(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

him deeper into the shop in a desperate attempt to make a sale.
A diminutive man grumbled, poking his head out from the back room, "Of
course your eyes spy a customer! They see a customer all the time...
customers on the STREET! We have no customers, we will never have
customers, it is useless and forlorn to hope for- POWERS BE! Miccah! We
have a customer!" he eyes sat alight and excited on the old gith.
"That's what I've been saying to you!" She lowered her voice and turned to
Dak'kon. "What can we do for you?"
Dak'kon clasped his hands and bowed politely, "I see you, shopmistress, and
would know who you are." It was said that outsiders make such
introductions upon meeting.
Miccah spat bitterly, hands on her hips, "I? I am chained to this anchor of a
pawnshop with a husband who doesn't appreciate me enough..."
Brokah interjected with heavy irony. "And I ask you, how could I not
appreciate the mouth and figure of a creature as beauteous as this? Truly
without discernment and taste am I..."
"Something I thought marriage could cure and which hope was entirely in
vain. Ach!" she pursed her lips, "That fat and lazy sod is Brokah. He is my
husband of twenty-some years, though his inconstant nature makes it hard
to believe he has not strayed in that time..."
"It certainly does make it hard to believe!" Brokah shouted back, "All those
chances, thrown away, when I could have been having the time of my life!"
"To be sure, the goats on the farm must miss your tender ministrations..."
Brokah purpled and the two of them fell into what sounded like the latest in
a long, long series of arguments. Their attentions were entirely devoted to
each other. Dak'kon stood, flummoxed, not quite knowing what should be
done.
Chaos. It was ever the fate of a githzerai to stand resolute in the eye of the
storm.
~~~~~
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