It was not often that an individual graced the shop with their presence that had any idea what to do with the weaponry inside. Granted, that wasn't always the case with those who stopped in impulsively. Sometimes, customers knew exactly what they were looking for and by sheer acceptance of this fact alone I knew they were either supernatural, or determined in some kind of behavior or violent affliction they wanted to offend another with. So many people thought the shop might hold wonders inside like antiques or God only knows; they were right in that minor regard. Humans and young women thought the quaint exterior was an invitation to peruse the interior of the shop; here? They were wrong. Little did they know that most of the objects in the building were created with the sole intent to take lives or inflict some manner of brutality, yet here they were thinking they were looking at weaponry that might be sold to some kind of Hollywood film set in order to provide an authentic feeling to some kind of movie? Cinematic affects weren't particularly on my resume, though that didn't mean I wouldn't like to try my hand at creating some kind of weapon with a mind of its own to wreak havoc on a set. Perhaps Poltergeist itself was the product of a bored Witch or Warlock attempting to hone their skills at the expense of humans unaware of their impending misfortune. The manner with which the current customer perused the artifacts and weapons in the shop led me to believe she had the same kind of unfortunate wonder about the particular uses of said objects, that is... until one decided to make it's way into her digestive tract.

Who the fuck just eats something reminiscent of a weapon?

"...Were you born in a barn, or do you just like filth?"

My words were stated plainly, an ounce of irritation infiltrating the soft tone that effused itself into my voice, warping my words to sound evocative of a malicious stirring beneath the surface. It was difficult to curb the desire to spray disinfectant all over the woman and not to mention the counter she was smudging all about, but instead I refused to let my eyes wander to her mistake and instead, remain trained on her facial features in a way that was entirely characteristic of me. I had long since learned that my gaze fell heavy and intimidating with little effort, something that I liked to practice cultivating on the customers who happen to wander into my sanctuary unbidden.

There seemed to be little thought given to the object she had ingested earlier save for an utterance of surprise when I mentioned the object had been an explosive. Though it was evident she had doubts, the gurgling sound and the impending regurgitation brought a bit of a smirk to my lips â€" tilting the corners of them upwards as my eyebrows rose. Not horrendously impressive, showing off your hyperbole of a gag reflex but what else did she store in that ... apparently giant trash can of a self of hers?

"Size has absolutely nothing to do with potency."

The truth wouldn't rattle her, of that I was sure. The explosive magic woven into the metal of the little bomb was more powerful than magic that might have been necessary to explode a bigger object. Though neither explosive needed much talent, the particular bomb the girl had ingested had been a bit of a toy of mine; it was something I had worked on for quite a while in order to provide an illusive appearance, suggesting that it wasn't a bomb at all but a silly little ball, like a magic-8 ball or something. With a shrug of a shoulder, I sat up in order to get a better look at the explosive before nodding.

"You are welcome to tinker with it until you accidentally set it off. But if you don't clean up your drool I'll set the bomb off for you far sooner than you'd like."