The Slum-Quest of an Unwritten Diary: 02
[QUOTE=Yun Lao;5076423][COLOR="#8B4513"][B][I]"Good!"[/I][/B][/COLOR] Mostro said, happy to get down to business. Fidgeting with something beneath his cloak, the mysterious merchant dropped something as she could hear glass shattering from behind the counter. Apparently unconcerned with that fumble, he immediately opened up with, [COLOR="#8B4513"][B][I]"Mostro have what smol want."[/I][/B][/COLOR][/QUOTE]
"You have what I want?"
The question was met with silence for a brief moment, and she began wondering whether or not this strange merchant had been watching her.
[COLOR="#8B4513"][B][I]"Yeah! Yeah... yeah. Mostro have it."[/I][/B][/COLOR] The draining enthusiasm from the figure's words made her reconsider having overthought the situation, sighing, she replied, "Well, what is it? What do I want?"
More silence followed only for the merchant to shrug. It was only then that Sigourney's focus turned to Mostro's origins, for the shoulders that shrugged were of a far thinner span and size to be anything more than a child... or something child-sized.
[COLOR="#8B4513"][B][I]"What does smol want? Mostro has many things but Mostro does not have mind-reading."[/I][/B][/COLOR]
So it was a bluff? Yes, she recalled reading something like this once; cold-reading they had called it. Her desperate nature to obtain her prize must have been apparent from her body-language, leaving her open to latching onto to vague suggestions. Even if she had been caught, hook, line, and sinker, if this Mostro had what she needed, Sigourney would gladly bite down on the bait left by the strange creature.
"All right... What I need is a blank notebook, a diary."
Another pause of silence, this time more distressing as it seemed that the merchant seemed to be reluctant. Eventually, however, Mostro, true to his word, placed a blue-leather book on the counter and once again did she notice an oddity of the being for his hands were covered in gloves of course fur with stubby fingers, as if the fingertips had been removed from every digit... that is with the exception of his little fingers which seemed to be completely missing.
[COLOR="#8B4513"][B][I]"Smol one has expensive taste. Very rare this is."[/I][/B][/COLOR]
Her attention to the merchant's feature was snatched with those bafflingly words, "Expensive? How many credits do you plan to charge for a diary?"
Mostro chuckled, and her empty stomach churned from the sound of it, [COLOR="#8B4513"][B][I]"Dat is good joke, smol one. Mostro only takes credits for things like probability engine, matter convertor, and maybe third eye... you know, kid toys. No, for this Mostro wants something like... smol one's eyes... yes... those will cover cost."[/I][/B][/COLOR] Leaning to his right side, Mostro reached forth with his left hand.
It was then that Sigourney understood that the merchant was no man, woman, or child, for Mostro was not of this world. His arm was the length of the creature's entire height, with several joints that straightened as it grew closer to her. That hand, in which she once thought was gloved of course fur had proven itself not to be a garment as the white and gray fur extended all the way back underneath the folds of his cloak. From the webbing of those stubby fingers slid out large claws similar to a feline's, no doubt the means to extract his payment.
The Slum-Quest of an Unwritten Diary: 03
[QUOTE=Yun Lao;5081516][COLOR="#8B4513"][B][I]"No, for this Mostro wants something like... smol one's eyes... yes... those will cover cost."[/I][/B][/COLOR][/QUOTE]
Time seemed to crawl as the malicious merchant's claws came toward her and her horror, she felt her mind slipping and her consciousness spirited away back into the visions of her dreams. This time however, her dreams were far different and much more horrifying. She could see stars in all directions, moving and pulsating like breathing entities, with the only semblance of solid ground beneath the crimson clouds beneath her. All sound was drowned out by roaring winds that whipped all about, stirring the clouds but never enough to reveal what they had obscured. Before her stood a being unlike anything she had ever encountered.
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[COLOR="#FF0000"]B͏̨̛͔̙̲̣͖̗̖̣̺̳͕͈͓͓̼̦̮y̴͓͈͉͈̬͘ ̧̲̫͓r̷̢̡̤͚̥͎͡e̶̛̟̻̲̣̗̣̪͍͈̰̰͇̭̤̲̥͘̕͝j̗̲͔̞͖͕̤͢͡e̷҉̘̳̪̬̮̖̜̫̺̯̦͈ͅc͜҉̢̡̼͇̜̞̭̰̗̩́t͉̺͉̤͡͞i̬̣̞̭̦̞̙̫͍͕͘͟ͅn̸͇͍̰̰̼͇̰̹͇̳̺͎̬̫͠ͅg͠͏̧̞̜͇̮̥̝̦̫̜̗ ̨̡͝҉̝̗̖̖͉̫̤̫̖̬͎̜̖̺̣̦͢h̵̢̛͏̯̘̬͍̹̰͉̭͙̺ì̢̢̛̪͚͚͖͖̼̥̦̰̹̪̭̪͎̕s͏̟̜͚͙̬͇̩̫̞͖̬̤͢͜͞ ̣̯̣̻̘̳͈̘͉̲̮͖̗͘̕͝ͅs̴̷͇̙̪̼͖̠̹̻̫̹̼̝̼͉̘̱̹͠͠t̨̯̖̥̺͙͙͢͡͡r̢̞̟̯̲͍̙̣̗̫̜͈̥̲͕̼̞̕ͅȩ̥̞̞̼̖̜̺̮̟͎̲̀́̕͟ͅn͞҉̭̗̘̳̣̩̪̳̗̼̠̥̳͍͍̬̘̮͝g͔͍̺͔͍̲͉̠̞͉̞̼̣̮͡͠t̨͏̰͔͉̙͉̲̦̟̳̮ẖ͍̳͔̤̣̤̟͓̥̱̰͔͉̩͙͖̗̞͟,̸̧͙͉̺͈̫̜͉̲̖̬̙̯̺͘ ̨̞̙̪̝̩̲̟͢͝͠ͅy҉͖̗͚̖̬͍͚̠̼͜͟ǫ̴̪̺̰͔̼͖͈̘̠͎͇̰̗̙̻͠u̴̢̯͕̱̥̭̩̳̰̤̹̤͓͜ ̧̡̡͇͉̣̥̰̬̖͎̹̝͔̱̳̲͉̹ͅͅw̗̙̘̗͍̹̺̤͍̳͜e̷̢̢̱̣̲̼͈͕͉̻͎̝̟͚͘r̷̗̗̺̟̫̺̥̫͈̥͞ͅe̦̺̹͉̫̕͢͠ ̶̡͇̘͍̪̪̪̜͘ŗ̴̸̢̛͓̺̤̖̘̝͈̦̥̟͖̦͉̟̥ͅè̵̙͔̘̳̩̞̻ń̛̝̣͉̺̝̫͎̖̖̟̫̙͍̪͇͕̤ͅd͏̨̪͓͍͍̺̤͕͘ͅe̢͔̘̙͈̫͙̮̫̘̲͕̙͇͝r̷̢҉̸͙͓͖̯̤͚͉̻͎͎̘͓̟̺͓ę̢̣̹͙̣̼̮͙̮͎̮̤̖͇̹̯͟͡d̴̛̛̥̰̭̭̻͇̠̺̠̜̖̘̮̝̥̪̮̳͟͡ ̵̡̟̳̫̼̥̯̝̠̪̙̩̮̠̕ẃ̱̼̳̣͙̝͉͍è̢̧̝̠͕͓͙͕̭͉̠̤̥͖͖͖͔͉ͅá̸̷̵̠͖̘̹̥̗̤̝̗͚͕̞̹̟̲͚̮͝k̨̛̙͚̹̻̳̀̕͠;̗͙͎̤̦̟̲̯͙̝̹̦̺͈̼͍̼̺̝́̕͝͠ ̧́͏͓̱̠̳̙̝͉̣̀ͅt̳̠̬̜͓͎̥̘̯̹̀͝͡h̶҉̨͔̼̹̲̣͕̪̘̞̠̫̞̼̀á̸̯̲̗͕͚̦͓͢ͅt̕҉̰̟̠̳̮̳̠͇̳̹̙ ̸̷̴̢̯͓̣̤̘i̪͓͖̰̦͘͠s̡̻̱͓̻̱͉̀͟ ̸̧̛̩̺͎͇̜̺͍̭̲̘̪̤̪̫̞͇̰̱̬͠w̸̯͇̻̺̞͇̲̦͖̮̻̜͚̭͎̭͟ͅḩ͎̫̘̱̻̱̦̗͟ͅͅy̷̫͈̺͎̟̮̗̩̙̪̘̼͢͟ ̀͏̮̣͔̙̘͢ͅỳ̸͉̻̻͕̻͝o̶̡̳͖̖͢u̧̮̘̪͉̬͍̝͈̰̮͟ ̴̜̯̘͈̠͙͎͔̤̳̲̞̘̖͟h̶̨̬̞͎̺͚̪̖̘͢͡a̢̢̛̪̦̟̺̲̪͔͔̮̹̟̖͔̯̱̦̕ͅv͞҉̗͚̱͇͈̺̙̭͕̩̠̳͚̳͕̱̩̯ͅȩ̹͍͕̮͈̬͍͎̮̺̹͖̻̣̹̫̹̮ ̧͏҉̵̮̘̝̠̞̪̲̗͓̥̺͍̘͍̫̜͎̞ͅf̶̙̺͕̗͔͓̘͙̖̩̩̰̺͉͍̱̱͜a̧̠̻̘͙͓̯̦̲̯̭̭̮̲͕͔͈̕͟i͕̠̰̥̲̺͔̙̳͎̘̕̕l͝҉̪̱̦̹̜͚̠̘̻͙̺̜̹̹̣́ͅe҉̸̧̯̼̙̲̰͓̰͟͡ͅͅd̢̨̙͚͔͚͕.̷̨̧̛͚͈̹͇̰̳̫̘̘̤̮̹̹͍̻̟̲̠
̸̨̱̯͇͕̟͈̪̕͟͞B̡̢͙̠̬̤̠͡y̸̗͚̬̺͚̻̰̗̙̦̟̖̰̙͖̼̕͢͜ ̴̡̡̫̺̺̥̀́ŗ̡̛̥̤͚̙̗̩͚̫͇e̡̢̞͚̹̬̞̝̖̤̰̺͉̬ͅj͏̵̛̪̮̖̘̺é̴̩̥̘̠̞̻̟̫̙͕̮̖̺͉̭̘͕ͅc̴̵̫̼̠͎̼̼͈͚̻̺̕̕͟ͅt̶̝̬̤̞̻̣̖͚̼͙͎̝̳̝̣͜͜i̶͎͉͍̬͎̘̰̟̝͇̲̪͎̮͝͡n̶̵̡͚̳̦̠͚̭͎̱̼̮͔̳̹͉͈͘͡g̢҉̻̼̗̰̩͉̰̻̘̪͔͉͜ͅ ̶̭̤̹̙̱͖̪͓͉̻̤̰́̀͢ͅh͏̟̬͚̤̞̱̜͙͚̭̗͔̗̥̹͙̬͕́͠ͅi̶̡͕̖̺̞͍͎̳̻̳̗̻̩̼͎͘͡s͏̰̗̠̺͎͍͙̀͟͞͡ ̧͞͏͕͈̥͔̤̙͈̤͓̺͚͓͔̦̘͙̯͖͚͜m̴̢̮̦̝̝̞̟̼͡ę̘͕͔̬̯̠̞̖̥̙͜͜͠͡ͅr̵͇̩̭͠͠c̵̜̙̤͔̥͙̠͕̮̪̕͢͡y̛̼̮̟̱̖͓̮͚̘̺̘̩͈̠͍̜̤͘̕͢ͅ,̴̶̧̛̥̳̜̱͔̼̤͔͍̹͚͙ͅ ̷̴̢̻͕̰̹̣̗̳̲̲̝̻̰̝͓̝̻͚͔͘̕y̨̢̬̫̹͇̕͘͞o̵̦̫̜̖͖̲̮̫̣̙̳̳̺̼̜͔͜͢ù̲̖͔̭̟̞ ̶͠͏̀҉̭̦͙̥̟̺͔̻̬͚͇͇̼w̸͕̩̣̥͙̟̦͕̲͍̪̗͇͚̖̮ͅe̶̛̫͇̝̪̝͎̱͕̣̞̣̮͡͞r̗̭͖͓̪͖̘̫̣͇̘̥̗͉̰̗̥͘͜͞e̶̸͘͝҉̯̞̺͉̜̝̝̭̳͎̱͉̥̮̣ ̡͕̦̘͖͈͇̭̘͉̣̳͉̳͓͎́͡ć͙͈̹͙̖̙̻͇̤̗̦̺́͜ơ͍̤̤͚͍͕̳͔͚̭͢n̢̨̨̛͕̣̖͖̪̜̩d̷̗̟̼̖̹̳̠̝̥̮̬̝͖͡ȩ̴͉͎̙̳̞̜͡m̷̼̞̦̣̗͎̩̼͘ͅn̸͎͓̳̟͓̩̥̼͙̱̱͎̙̦̗ḙ̩̲̟̥̯̻̻͕͍̖̠̹͜͞d̵҉̥̘̭̳̭ ̸̧̳̘̜̖̮͚̠͚t̵̡̛̖͙̱̠͙̬̻̫͡ǫ̤̗͕͈̙͇͕̕͘ ̭̖͎͚͈̬̻͎̫̼̀͡h̶͕͙̤̲̘̙̦̲͍͖̗̥̝̤͙̤́͟͞ͅͅį̸́͏̢̼͎̘̗͙̻̙̹̫̲͖ͅs̴̸͚̭̲̘̞͕̀͡ ̴̨̤̼̭̬̰̼̥̻̪̼̕ͅͅͅw̸̡̦̥̜̺̤̳̙͉̺̱͔r͜҉̨̡͖̙̼̪̙̗̮̹͚͕͕͍̺̥͜a̸͉̩̼̹͉̟͔͚̬͉͚̠̯̙͓̺͘͘ͅţ̵̩̲̬̞̰̲̞̼̰̝̳̝̟̜̫̻̮̘͝h͏҉͏͖͔̜͖̥̬̻̠̗̺̙͘͝ͅ;̵̴͎̝̠̥̙̤̣͎͚͚͙̟ ͠͡҉̸̫͓̩̤͔̝͕̰̯̰̦͇̥̮͔̭ͅt̸͈̟̩͙̬̘̩̫̮̳͍̱͉͈h͏̷͙͓͎̠͜i̧͏͔͖̬͙̖̠̝̗̳̼̭͇̜̯̤͙̭ͅs̴̵̭̙͖̻̫͍̰̀͟͡ ̵̡̪̱̣̹̯̞̙͖̰̳͎̼͓͈̫̤͈̰ͅi̡̝̞͉̠̗͈͈̕͘͟s҉̀͝҉̭̹͍͖͈̰͓̭̠͎̠̫̙͈ͅͅ ̴̶̡͚͓͙̮̠̪͘͢ͅt̢̨̜̬̫̘͙h͏̨̢̳̜͇̳̱̼̪̭͉̞͍̞̼̯̦͔͖͠e̵͔̥̙̘̥̤͚͡ ̨̨̠̥̯͇͇̹̟̟̠̯p̛̞͔̱̝̝͇̖̥̰̳̭̣̕͢á̸͇̩̰͖͎̯̳͕̞̞̩̮̙͘ͅͅt̢̛͔̱͙̙͜͜h͜҉͎̝͚̬̠̳͈͓̫͕͓̫̼̙̟ͅ ̸͏̡͔̳͚͖̗y̧̨̲̩̼̪̟̙͞ͅo҉̷̷͔̫̼͇̹͞ų̢̡̳̬̙̗̩̫̺̜̤͙̼͙͍̥̪̣̫̪̠̀ ̷̴̼̤̠̞̺͇̖͍̟ç̶̰͓̜̳̠̟̥̱̮̙̦͇̻̙̪͙͘̕ͅḩ̲̰͓͇̗̜̭̲̝͙̼͕̪̙̜̤̦ͅo̡҉̴̸͉͚̻̠͈̠̣̝̲̣͙s̗̩̖̝̱̘̮̟̬̰͉̕͠e̸̳̜̤͙̭̩̠̝̙̟͖̼̯̯͜͠.̣̪̭͔̥̦͘ͅ
̶̤͎̺͉̫̠͍̯̠̙̀Y̨̖̞̬̫̥̜ò̕͏͙͔͓̖̫̙͝͠u̧͏̣͈̬̱͈̤͔̯͉̹͇̹̭̻r̕͝҉̴̲̭̼̯̦ ̨̡̠͙̤̭̹͎͚̥̀͡͞b̛̦̫̝͉͖̯̺̥̰͇̪̬̝̲̭͙̥̱ò͏̢̣̥̤͘͘d̷̢̝̯̠͔̹̠̻̦̰̜͇̖̦̹͕ỳ̴̨̧͏̖͕̳̦̱͔͈̙̣ ̢̛̙̹̩̲̬̗̙̤ͅͅw̡͍͉̻̩͓͖̣̦͇͜i̧͏̶͕̳̼̰͉̖̲͙̪͝ͅl̢̺͈̤͚̣̳̘̻͙̣̤̀l̴̹̘̱̟̻͈͙̪̬͚̘̩̣̲̕͟͢͡ ̶͙̥̩̟̜͘͠p̧͎̹̝̲̱͚̞̙̼̦͍̠͈͝ḛ̸̗̹̯̫͢ͅr̸̸̛̕҉̱̭̻͇͈͕̼͙͇̯̫̫̞͔̣̤ͅͅi̸̢̜̪͙̯͔̟ͅs̕҉̺̪̤̮̖̖̤̥͔̰̯̭̥̫̕ͅͅh̵̨͞͏̯̺̜̩͍͇ͅ ̶͓̞̖̼͓̣̤̼̻̣͖̜̮̕ḭ̶̧̖̰̖̀͡n̢͏̨̖̰̗̜͍̯̮̣̟̭̫̗̦̮͕̹̜́͝ͅ ̴̢͞͠͏̜̰̮̜̳̩͉à̸̠͙̪͕̻͘͟͞g̡̹̠̳̹̞̖̩̹̩̮̙̕o̸̴̵̙̦͚̯͍͉̪̜ͅn͢҉̧͔̩̰̳͔̗̼̫̦̺̣y̶̛̘̘͚̜͖̣͓͍̙͇̞͈̪̘͎̘̘͟ͅ,̴͙͉͖̕ͅ ́͠͏̳͇̳̘͔̟̕͞y̢͘͡͝҉̰͙̝̝͇̣̩̯̮̼̱͓̯̤ͅͅo͉̖͎͚͎̗̭͖͇̙̘͘͘u͏̶̡̨̫̯̟͚͈̲̼̲̰̺̟ŕ̵̢̥̙̬̞̦̹̗̹̪̱ ̴͠͏̶̢̪̰̗͕ş̷̖̹̦̯̞̀͞o͡҉̧̘̺͚̞̰̫͉̥͈̱̭̜͡͡u̴̡̲̣̖̟̗̯͓͈͚̘̲͖͉̬̻̠̪͚̯̕͡l͏̼̠̗̻̮͕͖̪̣͉̺̥͚͙̳͈̹́ ̸̷҉̡͕̰̗̥ẃ̴̶̲͇̝͖̺̬̠͎̬͇̩̤̘̳̕į̶̡̢͔̣͉̗̺͇͍̖͟l̸̡̡̞͕͚̕l͇̤̼̱͔̘͈̲̻͎̩̰͕͖͔̯̦͡͞ ̰̭̰͓̰̭͟͡l̝͉̫̬̹̖̝͓̫̟̫̟̀͢i͏̨҉̜̠͓̻̖̝͓̹͎n̷̷̬͚̞͕͡g̴̜͖̙̀è͎͙̳̙̤̱͜͟r͚̹̙͎̪̻͍̳͓̫̙̘̲̀͡ͅ ̡̢̼͖̩͎͎̩̪͖̩̱̯͎̗͎̞̰̠͖͟͢͞ͅi̺͉̪͔̳͡n͔̝̻̘̲͚̣̥͜͢ ̢͈͎̤̳͔̝̗̥͚̹̹̀͢͝r̡͖̪͎̻̳̜̭͇͘͝ͅe̷̹̥̣̯͓͎̝̥̳̥̘̘̙͟͠g̵̡̯̝͎̟͖̫̹ŗ͉̰͙͈̹̝̳̜̳̟̘͇̀̀͝ȩ҉̠̲͎̝͖͇̲̱̻̮͔t̷̷̀͏͇̹͎̟;̵̥͕̰͇̩͘ ̧̳̳̮̘̦̬̺̠̤͟͠͞ͅt̸҉̣͙̮̹̼͇̟̬̪̣͇ͅͅh̡̻̠͎͇̼͖͔̠̺̞̙̟̩̖̥͞i̵̖̫̻͇͟͝ș̖̣̝͘͘͢͟͞ ̵̥͕̹̘̫̤̻̜͚͙̫̥̭͚̯̩̘͜͝í̸̷̬͉͖̳̭̹͚̩̖̬̦̱̞͔͙̞͍͡ś̶̨̖̯̣͎͇̼̺̖̣̬͢ ̼̞̯̗̥͚͇̟̤̟̀͢͜͡͡y̢̢̡͖̫̰̯̞̼͔̜͕̘ơ̱̘̜͙͈̖̩̫̝̲͘ͅų̛̯͍̤̜̲̖̞͈̲͎̪̰͢͟r̶͚͖̹͍͈͎͚̯̻̩͕̱̜̱̮̫͞ ̸̧̨̰͚̙͖̟̲̘͓͇͓̙̠͟͡f̷̵̶̩̦̳͎͈̤͞͡ͅͅà̶̴̴̟̲̫͎̳͎͞t̰͔͇̯͇͢͝͝ȩ̴̸̙̙̦̬̟̼͚̯̣͚͖̜͎̙̝̀.̸̢̢̖̹͖͍̫͕̺̞̞͚̰̳̕͠
̴̛̱̮͉͖̩͓̹͖̰̙̗̯͚̹̪̠̘̭̀̀
̨͕̱͕̖̝͚͓͓̝̟̗̺̯̗̤́͘͟ͅG̴̨̖̻̼̮͉͕̕H̷̵͓̤̖̭̤͙̱͇͔̯̠͙͍̰̩̤͞A̸͚͈̼͉͈̖̩̻̘͓͇͉̝̱͞͡͠͠Ņ͓̠̬͎͉̰̝̣̲̟̘̀̀U̡͇̝̯̙͕̺̣̠͖̹̰̜͈̱̕ͅL̴̨͍̗̹̞̼̟͖̲̬̘͝͡'̪̪̮̰̙̯̣͇͕̭̲̗͘̕Ń̺̞͕̝̦͖̥͖̼̟͞Ą̶̟̺͙̘̦̺̝̥̙̳̻̖̖̀Ú͏͔̲̜̟͕̹̬̫̹̞̳ͅD̡̕͟҉̘̠͚͖̖͇͔̬͔͕̳̹̤̭Ò̶̘̣̹͈̘̼̰͈̹͚̯͝Ǹ̸̶͙̠̱̖̙̻̬̩̺̻ ͎͉̙͕̥̝̪͔̣͇͖̪̘̭̥͘͢͝͞ͅẂ̧͟͏̮͚̣͔̣̣Í̕͠҉̖̥̲͇̭̜̮͟L̵̶͎̗̰̥̣̼̬̲̠̞͝͞L̰̼͈̖̲̞̀͝ ̸͓̖̘̻̫̙̘̩̝̀N͞͏̻͚̜͍͉̗̀ͅO̸̧̠̙̥̜̘͎̕͜T́̕͜͡͏̥͈͈͈̝̯̘̠̼̼̤̪̮͚̦̣̫ ̨̬͚͍̩̬͖̱͎͉͔̩̱͢͢͝B̧́҉̳̼̙̣̖̺͍̳̱̯̫̺̰̯͔E̡͕͉̬͔͔̯̕͢ ̢̡̛̝̜̭͔̮̲̜̳̜̲̬̤̣̪̺̝͖͘ͅḐ̨̞̼̠̜̦͙̳̪̺̳̳͙͞Ę̷̴͔̹̖͕̞̦̯̤̪̟͍̱̀͝ͅN̨̢̺̰̺̣̺̰͎̦͕͕͘͠Í͚̟̩̟̼̤̙ͅE̸̢̛͙̮͈̘̯̖̗͍̙͙̼͞D͏̶̡҉̺̼̖̱͎͕͎͉͓͇̺͉!̴̰̹͉͔̼̀͢͠!̸̨̥͖͍̗̮̦̖̩̙̹̼[/CENTER][/COLOR]
She could feel tears welling in her eyes, yet she was uncertain if it was from fear or grief. All she knew was that they felt so heavy and cold. Realizing this discrepancy, her mind focused and the dream faded just as those tears rolled down her cheeks and shot towards the merchant's clawed hand, slapping it aside with enough force that it knocked the creature over. Floating in the air, she saw that those "tears" had coalescence into a semi-liquid sphere that had the hue of oil-stained water and chrome. Reaching out, her curiosity drove her to touch it, causing ripples across the cue ball sized orb. The sound of heavy cloth rustling prompted her attention back to the merchant and his counter, which had been toppled over. Eventually, in a frustated snarl, the cloak was cast aside and she could now see Mostro's features for what they truly were.
The best way to describe what the creature was would be a corrupted teddy bear, for the size of the body and course fur suggested a cuddly being. The disturbing aspects began with the arms, which were spindly and multi-jointed, and when compared to the stubby legs, suggested that he had been walking primarily on his hands in order to appear human beneath that cloak. The head was also wrong; large and wide, it reminded her of a lemon on its side and had a mouth that stretched across its entirety. Lipless, save for stained fur that acted as a sort of mustache and beard, the beast had massive human-like teeth, almost like a parody drawing. Two large friendly eyes rested above the mouth but she was convinced that the black orbs at the corners of his mouth were his real eyes, or rather the primary, as there was no way those other eyes would see normally as Mostro's lower jaw was fixed and his upper jaw and head moved instead in a polar opposite fashion to a humans. As he spoke, she was reminded of a trashcan that had a lid that opened and closed.
[COLOR="#8B4513"][B][I]"UGH! You humes always attack, why? Mostro's prices are fair! Wait..."[/I][/B][/COLOR]
Those black, compound eyes focused on the metal-like sphere that floated before her before laughing, once more sending a wave of repulsion through her.
[COLOR="#8B4513"][B][I]"Mostro knows this... smol one inchoate? Mostro not see one in long time! Hmm... yes... Mostro take knowledge of this as payment."[/I][/B][/COLOR]
"What?"
Those long spindly arms began to fold against one another until they were of reasonable length for his otherwise tiny body, although the compacted limbs' width would fully eclipse him if one saw him from the side. Approaching her on his tiny legs, Sigourney would find the blue-leather tome in his hands, which he extended towards her.
[COLOR="#8B4513"][B][I]"Pleasure doing service with smol inchoate!"[/I][/B][/COLOR]
Reluctantly, she took the book, leery of any surprises the creature would have once she did. Once she did, however, Mostro would simply walk towards the back of his tent, where the pink clouds were suspiciously growing thicker and denser. Before she could say anything, the clouds completely filled the tent. Coughing and choking, she scrambled for the exit and upon dashing out of the opening flap, the entire tent collapsed into a flat heap of canvas, as if the whole thing had never occured, although the notebook she clung to like her life depended on it said otherwise. A few of the other merchants and patrons of the bazaar briefly glanced towards the girl, who had made such a racket, but quickly did they return to their own business. After all, being nosey in such places would only lead to unnecessary troubles.
Her quest completed, Sigourney quickly made a dash back to the alleyways and back towards the rebel headquarters; her only available sanctuary in this unknown city.