>>5839261On instinct, you pinch the hem of your robe and lift it up gently as you step up and off the street and into another building. You didn't have to do it - given that it was for working in, the tailor had given you several centimeters of ground clearance, so it didn't actually [i[touch[/i:lit] the floor or need to be held up, but the habit had been trained into you thoroughly, and you found it surprisingly difficult to shake despite never <span class="mu-i">actually</span> doing it before.
You had noticed an immediate change in the way people looked at you when you stepped out of the tailor, feeling somewhat more human than when you had went in. They regarded you slightly more warmly, but more importantly, they paid you less mind. Looks directed your way were quickly ended, as they decided you either weren't a threat or weren't worth getting involved with. The burly man behind the counter was clearly the former in mind.
He leaned over the counter and grinned in what he probably thought was a friendly manner, showing multiple crooked teeth. “Hello there, lassie. You in the right place?"
Your eyebrows went up, slightly. “Is this not an armory?”
He laughed, a bellowing sound that reminded you oddly of baffles. “It's a gun store! Not exactly your normal haunt, is it?”
“No.” You admit. “Yet I have need of it.”
The very first thing that stuck out to you about this place was the sheer amount of weapons on display, here. The walls were already lined with stuber pistols fighting for space with stubrifles, but beyond that, knives seemed to come out of every available surface. Some were slid into cups along with identical siblings, others featuring simple engravings and tassel-decorated hilts were laid out in simple wooden boxes, and a few carefully kept behind glass bore the obvious teething of a chain weapon.
“So you do.” His grin got even wider, and you found yourself wondering if the miracle surge of adrenaline you had felt before would come once again. It wasn't that you felt a threat from the man, but the exact opposite: he was simple far too <span class="mu-i">excited</span> at the idea for his own good. Or <span class="mu-i">your</span> good. “Does the little lady have an idea of what she might want?”
“I might.” A hand disappears up one of your sleeves, and you fish around briefly in one of the multiple pockets that lined your body glove and the insides of your robe. The benefit hadn't occurred to you before, but you found yourself immensely grateful for the lack of an obnoxious bounce from some of your heavier pockets as you walked down the street on your way here. You pull your arm out, and hand him one of the bullets that had been in the stash. “Do you know what this is?”
He barely looked at it, pinching the casing gently between a pair of meaty fingers and briefly flipping the bottom of the case up to look. “Yeah. Armor-piercing stub round. Arbites-killers if you're feeling like a fancy prick. Nasty surprise if you're rich enough for body armor.”
