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“Nah, that’s a good idea, I’ll get something. But uh.” If this was Richter you’d just take his wallet out of his back pocket. Not that you <span class="mu-i">couldn’t</span> steal Van Halm’s without him noticing, but, “I just need…help…getting it.”
“With picking it out?” Karel asked as he stopped and got out of the car, “I think you’d know him better than I. Men can have a variety of tastes, as you know Von Tracht can prove.”
Actually, you could guess perfectly well what <span class="mu-i">Richter</span> was into. “More like…” You grit your teeth, getting out, “Payin’ for it. I didn’t bring my wallet.”
Karel suppressed a snort as he walked on. “Yet you packed your stockings with pistols?”
“Shut up and give me a loan. I’ll pay it back.”
Karel smiled and squinted at you like you’d told a joke. “Loan? Please. Unless you’re buying sacks of gold I’ll buy it for you.”
You cocked your left arm reflexively and punched Van Halm in the side. “That’s not the <span class="mu-i">point</span>, siren boy, it’s a gift from <span class="mu-i">me</span>, not <span class="mu-i">you</span>.” A snap of pain burned in your arm, not healed enough for what you wanted it to do. You blamed Van Halm for it and punched him again in the chest, “Retard.” It didn't make your arm feel any better.
“Fine, fine,” Van Halm brushed your hand off of him, “Twenty per cent interest, compounding per day.”
>What do you want to get? General idea is good enough.
After the brief detour, Van Halm drove you to the so-called Blau District, supposedly named that for the vividness of the skies above, but it was only a bluer grey than the rest of the capital. It was, however, renowned for higher culture.
“This don’t seem like a place to get anything gross,” you said as you glanced around skeptically at the menagerie of fancy establishments, each a different sort of richly decorated cake, like a shelf of illuminated books on each side of the street, itself tiled in patterns that stretched into mosaic when looking down the road and sidewalks.
“Did you think I’d take you to another tripe grill this time?” Van Halm blinked at you in curiosity, “you wanted a shock to the senses, not a warm bath.”
You wouldn’t say <span class="mu-i">no</span> to a tripe grill, or a sausage shop. Cheap as it was good, both of those, but too greasy for you risk this dress on, not with the company that gave you it in the first place.
“At least tell me where we’re goin’,” you said.
“A south shores style seafood place,” Van Halm said, “It’s in this district even if it’d be as common as the butcher’s basics were we near the sea. Sea fish has to come a long way, and it takes an investment in special technology to keep it fresh this far inland, even for less desirable pieces of the sea’s bounty.”
So milt was seafood, then? You’d hardly ever eaten fish. It was hard to think of what it could be.
