Extemporé

...Because it is.


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Ch. 7 This is important.


Henn heard a small bell ring as he opened the door and stepped inside, a musty smell immediately tickling his nose and making him sneeze. It made Quinn sneeze, too.
“A tes souhaits,” Henn murmured gently, feeling that he should keep his voice down. It was almost… magical. Centuries worth of spirits and memories lived in this building… he didn’t want to disturb them. Quinn was already completely enthralled with everything around him. He wandered into one of the aisles, leaving Henn by the entrance. He wasn’t too broken up about it; after all, he could wander around and look by himself… the shop wasn’t that big. He wasn’t afraid of getting lost. He slowly walked into an aisle, his gaze sweeping back and forth a moment before he ventured further. There was… so much here. He stepped up to one of the shelves, paws exploring everything they could reach. Old tea sets. A peacock-plume inkpen. That was really beautiful. Henn picked it up, and gently blew the dust off it. In the dimly lit store, the iridescent colours still gleamed as if the prettiest thing in the world. It was calming. He moved on. A set of antique forks, tarnished just enough that no one would ever buy them. Henn ran his digits over them, along the sleek surface. They were still beautiful underneath. Tarnish could be removed. It wasn’t permanent. He reached into his bag, trying to find his own fork. He stopped, frowning a little and letting his paw fall to his side. That’s right… he had forgotten. He’d sold his fork to get money to repair that old watch. He sighed heavily, his ears lifting hopefully. Maybe it was still here…? His face flushed. What would he do, if he found it? Steal it back? Now that wasn’t fair. He had sold it. It was gone. Didn’t mean he couldn’t keep an eye out for it, yeah…? His attention moved from one ancient thing to another, small noises of awe or intrigue heard every so often. He was halfway done with the aisle when he wandered to the other side. More trinkets. Antique toys, gaudy old-woman jewelry, but no fork. He continued down the way, stopping to stare at the top of a very, very old bookshelf. On top of a stack of old magazines was a small, derringer-type gun. It didn’t look too terribly old. It was in a small wooden box with a glass top to display it. It was a really sleek-looking thing, too. There were a few bullets in the case next to it, some of the places for them empty. How small they were! This is the sort-of things assassins would use. He picked it up, looking it over a little. He turned it over, trying to find some sort-of description maybe. Finding nothing, he gave a little sigh and placed the case back, precariously perched on the magazines. It had nearly left his paws when a voice made him jump.
“Henn! Going to take all day? C’mon we’ve been here for almost an hour already.” In Henn’s surprise, he dropped the case and spun around, hearing aswish as the pile fell. Ears lowered and he fled quickly, hurrying to the other aisle and trying not to look too suspicious. He hadn’t knocked anything over. Nosir.
“I’m h-here,” he stuttered, keeping his gaze on the floor. He felt a gentle tap on his collar, at which he sighed softly and leaned into the touch. “I’m.. I’m sorry I took so long.” He frowned slightly. “I get distracted… far too easily.” He heard Quinn laugh.
“It’s easy to get distracted in a place like this. Don’t worry about it. Now come on. I need to buy this and then we can leave,” he murmured, lifting his arm and showing him a large book. The binding and cover were hidden.
“What’s it about…?” Henn asked quietly. Quinn shook his head, blushing.
“Ahh… an old… cookbook. Yes. You know how terrible I am at cooking. Really old one… but really easy-to-follow recipes…” he explained in a nervous tone. Henn nodded, deciding not to ask about it anymore. He knew his cooking skills weren’t the best… but nothing about that book read ‘cookbook’. Quinn gave another smile and led them to the counter, Henn doing his best to hide his face from the woman behind it. It was the same woman he had sold his fork to. Hopefully she wouldn’t recognise him. Although it wouldn’t be hard… if his hair didn’t tip her off, his shyness and his hiding would. He had taken so long to actually speak to her. He was standing there a full three minutes before he managed to stammer out what he wanted. But she had been patient with him, and had given him a good deal. Before he knew it, Quinn was tugging at his arm and trying to lead him to the door.