into the pocket of his overalls. He raised the other in a wave as he turned to walk away.

“Take care. I appreciate the business.” Levy watched him open the door to his office and pause. “Sorry, I can’t do any better for ya.”

Levy wanted to be frustrated… He wanted to march right into that room and demand what he deserved for two weeks of wandering the wastes searching for scrap, knowing he might turn up empty-handed. But he didn’t. There was an air of sincerity in Wate’s voice. One that proved that he couldn’t take his anger out on him. It wasn’t his fault, and Levy knew that. So with a defeated sigh, he pocketed his earnings, turned, and made his way out of the depot.

Generally speaking, Foolshope wasn’t a cheap place to stay for those just passing through, and clearly it wasn’t getting any better in that regard. There were a few inns and taverns scattered about, but most didn’t get much business. The Sandy Spider was no different. Its location sure didn’t help and neither did its appearance. Other than the company buildings, it was the only 4-story building in town and it didn’t look very sturdy. In fact, Levy was surprised it hadn’t toppled over yet. It seemed to creak and sway with every gust of wind, no matter how miniscule. To most, it was a run-down shack that was good for a few drinks and not much else. To Levy, it was the closest thing to a home he’d ever had.

When he walked up to the door and looked the building over, he just smiled and shook his head. It looked like it hadn’t changed, as always. For something that had been standing for so long, one would think it would have accumulated some damage, but no. The stone walls and foundation were in the same shaky condition they’d always been in and the same holes were covered with the same bits of scrap metal. The door was made of wood, unlike most places which made theirs of recycled metal, but the hinges were old and rusty. They made a familiar scraping sound as he jostled the door open.