The Long Con

For a seemingly prestigious selection, 'tis certainly lacking. Avorra replied uninterested to the new voice, not bothering to look away from the items in the stall. One would have better luck pickpocketting than keeping up with this sorry excuse for a racket. While the comment was certainly a jab, her disgusted facial expression lacked any humour.

The mention of better quality caught her interest, and the comment of matching her eyes perked her hidden pointed ears. However, she was visible repulsed at the suggestion of being touched. If you so much as lay a finger on me, beggar prince, I will grant you a bleak existence in those decrepit slums. Her slums, but she had to maintain secrecy regarding that fact. It was best if Dairmuid's denizens didn't know exactly who she was.

I will certainly adorn it myself, however, and admire the beauty in the mirror. She said with the flash of a fake smile, along with the intentional jingle of the coin pouch nestled within a pocket beneath her robe. What is it you have for me, exactly? Her amethyst eyes were now seemingly peering into the merchant's soul. If nothing else, the stench of his rhythmically driven blood was enough to keep her attention momentarily undivided.