I guess whoever was working agreed it might be worth their time, because they appeared from a dimly lit back-room area. I watched her emerge, feeling a sense of familiarity as the dimly lit backroom of the shop I worked in was my favorite, too. It was quiet, especially when business was slow. I could work on my art alone, as I preferred. Instead, it was always "I need this" and "I want my girlfriend to have a nice diamond.." and "Blow me, fuck off". Oh wait, the last one was a phrase all of my own.




Unfortunately for whoever was running this shop, I was less than amused, because clearly, you know, the things that piss me off don't apply to me. Of course, right?




I had wandered for a moment, looking into the different kinds of potions that the witch who either owned or worked in the shop created. One side of the counter I neared smelled sweet and sticky. It made me think of that awful feeling of laffy-taffy sticking your jaw shut, even though it tastes good as hell. Maybe that was what love was supposed to feel like: annoying, tastey, and sticky. I sighed, very uninterested in love potions, and unwilling to waste any more time looking at them. The girl walked in approximately at the time I was inspecting whatever hairy thing was dangling from the ceiling nearest the potions farthest away from the love potions. I cast her a side-long look unintentionally, especially because the furry thing was moving. What the fuck? Did it have whiskers, too?



The way she moved caught my attention, drawing whatever haphazard idea I was manufacturing about the furry ceiling dwelling thing. She had a fluidity about her that all but demanded attention, complimented by the low-cut on her dress. I sighed, immediately wishing I had been paying more attention to the furry thing, after all. Conveniently, I felt my fingers twitch signaling me I was about to really need a cigarette, and one also conveniently went to my lips. I lit it, inhaling slowly before surveying the shop again and proceeding towards the counter she stood behind.




The woman leaned forward as my fingers brought the cigarette back to my lips. She'd catch the smell of the cloves inside, far less offensive than a typical cancer-stick stank. I looked upwards, calculating the herbs behind her. What the fuck do you even use some of this stuff for? I mean, hell, I know how to cook and I don't think I could find a use for even half of these herbs. Skeptical, to say the least, I felt my jaw clench once as if reminding me I was on a deadline.




"If by different, you mean something that doesn't smell like cupcakes and fairies producing similar results, then why yes. Yes I do need something different," I started, completely aware of her brief hesitation at first. That alone drew the corner of my lips up into the beginning of a smirk, without realizing it looked far more of a smile. It was endearing, somehow. Would that mean I get a discount or something? The last thought is what brought my lips into a smile before I could take another drag of my cigarette. Her coy tone did egg my smile on further. "Fortunately, I prefer taking hearts out myself, or into my own hands."




I licked my lips, finishing the cigarette all too quickly.




"You have privacy policies, yeah?" I said, the accent a little harsher than the original formal irritation that had neglected to let it out full steam. I ran a hand through my hair, not uncomfortable but definitely excited to get the evening over with. "You have a good reputation for success. I need a potion that doesn't trace back to me, my employer, or here, for that matter. And one that has absolutely no possibility for failure. I was told you are the best in the area and I'd be lucky to catch you instead of one of your co-workers. I expect you'll live up to that?"




I stubbed the cigarette butt out between my fingers, unsure if I should let her know I already knew her name or whether or not I should wait for it. However, the chair nearest one of the counters looked mighty inviting and I had a very, and I mean very, brief internal debate about whether I should ask permission but by the time I had made a decision I was already sitting down.



" I hope it won't be a problem if I wait for it. I'm on a bit of a deadline, this evening."

The words clearly weren't a question, but a polite gesture that might make up for my presence in her shop while she worked.