Post by yaksha on May 8, 2016 22:54:29 GMT
It wasn't exactly rare for someone to enter the Red Dog Pawn Shop, nor was it rare for them to be wearing what the figure did this time. Yaksha Dokuja was dressed in a long, flowing robe that brought to mind some manner of monk or religious figure, an outfit halfway between a woman's wedding dress and a Tibetan monk's shawl. He glanced around the area, seeming to drink in all the details in utter silence, his expression one of ever so faint excitement. He stepped towards one of the many displays, running a finger along the few knick-knacks presented and arranged meticulously. He began to rearrange some of them in silence, waiting for the inevitable response from one of the employees...
"Can I help you?"
"Just waiting for your owner to arrive."
"I'm afraid he's not here right now, Sir."
"I wonder about that. Did Seran build fear into you? Or did he just teach you that phrase?"
This time the silence was a bit more pensive, as if the entity behind the counter was trying to make sense of whatever was going on; anyone who mentioned Seran by name was almost certainly a regular. And the look on the man's face as he turned to the pseudo-human was one that had no human corollary; the bones were knit in an unnatural, almost painful manner. The man behind the counter walked out from behind it, turning the sign over to "Closed" with a nimble flick, and then bowed his head ever so slightly.
"Who should I say is calling?"
"Tell him his shop is infested with snakes. He'll understand, or he'll come running. Either way, it'll be a perfectly honest answer."
yaksha © All rights reserved, 2015-2016.
"Can I help you?"
"Just waiting for your owner to arrive."
"I'm afraid he's not here right now, Sir."
"I wonder about that. Did Seran build fear into you? Or did he just teach you that phrase?"
This time the silence was a bit more pensive, as if the entity behind the counter was trying to make sense of whatever was going on; anyone who mentioned Seran by name was almost certainly a regular. And the look on the man's face as he turned to the pseudo-human was one that had no human corollary; the bones were knit in an unnatural, almost painful manner. The man behind the counter walked out from behind it, turning the sign over to "Closed" with a nimble flick, and then bowed his head ever so slightly.
"Who should I say is calling?"
"Tell him his shop is infested with snakes. He'll understand, or he'll come running. Either way, it'll be a perfectly honest answer."
