Andre seemed to hold back on disputing, and went back to discussing his desired fittings and buckles.
With occasional noises of glee, feit continued browsing, spotting a pair of daggers that where practically identical in every way aside from the metal of the blades coming from different ores.
Their glistening edges made a clean, satisfying whipping sound as he swung them forward for a test, cutting through the air like a hot knife through butter. He whistled in appreciation, further testing the weight and grip in both his hands.
“What do you think of these?” Feit asked, turning to show the others, “they’re so beautiful!”
“I think they’ll serve you well. Does the weight feel right for you? No too unbalanced?” Andre said, letting his mouth curl into a small smile for the briefest of moments.
Cryda frowned, offended, and punched his arm hard, “All my daggers are perfectly weighted, nug-butt!”
Gwyn giggled at the exchange and cut across the room quickly to inspect them up close. Similar engravements to the staff she’d been eyeing adorned each blade. A glint of different colours flashed up through the etchings with each slight movement, sending what felt like slight reverberations to Gwyn through the air.
“These are enchanted, yes?” she said, daring a light touch with her fingers, “What do they do?”
“Bleeding. One cut and your enemy wont be able to stop the flow through ordinary means.” Cryda grinned, “I paid a lot to learn that enchantment, it’s certainly returned.”
“Don’t cut yourself on those,” Gwyn remarked.
“Oh I can’t pay for these.”
“I already said i would pay for them,” Andre said a little abruptly, “if they suit your needs and they feel right in your hands, then they’re worth the price. Just bring them up here.”
Feit paused but looking at the blades he couldn’t imagine leaving without them and grinned as he handed them carefully over. “Thank you.”
“How sweet,” Cryda crooned, leaning heavily on the counter top, “You’ve grown soft in your old age, egg-yolk. Tell you what, since you’ve warmed my cockles, I’ll throw in a free scabbard for each.”
“Oh shut it and take my coin already,” Andre grumbled, throwing a heavy looking pouch directly at her chest.
A door swung open and the loud crying, now escalated to screaming, filled the room once more. Gwyn’s hands immediately shot up to cover her ears, a slight scowl finding its way to her face. A ragged, tired looking man poked his head around the corner, voice barely loud enough to be heard over the din.
“Nothing will settle him, Cryda. Not even the rattle.” He turned his attention to Andre, giving him a nod of recognition and a weak smile. “Andre. Thought I heard you back here. Love the beard.”
Cryda groaned and pocketed the pouch quickly, moving to jump over the counter again before Andre’s hand gripped her arm, pulling her back to her feet.
“I’ll see if i can sort him out,” he said with confidence, “keep an eye on those two while I’m gone, will you?”
Gwyn watched as Andre slipped into the back room with the tired man and finally lowered her hands to her sides. It felt a little odd, seeing Andre being so relaxed and familiar with these strange people. That was a silly thought - they weren’t strange to him, they were his friends. She suddenly felt a little sad. Thoughts of her own friends from the circle flooded into her mind. How many had survived? Did any of them have children now?
“Always trying to fix other people’s problems, that one,” Cryda said with an exasperated sigh.
She jumped the counter anyway, crouched behind it and came back up with the aforementioned scabbards, sliding each blade into it’s respective encasing. She slid them both towards Feit with a flourish.
“I believe these are yours, Messere Feit,” she said with faux formality and a grin.
"You're very talented," he charmed, instantly finding a place for each weapon along his spine.