DOOR SWINGS OPEN, pushed by a perfectly manicured hand, bell ringing to signify something wicked this way comes. the perimeter of the store is paced slowly as the girl pretends to browse — various talismans & odd bottles picked up, turned over in lined palm, discarded without truly reading any labels. it is not until she has perused it all that she will slither to the register, smile dripping poison.
“so, you run this place?” calculating stare ; light eyes ( like a cat’s, like a snake’s if the light catches just right ) look the girl behind the counter up, down. nails tap against the glass, gentle rhythm like a dirge. and tongue runs carefully across plump lips as though stuck in deep thought, slow in the way cherry chapstick is lifted, tasted. it’s an intimidation tactic — an old one, at that. “from everything i’ve heard about your little business here,” the ‘ B ’ pops like bubblicious, gaze flickering to glance around the open room before snapping back to focus, “i guess i was just expecting someone ... cooler. or, at least, taller. what are you, like, a keebler elf or something ??”