This two-part short story was commissioned by Hack_Blowfist and written by Vanessa Foxe (breedorbebred). This is my first attempt at proper fanfic, and I hope you all enjoy it. Despite taking place in the universe of World of Warcraft, you don't need to be familiar with the game to understand what's going on-- no prior knowledge is needed to be able to understand the contents of this story.
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The painfully ordinary-looking man took a knee on the floor to get a better look at the bottom shelf, and the small device on it. It was placed too low to be comfortable for him, but he knew that it wasn't quite so far down for the shop's owner. She'd pointed him towards these shelves with her usual bright smile a few minutes ago, and it almost seemed like she had forgotten he was there.
That was just fine with him. While the man would have preferred her to stick around so they could chat-- which was most of the reason why he always came to her store so often when he didn't really need the mechanical gadgets she sold-- he was used to being overlooked. In fact, one might have even said he relied on it.
Part of what made him so easy to miss was his utterly boring features. His medium-length, nondescript brown hair and brown eyes could have belonged to any one of a million other humans in Stormwind city, and he was slightly taller than the average human male without being tall enough to draw attention. His face was just as unremarkable, with bland but mildly attractive features. He certainly wasn't ugly-- ugliness would stand out.
But more than just his physical features, what made the man so easy to overlook was his body language. Through years of practice, he'd learned how to use a narrow, closed posture to make himself look unapproachable, combined with an aura of casual ease that led onlookers to assume he belonged wherever he was standing.
All of this came in very, very handy when one made a habit of walking into places they weren't allowed to be... and walking out with things they weren't allowed to take.
And so, he was unobserved as he knelt before the shelf and turned the small device over in his hands. It was a thing of beauty, a variation on a common snare that deployed a needle to inject the contents of a refillable vial into the unfortunate trespasser. A simple design, elevated to new heights, all while staying small and lightweight.
Compact, efficient, and beautiful.
He looked up from where he knelt just in time to see the store's owner, proprietor, and sole employee step out from around her worktable. Like him, she was easy to overlook-- if they were standing side-by-side, the top of Lini's head would only come up to just above his belt-buckle. Not counting her bright-pink hair, of course, which was up in a pair of high pig-tails that added another couple of inches to the cheerful gnome's height.
Once you got to know her, it was obvious that she was his opposite in many ways: bubbly where he was serious, loud where he was quiet, headstrong and determined where he preferred to look for shortcuts or vulnerabilities, colourful compared to his deliberate drabness, and easy to look at while he was easy to ignore.
Compact, efficient, and beautiful.
And so, he was kneeling and holding a mechanical trap that he'd mostly forgotten about when the shop's door opened again, admitting another body into the store proudly labelled "Silvercoil, Mechanical Genius".
"Ibnelini Silvercoil," the newcomer greeted her in an Old Town accent, with thick vowels and clipped consonants.
"That's me! And who might--" The small gnomish woman's features, which had briefly lit up on hearing another potential customer enter her shop, fell as she looked up at his face. "Oh, it's you."
"Do you have this month's payment?" the other man asked without any more preamble. He positively loomed over her, but being literally twice her height made that a simple task. "You're already two days late."
"Oh, um, right," the pretty gnome stammered. "Of course, yes. I have it here. Only..."
She stepped behind her work table again for a moment, and came out with a small bag to hand over to the large man. "Only it's not quite... the full amount..."
"Not the full amount? You've already missed two payments, Ibnelini." He spoke her name with careful precision that hinted at a moderate level of intelligence. This wasn't some dumb brute working for a backstreet cutter, he was a collector employed by a powerful and respectable lender. "You know how interest works, don't you? Every missed payment just adds to how much you owe..."
"I know!" Lini insisted. Her voice went even higher and shriller in her distress. "Tell her that I'll have her payment next month for sure, and extra to make up for..."
"I'm not here to threaten you," the collector answered in a flat tone. "Just to remind you that you're behind, and the interest is mounting. Your collateral is only going to go so far, and after that we'll have to repossess the contents of your shop to recoup any losses."
"Right, of course. I just had a bad season, I'll be caught up again in no time. And I'll pay her back everything I owe."
"See that you do." The man hefted the purse in his hand, mentally weighing how much coin might be in it as he left. "And please don't be late next month."
The little gnome closed the door behind the big man, and turned the small lock she had installed at gnome-height when she first moved to the massive capital city of the human kingdom a year ago. Then she put the small, wooden sign that said "closed" in her careful, precise handwriting, in the window.
With the outside world locked away, Ibnelini Silvercoil visibly deflated like a downed hot-air balloon.
Realising that every moment he waited before revealing himself would only make it more awkward, the return customer announced himself with a polite cough.
"Oh!" Lini jumped in surprise at the noise, before remembering that she'd seen him come in and had sent him to go look at the newest batch of snares she had designed. She sniffed loudly and gave her cheek a quick, vigorous rub, smearing the dust and oil from her hands over the skin that had been left clean in the wake of her quiet tears. "Sorry, Talon. I forgot you were there."
"You don't need to apologise, Lini," he assured her in a soothing voice. He took a few steps towards her and crouched slightly, bringing himself closer to her level, as he pulled out a small handkerchief from one of his jacket's many inner pockets.
Talon could have produced a hat, mask, knife, or vial of poison from various hidden pockets with the same ease. He was a versatile man.
"Thank you," she sniffed as she accepted the cloth and wiped her face with it. The grey kerchief was immediately stained black as she dabbed at a grease smear she'd gotten on her cheek earlier in the day and never noticed. "I'm sorry you had to see that."