The store owner's head whipped around as Eiric approached. Julien watched his wife hypnotically saunter to the front of the store, moving like a hungry snake. Terror flashed across the man's features, disappearing as quickly as a rat scuttling down a hole.
The man was...well, to put it honestly, the man was huge. Not exceptionally tall, but he had the squat, overblown musculature of a career body-builder. Biceps strained the sleeves of his yellow polo, and thigh muscles bulged against his jeans. His dark hair was shaved to a shadow, and veins stood in harsh relief against his skin. Yet this man, who looked like he could crack walnuts with his thumbs, was looking at Julien's slender, relatively small wife like he was a trapped mouse. Julien raised a brow. When scary people are scared...
"Lady MacTavish," he said faintly, his Cockney voice surprisingly high and thin.
"It's Blanchard, now," she said simply, clasping her hands in front of her like a schoolgirl. She inhaled slowly, and then sighed, as if very weary. "How are you, scuttler?" she asked brightly, cocking her head.
"Sc-Scott-Scottler, Lady Mac...Blanchard," he stuttered, with the air of someone used to making the correction.
Julien glanced up and could see a wide mirror hanging behind the checkout counter, which allowed him to see his wife's face. She was staring blankly at the man. Then, with alarming speed, her expression changed to animalistic rage, and she leapt at Scottler, knocking him back against the counter, her hand wrapped around his jaw, two fingers in his mouth, pulling it open.
"I call you scuttler, because that is what you are, you sniveling, scrambling, treacherous little rat!" she bit.
Scottler trembled, but didn't move. Apparently, he was too busy testing how far his eyelids could retract from his watery blue eyes.
Just as quickly as she had leapt, she sinuously moved back, adjusting Scottler's clothes and brushing off imaginary dust. "Very well," she said politely. "Scottler, it is." She walked away a few steps, then in a small circle, looking around admiring the store. "What a nice place you have."
Scottler straightened, glancing warily at Julien, who just glowered. Looking oddly reassured, he ventured, "You know, I always said that I was going to open me own shop. Get out of the life; go into business proper. I'm straight, now--"
"How nice for you," Eiric said noncommittally, "But I really don't care about your sexual orientation..."
Scottler's mouth worked, and his face turned a deep, mottled shade of red, but he stayed silent.
Eiric watched him with interest for a while, then clapped her cupped hands suddenly, the sound as loud as a firecracker. Scottler jumped. "Well, I'd love to keep catching up, really I would, but I'm afraid that I must come to the point of my friendly little visit. Tell me, what's the latest gossip? Who's wearing what, who's cheating on whom, have you heard of any talk about someone hiring an inordinate number of weather-weavers, or shielders?" She looked at him, eyes bright and expectant.
Scottler shook his head sadly. "As I said, Lady Blanchard, I'm out of that life. I got a good thing'ere--"
"You know how I know that you're lying," Eiric said, her tone friendly, light.
Scottler shook his head, "I ain't lying, Lady--"
Eiric held up a hand and he abruptly stopped talking. She walked casually to him, and laid her head on his chest, wrapping one arm around him and putting her hand over his heart. He stood as still as a particularly juicy vole trying to hide in plain sight from a hawk. She tapped a finger lightly against his chest to emphasize her words. "I know that you are lying...because I can smell it on you."
Scottler shuddered, and Julien was disgusted to see that the man had an erection.
"Now, you can answer my questions, and I can leave, and you can keep your nice little weapons store, in this nice little town, or..." her voice trailed.
A sly, stupid look passed over Scottler's face. "Now, now, Lady Blanchard," he said, self-importantly, "You know if you run 'ot in 'ere, it will mean the end o' all o' us. I 'ave enough munitions in 'ere to take out an entire block." He ended this little speech with a triumphant look on his face.
"It will mean the end of you," Eiric purred, then leaned her face up and roughly clutched the neck of his shirt. "Baby, I can run so hot that everything in here will melt before it even touches me. So...yes...everything will explode, but I'll be walking out of here just as pretty as I am, now. You, on the other hand..." she shook her head sadly.
Scottler had paled during her little speech. "But, wha' about 'im, eh?" he asked, looking desperately at Julien.
"He can take care of himself," she said softly. "Scottler... Scottler..." she sing-songed. "Talk to me..."
"I don't know nothin'," he said stubbornly.
Eiric nodded, as if this admission deeply pained her. Then she took her finger, and slowly ran it down Scottler's chest. The fabric of his shirt blackened and peeled away, smoking as it exposed the overblown planes of his chest.
For a moment, all Julien could hear was the hiss of burning fabric, and Scottler's harsh, staccato breaths. The entire store was thick with the acrid stink of his fear.
Eiric, pushed aside one side of Scottler's shirt to expose a stylized golden charm of a lightning bolt. She tapped it with her palm, loud slapping noises reverberating throughout the room, punctuating her words. "I thought that you got out of the life, scuttler? I thought that you went straight? That you were clean?" Her voice was strident. "So, why are you still wearing his mark?" Scottler's skin was turning an alarming shade of red where her hand repeatedly struck.
"I just like the necklace, Miss," he said, his voice tight.
Eiric looked up into his eyes, and then nodded. "It is a nice necklace. May I see it?" Without waiting for an answer, she ripped it from around his neck. Then, stringing the chain between her teeth, she brought both hands to the front of his pants, which bore a suspiciously spreading dark stain, and deftly started to undo his belt buckle.
"Well, Missus! Wif your man here, and everythin'? Well, I won't let it be said that Scottler didn't rise to the occasion," he proclaimed, grinning down at her, his too-perfect teeth very white in his ridiculously tanned face. She undid his jeans, glanced down, and then raised an eyebrow. "Nah, no underwear," he said proudly. "Never saw the need for it."
She delicately dropped the chain into one palm, using her other hand to hold open his trousers. Her hand started to glow, and the gold quickly melted into a bright pool in her palm. Realization dawned slowly over Scottler's previously lascivious features, and he started to squirm as heat radiated off of her.
"Unfortunately, though fortunately for you, I don't have time to play, so I'll get right to it. You're going to tell me what you know, or..." she tipped her hand slightly, and the liquid gold trickled toward the edge of her hand. She laughed sweetly. "Now they'll really mean it when they say, 'It must be gold-plated.'"
"Now, wait, Miss—Lady MacTavish—Blanchard! Blanchard! Lady Blanchard!" he said desperately.
"Mmm?" she purred, eyes on the molten gold.
"There's no need for that, see? Scottler's always been your friend, yea? Look, all I know is that Meallan contracted out a lot of his people for an important job. No one's really talking about it, but everyone knows."
"Which people, scuttler?" Eiric said, waving her hand gently.
"What makes you think I know--" Her hand started to tip. His voice cracked, "Yes, yes! It was weather-weavers! I know that. But I don't know nothing about no shielders, or nothing, please!" He started to cry. It wasn't pretty.
She watched him for a few moments, and then closed her hand. "Okay!" she said brightly, patting him on the head. She dropped her hand, and the gold dripped through her fingers onto the floor. "Where can I find Meallan?"
Scottler hiccuped, and then sighed. "Last I heard, he was doing business out of some warehouse on La Dhuy."
Eiric stroked his bristly head "See, scuttler? That's all I wanted to know. Was that so hard?" His shoulders shook as he fought unvoiced sobs. She stepped back and he slowly slid down the front of his checkout counter to the ground. She started for the door, which Julien hastily unlocked and opened. Before she exited, she looked around the shop, turned to Scottler, and sang gaily, "It has been lovely seeing you again, scuttler! This really is a nice little place. I'm sure that nothing will happen to it."
Julien spared one last glance at the trembling man, and wished that he hadn't. Thick, white droplets had spattered all over the front of Scottler's pants and shirt. Turning away in disgust, Julien followed his wife to the car, and they drove away from the weapons shop.
****************
"Well," said Julien as they cruised down the streets on their way to La Dhuy. "That was gross."
His wife nodded absently, looking out the window. After a while, she turned to him. "You did well in there. Just...try not to glower so much next time."
"You told me to look menacing."
"Yes, but...have you ever noticed that the most dangerous people are the ones who do the least advertising? And vice-versa?"
He drove, but said nothing.
"Alright, take Scottler for an example. He looks like a particularly violent wrestling aficionado. Yet...well...you saw what happened." Julien remained silent. She sighed, and then changed tactics. "When I was a little girl, there was a tiny old sweet crone who used to come to the house to see my father. She was so thin, and her skin was so pale that you could read her veins like ink on parchment. She would pat my cheek, and offer me sweets, but whenever my father caught her paying attention to me, he would quickly send me away. I couldn't understand why. I liked her. Her hands were soft, and she smelled like peppermint.