The Book Warehouse
Ahph was rarely the type to leave James at home, spread out in bed with the blankets covering his lithe body, only for the master himself to venture out by himself. He liked having James' body close, but he knew his boy would need some sleep, to cradle the warmth of Ahph's apartment in the city and to just enjoy his day off. Ahph would return later to tease the warmth of James' body again, but for now his boy was locked up tight in the apartment. Ahph had made sure that James wouldn't be able to leave, with a keycoded doorlock that worked on either side, and only a specialized code was able to unlock it. And, knowing James, his home was up high enough that his boy wouldn't dare to get himself free -- the jump would surely injure him. Ahph gave a light chuckle as he thought about it, walking leisurely to his place of interest for that day. He had decided to buy James some entertainment for while Ahph was gone like today, or even better, books on hunting. Ahph's reading skills in other languages besides his own was shoddy, but he could do it, at least, for the most part. The word "hunt" only had four letters in English, right? Although, for Ahph, letters were much harder to read than pictures were. He had made his way through most of the warehouse, and still couldn't find what he had been looking for. After a few minutes of feeling rather frustrated, he was on his way through finding the front door and the owner who was sitting behind the check out counter. He grumbled quietly under his breath as he walked, his hands dancing across the sand kobold clothes that he wore. It was rather warm in the warehouse, but it wasn't at all as hot as the deserts that Arthulon was housed in, and Ahph actually quite liked the warmth. He let his hands find pockets of the pants he wore underneath his sand kobold shirt, and as he walked, he pondered what else he should buy. Books really... weren't his thing. He doubted they'd really ever be his thing. In his culture, they didn't have books; their history and cultures were passed down orally, so it didn't matter that they had books. Plus, they didn't have traditional homes like everyone else here had -- it was just a cultural difference. He pondered how he'd bring the books he bought back to James; he didn't want to get them ruined by the sand and heat of the weather in the desert. He could leave his books at their apartment, but then James wouldn't have them. It was all things that Ahph had to debate and think about when the time came. He had turned a corner, almost walking into a small woman who wasn't paying attention herself. A rather agitated look crossed over the Gordanassi's face, and he leered down at her -- she was basically the size of his hand. He could pick her up and throw her to her death had he really wanted to. "Excuse you, too. At least I was paying attention to where I was going. If anything, who stands in the bend of a walkway and doesn't pay attention?" His mood wasn't good enough to deal with a bitch like this, and he wouldn't tolerate it. He just had to make sure that if anything, he didn't toss her over the railing of the third floor and back down to the ground floor. His temper sometimes made him do things like that.