Author's POV
The Fish Market of Equestria was less a place and more an experience—loud, fragrant, and teeming with life. It occupied a semi-large square near the bay, where the sea's breath clung to the air, mingling with the sharp tang of fish and the earthy scent of wet wood. The sun sat high in the sky, scorching down on colorful awnings and faded tarps that flapped in the wind like battle-worn flags.
Vendors shouted over one another, voices weaving through the cacophony as buyers scurried between stalls. The steady thump of cleavers against chopping boards beat like a tribal drum, blending with the splash of water poured over fresh catches to keep them glistening. Fish of every size and species were displayed on beds of melting ice—silver-scaled kingfish, fat-bottomed catfish, slippery eels, curled-up octopuses, and prawns with twitching antennae. Some shimmered with opalescent hues; others bore dull eyes that hinted they'd been caught days ago.
In the midst of this orchestrated chaos sat Lini, a woman with sun-bronzed skin and lines etched around her eyes from years of squinting against the sun. She leaned comfortably on a wooden stool behind her stall, scrolling through her outdated phone with one hand while the other fanned herself lazily with a folded piece of newspaper. Despite the market's frenzy, she was unbothered—this was her rhythm, her kingdom.
Across the way, a newer stall was manned by Jannet, a fresh-faced newcomer to the market scene. Dressed in a crisp apron and optimism, she stood tall, trying not to let her nerves show. Her smile was wide, her eyes full of eagerness as she arranged her fish in neat rows, misting them occasionally and adjusting their angle for maximum appeal.
"So, Lini," Jannet called over between customers, "do you have any tips for surviving this place?"
Lini glanced up from her phone with an amused smirk. "Yeah. Watch out for the quiet ones."
Jannet arched a brow. "The quiet ones?"
"Specifically, a girl named Evie," Lini said, nudging her chin toward the market entrance. "Skinny, kind of moody, usually shows up in the late afternoon. She only comes when her mother forces her, so she's already annoyed when she arrives. She'll look disinterested—like she'd rather be at a ballet recital than here—but she'll haggle you into the dirt and walk away smiling."
Jannet laughed, waving a hand dismissively. "Please. I grew up bartering in my grandma's vegetable shop. I could sell onions to someone crying. She's the one who should be careful of me."
Lini chuckled, sliding her phone into her apron pocket. "All right then. Good luck. Because she's headed straight for you."
Jannet turned to look.
There she was—Evie Nese, storming into the market like a soldier sent to the front lines of war. Dressed in worn jeans, a pale green shirt, and a scarf tossed around her shoulders with effortless flair, she looked half-pissed, half-bored. Her black hair was tied in a messy bun, and her gray eyes scanned the stalls with surgical precision. In one hand, she clutched a small coin pouch. Her phone watch flickered weakly on her wrist, its battery almost dead.
"She's coming to you because you're new," Lini said with a laugh, folding her arms.
Jannet straightened her shoulders and whispered, "Watch and learn."
Evie stopped in front of Jannet's stall, barely glancing at her. "How much for two fish?"
"Five peo each," Jannet said confidently, already rehearsing her counterarguments in her head.
Evie raised an eyebrow. "I'll give you three peo for two."
Jannet's smirk twitched. "Four for one. That's the lowest I can go."
Evie's face remained blank. She muttered just loud enough for Jannet to hear, "These fish look like they've been dead longer than I've been alive. And she wants four peo? That's bold."
And with that, she turned on her heel and melted back into the crowd like smoke.
Jannet blinked. "Did… did I just win?"
Lini, selling a kilo of prawns to an elderly man, chuckled from across the way. "You think so? She's just gone to make you think that. Give it five minutes—if she's in the mood today, she'll come back. And if she really wants those fish, she's going to make sure you regret every price you set."
Jannet rolled her eyes. "I can handle her."
Five minutes later, Evie returned—dragging a plastic chair behind her like a determined grandmother at a church bake sale.
Jannet's eyes widened. "You've got to be kidding."
Evie plopped the chair directly in front of the stall and sat down gracefully, legs crossed, looking like a queen preparing to preside over negotiations.
"Two peo for three kingfish," she said, calm as ice.
Jannet gawked. "Five peo for one kingfish."
Evie leaned back and rested her elbow on the arm of the chair. "Then I guess we'll be here for a while."
And they were.
Ten minutes turned into an hour. An hour turned into three. And before long, the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the market as vendors started closing shop. The once-vibrant crowd thinned, and the air took on the mellow tone of evening.
But at Stall 12, the war raged on.
Jannet, drenched in sweat and with sore feet, leaned heavily against her stall. Her apron was askew. Her hands smelled like fish guts and regret.
Evie? Still calm. Still seated. Not even a hair out of place.
"Two cents for ten kingfish, nine prawns, and an octopus," she said, folding her arms.
Jannet stared at her, utterly defeated. "Fine. You win. Just take them before I start crying."
Evie beamed, the first genuine smile of the day dancing on her lips. "Thank you kindly."
She handed over two small coins, barely enough to buy a snack, and watched as Jannet, shaking her head in disbelief, packed the fish into a plastic bag with some ice and newspaper.
"Okay, now seriously," Jannet said, tying the bag. "Where did you learn to bargain like that?"
"My mum," Evie replied casually, adjusting her scarf. "She used to bring me here even before I could walk. I think she haggled the doctor's fee when I was born."
Jannet laughed, handing over the bag. "Well, I hope we get a rematch someday. Though next time, I'm coming armed with snacks and patience."
"I'll be ready," Evie said, waving as she turned and disappeared into the now-quiet market, the orange glow of dusk lighting her way.
Back at her stall, Lini leaned on her table and smirked.
"Told you she'd waste your entire day."
Jannet grinned, watching Evie's silhouette vanish down the street. "Nah. I think she trained me for every customer I'll ever meet. If I can survive her, I can survive anyone."
As the last of the stalls closed and the sea breeze drifted in from the coast, the market transformed from chaos to camaraderie—vendors sharing leftover fish, cracking jokes, and exchanging tips under the darkening sky. Jannet, now one of them, felt her exhaustion melt into pride.
She'd survived her first day at the market.
And she'd earned her stripes the hard way—under the glare of the sun, the weight of fish, and the iron will of one teenage girl with a coin purse and a mission.