The sickly-sweet syrup ran down the buns and stuck the soft insides to Andromeda’s fingers as though it were glue. The slow process of cleaning her fingers after demolishing the buns was her third favourite process in this morning ritual. The first, of course, being eating the actual bun itself.
However, the second was a different type of enjoyment. Not only were the markets new for Andromeda, but the people were also. The sheer amount of species that seemed to be present on Jutrand was overwhelming enough on its own. Never mind that they all had their own language to converse in. Their own cultures, religions, beliefs, practices. Of course, Andromeda had known other species existed in the galaxy. The ship she came from was home to a variety. She had just never seen so many all at once.
After befriending the baker that had set up his market stall just next to the woman who sold the sweet buns, Andromeda often found a seat ready and waiting for her there. The baker normally stacked four boxes into the shape of stairs, the topmost one being for Andromeda to sit on. That was where she sat now, the woman who sold the sweet buns still in sight and the market street from one end to the other completely open for her viewing. Andromeda lent back against the brick wall that made up the building. It had some residual heat in it from the constant fire burning inside, but it was cool enough to distract from the blazing heat of midday on Jutrand.
By the time she had finished her first bun, everything had been normal. The people walking by, despite their strange and unknown appearances, were normal. The faces that stood behind the market streets were normal. Even the wears they were selling were no more out of the ordinary than usual. It was not until a quiet voice pipped up over the hum of the crowds that Andromeda found her attention being drawn to a specific spot in the market. Ironically, it was back to where she had just come from. The woman selling the sweet buns.
In front of the table, where Andromeda had stood, was a boy. Or a man. It was hard for Andromeda to tell. All she had was his voice, which washed against her form like a wave of seafoam. There was something not quite right in it. Andromeda’s hearing was excellent. She had grown used to using it to hear changes in the atmosphere around her, good or bad. What she was still growing used to was understanding what the fluctuations in people’s voices meant. This man, or boy, sounded hesitant. He sounded quiet. He sounded as though he was nervous.
Andromeda did not like it. Of course, people had plenty of reason to be nervous, but what reason could they have to be nervous at the markets? Sure they got a few thieves now and then, but nothing more valuable than a few credits worth of merchandise or purses had gone missing. Andromeda lent forward a little in perch, to try and make out some more details of his face. It was almost impossible. Her height, coupled with the constantly shifting crowds in the market, made his outline appear too erratic for her to make out much beyond the fact that he looked to be human. Or at least humanoid.
She watched with intrigue. Almost subconsciously knowing that something was going to happen. The true realisation was when the man took far too long to reply to the woman’s request for credits. Andromeda assumed he was going to run, but what actually happened was much worse.
Bright orange flames that appeared like streaks of lightning in Andromeda’s vision were dashed haphazardly across the table. Wood and buns alike went up in flame, with violent sparks splashing out toward the woman who sold the buns. Andromeda dropped what was left of her remaining treat and slid down from the top of the wooden boxes. The jump was a little further than expected. When her feet met with the floor, she could feel the impact rattling the back of her teeth, but that was not what she focused on. Instead, she scrambled as fast as she could across the slippery cobblestones toward the woman.
Andromeda was the first one on the scene, and the first thing she could think to do was pick up a bucket filled with liquid at the back of the stall. It was exceedingly heavy, being brim-full with water that sparkled against the blaze of flames. Andromeda aimed it at the woman. A cascade of water came tumbling over her head as she rolled across the floor. It did what Andromeda had hoped it would do. It soaked her to the bone and dampened the flames that licked at her clothing. By the time Andromeda had lent forward to check if she was well, others had rushed to put the rest of the fire out.
Men stronger than she was helped the kindly woman sit up, where a law enforcer began to take details about the incident. Andromeda cast her gaze to the market stall. It was charred a jet black, with plumes of grey smoke curling from the slowly dying embers still alight. She felt her heart breaking just a little. Her morning routine would not be the same without the buns. As the commotion grew around the stall, Andromeda slunk back from the crowd. She had no desire to be involved in this beyond putting the fire out. No desire to be caught up in investigations or questioning. Yes, she had seen the boy. Yes, she very much liked the woman who owned the market stall, but she had a natural aversion to the law enforces.
They somehow reminded her of being back home. Of living with pirates, whose instinct it was to avoid the law at all costs. The only memories Andromeda had of law enforcement was being shoved into the nearest hiding place to wait for their passing.
Instead, Andromeda’s mind turned to the boy that had caused all this fuss. Of course, he was completely lost to the crowd now, but not for Andromeda. She could smell the acrid stench of smoke. Primarily coming from the market stall, but there was another trail too. She imagined it was from the edges of the boy's sleeves being singed when he threw the flames. Andromeda turned on her heel to follow the scent. Smell was her least favourite sense to use. It often made her feel like a dog when she utilised it. Like a bloodhound on the hunt for fresh prey. Regardless of her personal feelings, it would help her find him.
She had no rhyme or reason for wanting to hunt him down save for curiosity. Why had he done that? Why not just take the buns and run? Why cause such damage and destruction and harm? She had to know.
