"Why did I not jump at the chance to throw out an excuse? Maybe then I wouldn't be here cleaning up this- ... Mess." I grumble, barely holding myself back from exploding as the limits of my patience become fit to burst. It's hard not to have one of the rusting pipes out back come to mind. A rumbling snort eases the building pressure on mind, and the mop smacks across the floor once again.
Do the gods take my cynical hopes and dreams seriously anymore? Or have I been so sarcastic with them that they might as well be bloody pulp? Like all those pathetic annoyances who got trampled not all that long ago. Gods above, I hate them all.
Every single one of them pretentious, entitled, insufferable- The bell rings. My eyes straighten out, as do the arches in my posture.
"Ah, good, the grumpy one is here." Futhans' crush says, coming in through the door fully. Sighing as my tasks are once again interrupted, I set up an additional barricade of mop and bucket. One that's not likely to ward off anyone. I've seen it happen too many times. I put the sign out and they drag their muddy boots right over my clean -wet- floors. Brown prints. Brown prints... Brown prints!
Forcing a blink, I get on with attending to the interests of someone else. Though, I do find myself a little surprised, as Neeameth never really comes here often. If at all. Bit like the rest of her galloping kind in their out-of-mind building. She's even dressed up in her valley-rider gear, so, I am not sure if this is in a professional capacity.
This shop has never supplied them with tools, they get their stuff elsewhere.
I suppose I better try and see if I can sell something to her and her group. Otherwise, the fat bastard, wherever he is, will be roaring down my ear canals about not getting him enough sales. Yet, I am glad for every bit of failure this shop faces. As glad as an evil man is that Undwote forgets his victim's soul.
Finally reaching the counter, I lift the top up and withhold myself from slamming it down. It bangs anyway. Any excuse to break this place, any excuse at all... Give it to me. I hate it here. I hate it!
"How can I help?" my soulless form asks and Neeameth's mood drops as hard as the fat bastard would should I shove him down a cliff. Her hands come up onto the counter and I look beyond them, to her sheathed weapons. I wonder if she'll let me borrow a pistol so I can shoot myself? No, no! So I can shoot the fat bastard and every one of his supporting piles of excrement.
"First, is it possible to keep this purchase private?" she asks and I find myself, quite simply, perplexed. What kind of shop does she think this is?
"We don't hand out details to others if that is what you are asking...?" I ask anyway, to make sure I am at least somewhat on the right track here.
"No! Can you make it so this never gets out?" she reiterates, and it's still as unhelpful as before. I blink a blank expression into existence. Not a whole lot is going on in my head.
"We don't record information that would link back to buyers...?" I say, her words still not making much sense. I'm hearing her loud and clear... But... I don't even know.
She sighs with quite the amount of exasperation, "Never mind."
"Ok." I go, not moving. A hand goes into one of her many pockets.
"I am looking for something like this, got one?" she asks, handing me a small notetablet. Taking the enchanted clay in hand, I read what has been hammered in.
My brow settles into a thoughtful frown, the details filling out my empty head quite easily. She wants a voice recorder, yet she has written the details down as if it's a complex, artisan-crafted item. I honestly want to laugh at her… Then at Futhans, for having a crush on such a clueless girl. This item isn't rare, expensive or out of the ordinary. It's most certainly not Ancient Jhermonikra technology.
It's a toy, right behind her and neatly packed, ready for her use.
"Uh, yeah, right behind you." I finally answer, pointing at the items in question. She spins, an 'O' on her lips and a devious snicker right after. In the moment of lacking eyes, I flash a private smile to inject some joy back into my day.
"Is there a limit to how much these can record?" she asks, one in hand and another teetering in the grip of another. I glance to my side to make sure the bastard and his vile spawn and collective are not here. They are not.
"No, they can handle a good few sentences. Perfect for tricks and pranks." I say and I cheer on the inside as she settles on only one of the toys.
"Magic really is something, isn't it?" Neeameth asks with a chuckle.
She's making me want to groan in despair. I really want to. We live in a land where the winds blow with an emerald glow so often. We're so very close to one of the greatest schools for magic in all the world! Suhurlodst itself is within maybe a few weeks to a month's worth of well-packed foot travel from here. And, here I am, serving people who are surprised by the most basic of concepts as tools.
How do people even make it in life...?
"Not too much recording, then?" she asks again for clarification and I give a quick nod.
"Yeah, don't go more than a few sentences for simplicity's sake." I repeat, and she digs into her purse.
"That's fine. I don't think I will be needing more than a single one." she tells me as if I care.
"Anything else?" I ask, as my job otherwise forces me to.
"No, this will do. How much do I owe you?" she answers and I tap a tag. My answer on the product.
"It's on the box." I tell her, noting her initial confusion. Her eyes widen slightly and she flips the item around to look at the little piece of flat stone with a price cut into it. Moving over to the cash register, I get to putting in the details and money rattles across the counter.
"There you go," she says, leaving with all due haste.
"Your change!?" I call out, watching her speed off. She's already out of sight, forcing me to follow after her if I want to get her back into view. Death will grab me before I put in that effort. Waiting for the Pack of Seven to sniff my soul's location out will be a bearable wait compared to another shift anyhow.
"KEEP IT!" she screams, going back out through the door and almost slamming it shut. Feeling the need to collapse against something so I can huff and puff some mental exhaustion out, my eyes twitch. She left so quickly I didn't even register the purchase properly, let alone sort her change. With a gnashing growl, I heave the counter up and grab an item to properly clock it in.
Thank the gods this awful place doesn't use a system that cascades problems like this. I amaze myself, really. This place is terrible, it is horrible. And, somehow, I can always think of ways it can get worse. I always can...
"Gods, please, give me an excuse to get out of here." I click with growing anger as I go to finally sort out the floors. My eyes paranoid of everyone who walks the street beyond the front-of-shop glass.