Prosthetics [2]

Riful's small feet padded softly along the bazaar's cobblestones as she reached a hand up to scratch at her brow. The child was scowling; this was her first trip to the bazaar; in life as Alphonse, there had never really been a need to venture past Salvar's borders.

Two shops she'd been in earlier in her trip had ejected her quickly when she'd baldly stated her business. The small body was turning out to be rather troublesome. No one seemed to take her seriously anymore; taking care of today's work was going to require a bit of cunning.

Riful ducked into another armory - like before, without bothering to notice its name - and strode quickly to the counter.

"I need to pick some things up for my father," she stated clearly, pulling her leather coin purse out of a coat pocket and dumping it unceremoniously onto the counter before she began to dig through the pocket again, tugging out a mess of paper scraps. She shuffled through them quickly, and continued.

"Father's out on an assignment, and mother's sick, so I was trusted with the errand." She paused and looked up from the scraps, giving the merchant a grin.

"I need a pair of small steel katars. Father wants one or both to have a lever on their handles that can deploy two smaller blades from the main body. You know," She held a hand up, with her index, middle and ring splayed wide in a forking pattern. "I think they call those compound katars. If that's not possible, then he just wants a pair of three bladed katar. If you can wrap them up so I can carry them home safely, I'd really like that. Oh, and steel, please."

((The last time I tried to make the purchase, I unfortunately timed out. As Advent doesn't seem to be a mod anymore, I decided to simply post this again instead of reopening the old one.))

Out of Character:

I hate to be a bother and all, but I'm, um, going to bump this topic.

Out of Character:

Sorry you had to wait so long.

A large, gruff man stood behind the counter. He had a scruffy gray beard and a leather apron, adding to his overall weathered appearance. He was busy polishing some large, bladed weapon and didn’t even notice the small girl walk in his shop. It wasn’t until she began speaking that he peered over the counter to see her. He carefully placed the weapon on a shelf behind him and listened to the girl’s order.

“Now what’d a lil’ girl like ye’self be needin wi-“ But he cut himself short when he saw the pouch of gold coins on the counter.

He leaned back a bit and mindlessly rubbed his scruffy beard. He was an honest man, who normally wouldn’t sell weapons to children, but these were hard times, and he needed the money. The girl seemed responsible enough.

“I can fashion ye some o’ them. They’d be about oh,” he held up his hands about seven inches apart “…yea long. Now the lil’ blades are tricky; with all the fiddly bits ta make ‘em work. I can do it, but it’ll be more ‘spensive than regular blades.”

He seemed pensive for a moment. “I reckon with all tha labor they’d come out ta about 60 gold a piece, er 120 fer tha pair.”

He leaned over the counter. “Now ya know I’m only doin this ‘cause o’ ya sick mum. It’s yer parents ought ta be buyin their own weapons.”

He trailed off; mumbling to himself something about “ain’t proper” and “chile’s barely eight”.

A giant, triumphant grin pushed happily at her small lips, but Riful managed to press it into a mere, sweet smile up at the shopkeep, her brown eyes twinkling merrily. Perhaps, there were some advantages to the body; despite its sickliness, its near useless child's strength, its lack of...certain appendages. When it came down to children, most people were a bit soft at heart, and that showed even in such a big, haggard man as this. Even she had to admit, the story itself had been rickety from the start, threatening to fall apart at the slightest prodding, yet it had been swallowed like poison in the guise of medicine.

She cheered joyfully as the shopkeep named the price, noting despite it all, some wariness still remained in his face. "Really mister, I can't thank you enough. I've had N'jal's time, trying to run this errand. I'm glad father gave me the responsibility for this. He was going to cut into his job's time just to come down here! I told him 'no way, no how'. His pay ties directly into the time it takes him to complete the job, an' we almost got enough to get mom's medicine. Expensive stuff, I say the elves are fleecing us, but father swats me anytime I say it. If he wasn't so rough on his weapons, he wouldn't have broken the last pair, mother said. But at least the rainy day money can cover it."

The shopkeep turned away then, perhaps to check his material stores, or look at old designs. Whatever it was, Riful didn't care; so long as he made the katars, she couldn't give a damn even if he waddled off into the back to smoke a pound of opium. The child's frown twisted into an expression of silent, deep thought, pressing her fingers together as the craving of a good cigarette pushed at her. Sixty crowns still sat unspent and useless in the patched over leather purse. What else could be of use to her? One of the greatest assets of the new body was its speed and agility, so any sort of armor would be out of the question, even something as frivolous as a shirt of chainmail.

Another weapon? Riful's small hand pushed against one of the many hidden pockets of the coat, feeling the outline of the straight razor inside. It was as inconspicuous of a tool as she could evver really want, but it was never much of a weapon - then again, that was what the katars were for. The child tapped at the point of her chin with one finger, ignoring the noise the shopkeep was making. Something maybe, like the razor, as much a tool as a weapon...something that could cripple just as it killed...

"Er, mister?" Riful looked up, her eyes sad and pleading now. "I um...have one other thing to ask you for. You see I uh..." With a bit of conscious effort, she forced heat into her cheeks, and her face turned red with a blush. "I was getting some ice from the block the man brought by a copuple days ago, so that she could have some cold water as a comfort but I...I....I broke the icepick!" Pursing her lips, she looked down at the floor in a mockery of shame.

"If father comes back and finds it, he's going to double my chores and tan my hide. Could you....please, please make me a new one, too? Just an iron thing, a replacement, so I can go bury the remains of the other one in the yard! I'll pay you for it, 'course I will, but I'll be your best friend forever, too!"

The man raised a brow at the child’s new request. She was laying it on thick, and he wasn’t quite sure he believed her, but he had a daughter of his own, and despite his grisly exterior he’d always had a soft spot for children. This caused him to act against his better judgment, even though he knew even a shoddy ice pick could withstand the strength of an 8 year old girl.

“Eh, icepick?” he said finally. “Those’re pretty easy ta make. I can fix ya up with one fer only about 7 gold pieces.”

He paused for a moment. He thought about asking the girl for the broken pick so he could re-forge it, but something told him she probably didn’t have it. He decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and not ask.

“Right then. Two katars with extra blades and fiddly bits, and an ice pick, brings ya to 127 gold.”

He began carefully counting out the gold she had dropped onto the counter.