It was rare that I ended up working in the weapons shop during the day. While the owner had found previous coverage during daylight hours, somehow he had seemed to misplace said employee and needed my assistance.. Assuring him it would be a one time deal, I managed to somehow divert whatever translations I had been assigned to at my oh, you know... real job, and find myself at home in the back work room of the shop, dressed as if I was going to be attending my day-job with the exception of my entirely too loose tie hanging chaotically around my neck with the top few buttons of my shirt undone. Some days this would have irritated me, this change in my plans of where I would be and what I would be doing during the day but for once? The irritation wasn't something that graced me with it's generally welcomed and expected presence. My mood had settled somewhere between rare, explicit good humor and an ambivalence that rivaled good humor in its rare appearance, allowing me to float along with an amiable air to my behavior that certainly wouldn't have been present had I spent the entirety of my day staring at a page of characters of languages the idiots I worked with couldn't fathom. Needless to say, I was more than happy to find the shop empty and quiet when I arrived to interrupt the silence with a racket attributed to the clang of the swords banging against the wall in some kind of enthusiastic display at my arrival while the stereo turned on to play music that was low and complimented by a heavy bass that sounded more like the soundtrack of an Underworld movie than appropriate for the daytime of a shop that might be filled with people at one point.

Might.

Generally, my task was to attempt to keep as many customers out as possible with antics that would impress even the most cumbersome of individuals. There were no custom orders that needed to be filled, and my personal docket of said items was clear which left my schedule wide open to light a cigar and park myself in a chair close to the daggers. This location in particular was one of my favorites in the store, enabling me to see the street outside the shop to tell if anyone was going to enter or not. Sometimes humans would walk by the door, seeing what they presumed to be an abandoned shop or a shop that was doing poorly, uncared for and dilapidated in appearance. In all reality, it was simply a very easy illusion to dock onto the building; it was as easy to anchor such an illusion on my own too frequent agitation and let it blossom over the building as it would have been to post a "beware of dog" sign onto the front door. The illusion quite typically kept unwanted visitors from prompting any customer service, and those who did walk in? They usually knew that the shop was there in the first place by word of mouth or otherwise. Simply put, I wasn't about to service anyone I didn't have to. Think of it as a morning off! With that in mind, it was only with a brief raise of an eyebrow that wasn't even remarkably induced by curiosity and instead elicited by vague amusement that I noticed a young woman entering the shop.

The tell-tale bell rang as the door clanged shut, but neither the audible sound nor the apparent inspection was enough to truly pull my attention. I had propped my feet up on the counter to lounge back in my chair and enjoy the staunch taste of the Cuban cigar I adored and there was absolutely no way some stupid young woman who probably came in to find something "pretty" to "protect her" from whatever she was afraid of hiding under the passenger side of her car at night. Fuck it. After a long drag of the cigar, I blew the smoke in a very slow exhale in order to relish the taste for as long as I could as I noted it wouldn't be long before my attention would be necessary. It was the movement of my shadow on the opposite wall that diverted my unamused attention to the woman who was picking and prodding at things on the counters or in all honesty, whatever was most within reach of her. The Shadow seemed to have it's interest peaked, creeping up behind the woman with the shadow of a small hand mace grasped between its dark, ethereal hands. With a gleeful wiggle, the Shadow pounced upon that of the woman, swinging it's mace wildly.

Really?

Maybe I should hire it for its prompt customer service. It didn't even need to be yelled at like I often did to service the patron.

With something of a lazy effort, I pushed the chair back in order to see just what the Shadow planned on doing with the customer in time to see her swallow something that vaguely resembled a bowling ball. Now... wait. What? My eyes widened slightly, less perturbed and more thoughtful than I had originally intended to gaze at her, a snicker blowing smoke through my nose instead of the deliciously long breath I had wanted. Hm... That couldn't be normal. Could you even digest that shit? Instead of pouncing like it had planned, the Shadow seemed just as confused and instead of attempting its move once more, the shadow broke apart into multiple other, smaller beings before all scurrying into a corner away from the woman as if she was some sort of terror that they needed to regroup from.

Fuckers.

"They give permits to just about anything these days. Humans just don't look close enough."

My words were curt, relaying nothing other than the briefest of acknowledgements to her existence in my shop. It was, though, the return of the image of her eating something that brought a bit of an upturned motion to my lips.

"They say you are what you eat. You definitely just consumed an explosive. Now tell me," I started to say, my accent a bit stronger than it would have been had I needed to be at my actual job. The casual aura of the shop was clear. " ... Do you actually digest that shit? Because it can't be healthy."