There were just so many shops with chic clothing that Bolita was all but paralyzed with choice. As many do when faced with such a challenge, the duchess fell into an old habit: window shopping. Having known the pain of having no money to spend on luxury goods, Bolita also knew the art of admiring fine wares through a glass wall that she'd never have the money to break through. It was a pastime for the hard of heart, really.
"My Lady, are none of these shops to your taste? There is another town a short carriage ride away from here if you are displeased with what this town has to offer," offered Alfred, who was trailing behind her.
"Oh, no everything's fine here. It's just there's a lot of amazing shops and I'm having a tough time deciding which one to enter first."
"Ah, forgive me for interrupting your thoughts then, My Lady."
"It's all good," replied Bolita, who's attention was then promptly caught by a sparkle in the distance.
Feeling particularly crow-like, Bolita hopped over to a stall in the midst of many other stalls located a ways away from the plaza's center. The wooden stall featured its wares in simple, square boxes and had a bright blue covering above it that shielded its vendor, a stout middle-aged man with brown hair and a receding hairline, from the sun. Being sold were shiny trinkets, including jewelry and cool containers.
"These are some really nice jars," commented Bolita.
She picked up a silver-colored, star-shaped jar that looked large enough to hold a whole peanut. She had never seen anything quite like it.
"I have to have this," she gasped.
"How interesting. I had my eyes set on that jar as well," said a voice from beside her.
Bolita looked up from the jar she had been so busy admiring and saw that a short figure, also wearing a cloak with a hood concealing their face, was standing next to her. The duchess was fighting everything in her not to say, "First come first served, better luck next time loser." If her experiences buying lolita dresses auctioned off at unbelievably low prices had taught her anything, it was that.
"Do you have another one of these?" Bolita asked the vendor.
"Unfortunately no," he replied. "You see, that jar in particular was imported from the overseas country of Dondeestá, known for its luxury goods. It was a rare find, and as you can expect its price matches its quality. It's worth nothing less than 20 gold pieces."
All Bolita's years of academy training would have been wasted if she couldn't smell how much of a scam that was, which she fortunately could.
"13," she countered, cool as a slice of cheese fresh out the fridge.
"18."
"12."
"You drive a hard bargain miss. That jar is made out of pure silver you know."
"10, take it or leave it. I won't waste my time here any longer."
The vendor looked over to the short figure besides Bolita, as if judging the odds of them being willing to pay the price. However, the figure stayed silent.
"15 then young miss," frowned the vendor.
With victory written all over her face, though the vendor couldn't see her smug grin, Bolita whipped out her purse and handed over the coins. Fifteen gold pieces was still way over priced to her, but she could tell from the look in the vendor's eyes that he wasn't going to go any lower. There was also the fact she had plenty of money to spare, so there was no harm in blowing it and setting it free into circulation.
Now that she had made a purchase, Bolita was feeling in the groove and was ready to start spending on dresses.
"Excuse me, miss, could I speak with you for a moment?" The question came from the speaker, who Bolita guessed was a guy, going off their voice.
Bolita looked to Alfred, who stood a few steps behind her, and Marie, who stood a few steps behind him. They shrugged. Evidently, the cloaked figure did not look like that big of a deal to them. Bolita guessed Alfred was about double of the mystery man's height, so she felt pretty confident that her butler would be able to hold his own against the small fellow. That was, unless the lil dude was a fighting champion in disguise, but she doubted that was the case.
"Um, sure?"
"Not here though. Wouldn't want to bother him," said the figure, gesturing to the vendor who was beginning to look a tad peeved.
"Right, right."
The two of them sidled their way over to a nearby alley like a pair of crabs stuffed in chiffon tutus. Once or twice, Bolita had to compress her billowing skirts in order to fit in the space between the carts of the vendors.
Just four or so steps behind them, Alfred watched curiously, and about five or so steps behind him, Marie squinted at Albert as if to say, 'Really? You're gonna let him set up a flag that easily? Really?'
Once they were good and settled in quite possibly one of the seediest places Bolita had seen since her arrival in this brave new world, the cloaked figure turned around so they could begin speaking.
"So you see madam, originally I was supposed to be meeting up a client here, but they ran into some, ah, shall we say… difficulties. But, then I saw you and your generous," here he nodded to Albert and Marie, "entourage, and you seem like a prime candidate for my wares."
"Okay?" Bolita raised a silver eyebrow in what she hoped was a particularly prim manner.
"Right so, I've got them right here," the cloaked figure lowered his voice. He ushered her closer so that her cloak might cover whatever it was he was pulling out the sides of his cloak, much like a terrorist or pervert might do.
"Here, here." He pulled out a bag of what appeared to be sparkling powder, not unlike the kind of candy powder you'd mix into a drink for a fruity flavor. "I got the goods, you got the money?"
Bolita, by all means, was not as stupid as she looked or appeared to be. She could tell that this was probably going to be the start of some unsavoury business. As she was debating whether to politely refuse or politely refuse and back away, the cloaked figure grabbed her arm and began to shake it insistently.
"Hey, hurry up," he whispered, casting a quick glance over his shoulder, suddenly slipping into what had to be this world's equivalent of a Scottish accent. "I'll have you know I got it on good authority that the coppers'll be here any moment now. They ran me outta the last town an' I can't afford to lose my second best market. Quickly now, missie, hand over the clinky stuff."
"Um," Bolita said, deciding to distract him with a couple of questions and a thinly veiled rebuttal as she backed away. "Who are you? I don't think I've seen you or spoken to any of your associates before."
The figure leaned back and let go of her arm in surprise.
"Whaa?" He shook his head, a shiny golden chain flashing behind his cloak. It was either a pocket watch chain or a thick, money necklace. "Naw, naw, 'course ya know me. It's me, your old buddy Sarman D' Wite? Ya know, I've been dealing with your old man for a few years now. 'Course you know me, we know each other."
Bolita, did in fact, not know a single Sarman D' Wite. This was proving to be a major issue. She turned to double-check with Alfred or Marie to make sure that this Sarman chap was actually a family friend, but Sarman seized her arm again and shook a finger threateningly.
"No siree lady, not so fast. You were gonna rat me out to the coppers weren't ya? Well this Sarman won't be having that!"
"My Lady!" Alfred and Marie cried in practiced, shocked, unison, and Sarman somehow stretched up and pulled Bolita into a chokehold and pulled what appeared to be a water gun out from the folds of his cloak.
Bolita, for whatever reason, suddenly felt compelled to ask if it really was a water gun, so she did.
"Is that a water gun?" she asked from under a rather foul smelling cloaked arm. Bolita had never been fond of the scent of onion rings.
"How dare you, you absolute buffoon!" Sarman whirled on her, pointing the gun to the side of her head. "It's a rasengun! The finest model, of course! My very own creation!"
Marie gasped from behind Alfred. She was still 5 steps behind him.
"My Lady, get away from him! That's Sarman D'Wite! Famous for his ruthless tactic of waterboarding and his massive empire in magic powder. Oh no!" Marie gasped again, fulfilling her role as the exposition character.
"The audacity! Get away from the lady right now!" Alfred stripped off his butler jacket, threw down his gloves, and flexed his muscles in preparation for attack. Alas, he was not the most totally jacked person in the gym, so his sleeves did not rip, much less even stretch, from the power of his muscular exertion.
So it seemed that this Sarman D'Wite was not, in fact, a family friend. Bolita now sorely regretted her former naivete. After all, regular family friends didn't have to go into shady alleys to have private conversations, did they? And now due to her idiocy, she would be stripped away from her comfortable mansion and galleries of really nice lolita dresses for an indefinite amount of time. Bolita silently lamented this tragic turn of events as she watched Sarman explain the mechanics of his rasengun to Alfred, so that Alfred could better appreciate the true magnificence of its inner workings.
"You see, the rasengun channels my qi into the shape of a sphere hard and fast enough to pop a rubber balloon. And depending on my qi attribute, I can upgrade it into the wind dynamite or the chirashi," Sarman sneered as he turned a completely meaningless dial on the side to maximum capacity.
"Say goodbye to your lady, suckers!" Saruman laughed maniacally. A circle of runes appeared around him, glowing blue. Bolita read them because they were in English. It was just 'weep-wop' repeated over and over in the Camic Sons MS font.
"Hasta la vista, baybeee!" Sarman did a schwing in the style of a certain pink haired magician and a barrage of bright blue balls erupted from the nozzle of the gun toward Alfred and Marie.
"My Lady!" yelled Alfred, running in slow motion toward Bolita to the Carriages of Flame music playing in the background.
"AHHHH!" screamed Marie.
Poof! Went Sarman and Bolita as they promptly disappeared into a cloud of onion scented smoke.
"No!" Alfred fell to his knees in anguish, his monocle cracked and chipped and his butler coat singed and torn despite him having done nothing but a bit of slow-mo running. Bolita and Sarman had spirited away, gone as if they had never been there to begin with. The only evidence of their presence was the cloud of smoke that was starting to smell suspiciously of buffalo sauce.