[ Exploring this place is a bit like being in the South for the first time, honestly; everything tinged with a shade of the familiar, like the market, feels all the more uncanny for its differences. Dorian's in pale green and white, gold bands of serpentine jewelry around his wrists and throat, eyeing the spread of costumes and trying to pick out anyone in garb that echoes any part of Thedas.

The sweet girl running this stall promises one lock of hair is nothing in exchange for her wares, and Dorian plays along with her brief, harmless flirtation until he catches a subtle flick of the wrist and a glint of metal out of the corner of his eye.

He meets the eye of the thief as they both step out of the stall, and sees that the metal was just glass reflecting light: a small sun-catcher in the shape of an eight-pointed star.

It's not terribly well-made, but it is charming, in its way; as is the thief, well-dressed and hair coiffed just so. ]

Surely there are better uses for such clever fingers.

[ Dorian takes the trinket with a smile, all the same. ]

Though really, they can't complain about theft if they won't take coin. And I'm in the miserable process of growing my hair out, so I don't have a single lock to spare.